Готовый перевод Быть Гладу и Хладу / There will be Hunger and Cold: 3. Иди сюда, засранец, я тебе покажу, кто тут босс пустошей, а кто вошел не в ту дверь!

3. Come here, you little shit, I'll show you who's boss of the wasteland and who walked through the wrong door!

* * *

With a quiet and very penetrating squeak, the blade of a sharp boot knife carved a pattern directly onto the shinbone of some unlucky person. The bone was fresh, recently boiled to remove any remaining flesh and cartilage, so the material was in excellent condition. Ilya could only guess why the bald man he had killed needed boiled bones, as there were too many possibilities, and it was no longer possible to ask. But where one perished, the other could use what was left behind. For example, if one wanted to practise one of the skills obtained for a drop of talent, which happened to involve working with bones. And it creaks, quietly, even eerily, the tip of the knife on the surface of the bone, decorating it with a simple and eye-catching pattern. The most ordinary, for now, but at the same time very, very beautiful, and also full of mystery, a kind of ancient sorcery, useless in its pure form, but capable of becoming part of something greater.

At the first level of his carving skill, Ilya can barely create amulets and artefacts, at most talismans of dubious effectiveness. It's more suitable for use as decorations. For his carving to truly function as full-fledged magic, he needs to create a lot of it, and he also needs to correctly position it across an area, as if outlining hunting grounds. In general, for a ‘here and now’ choice, the skill is not the most practical, to be honest, and it is also divided into four parts, which automatically makes it quite ‘heavy’ in terms of its influence on the Twin. But Ilya did not choose this skill for immediate benefit, no, rather to cover one of the most important areas for a lone diver, which many earthlings neglect, wasting their talent, and then bitterly regret their greed.

For Ilya, his bone carving skill was not a combat or auxiliary skill; it would only become so in his further development, but it was no less important. On old Earth, among divers from the Eurasian, Amero-Canadian, and Latin American segments, this approach was called the ‘Odessa violin’ in honour of Odi Sitt, who invented this method. Initially, however, this method was called something slightly different, because old Odi named it the ‘Jewish violin,’ referring to the cultural code of his small homeland. Odi was considered the first of the Earthlings to officially reach the third stage of Twin development, at least the first to report it to the Forum. Now, at the fourth stage, a high-ranking official of the Citadel, Odi was known not so much for his military and combat exploits as for his wisdom and willingness to share it.

Starting as a simple Scriptor and rising to the rank of Mentor to the Mysterious, this individual wrote and cataloged many guides, methodologies, reference books, and comparative tables. First and foremost, those suitable not for Pwn masters from mother's basemen, but for newbies looking for useful information in the mountains of contradictory builds of varying degrees of stubbornness. His guides were distinguished by their simplicity, good combinability, high adaptability, and excellent mental stability. In general, if poor Odi had seen Ilya's set of talents, without knowing about his gift of Charisma, he would have beaten the idiot with a pointer until the Twin was completely disembodied, so that he wouldn't be tempted, and so that he wouldn't have to chase a madman possessed by demons all over the surrounding area.

So, the Odessa violin is one of those pieces of advice that even the most prepared individuals consider wise to follow. There is an idiom from an old Odessa fable that, after World War II and before it, young Jewish boys were often taught to play the violin for a very specific purpose. Not only to improve their culture but also as insurance for the worst-case scenario. If everything goes to shit, if your parents disappear or another Austrian artist decides to repeat the Holocaust, if you find yourself penniless and your degree in your main speciality is only good for a wipe an ass, then you, naive Jewish boy, need a violin. That violin, with which you will stand in an underpass or on the street, put the case at your feet and play a beautiful melody on it, so that kind people will put a coin or two in it. Well, or, given modern realities, so that there is a QR code glued to the bottom of the case, which will transfer a coin or two to your account, or even send you some kind of food coupon.

On Earth, where most welfare recipients do not die of hunger and the healthcare system works reasonably well for everyone, this practice has gradually died out. But in the Broken world, it has taken root, flourished, and thrived. Roughly speaking, Odi recommends that those who do not have a ‘ticket’ to a clearly defined community spend one of their talents on a skill that will allow them to have a profession in the Broken world. A profession that will allow them to earn a living without attracting the attention of the medics. That is, the local authorities, who will expect a diver to try to find work as a mercenary, guard, court magician, or even a bouncer in a tavern, those who can use their high attributes and combat skills. But they won't immediately think to look for a diver among basket weavers, weavers, bricklayers, street musicians, or circus performers.

Because you still have to think it through, yes.

For someone who wants to keep a low profile and lie low, especially someone with class, which the locals really don't approve of, this kind of disguise is a great help. And the Earth's population isn't in a rush to develop the kind of pride that would stop them from doing ‘plebeian work,’ and most of them don't see this kind of concealment as humiliating. In general, Ilya chose carving strictly according to Odi's precepts, making himself a 'spare violin' in case he had to infiltrate society under the guise of a simple carver.

It is not necessary to use bone. The skill will also allow you to work with wood or stone, although the result will be slightly inferior to that achieved with the original material. And since Ilya has not one or two divisions in this talent, but four at once, when fully developed, carving will become a full-fledged ritual sub-type skill, quite suitable for the main class, complementing it with a number of useful abilities and revealing a bunch of auxiliary tactics.

Holding up the decorated bone, now a small work of art, Ilya blew on the surface of the material, blowing away dust and small crumbs. A primitive but very high-quality pattern is carved on the surface of the bone, merging into a comic-style narrative. If you look closely, you can see a crowd of evil figures attacking a caravan, torturing and tormenting the caravaners, and then throwing the survivors into a ravine. One of the figures, now larger and sinister, climbed out of the ravine and killed the attackers. It turned out quite well, and Ilya allowed himself a faint smile, which was accompanied by the stifled and terrified squeal of the person watching the carving process and that smile.

The Diver closed his eyes, feeling his actions resonate with him, the image of this picture, very appropriate, reflecting the events of the birth of the Twin and the process of paying for that birth. These actions merged with the essence of Lot, with the very nature of Wendigo, their resonance was active enough to, in conjunction with his incredibly, unfairly, impossibly unbalanced blessing, once again summon the image of the cold tundra and lake, rocks and bowls, to once again see a drop of scarlet gold falling to the bottom of the bowl, flowing down the bones of the skull. If you looked closely, you could see that a tiny puddle of this strange and alluring drop had already gathered at the bottom of the bowl.

Tap.

Satisfied, Ilya nodded, realising that during his first day, he had chosen the standard for a beginner of one and a half to two cycles of continuous active pumping under the supervision of the group. He put the results of his efforts aside, stood up, and stretched his slightly stiff joints with a crunch. The deathly frightened whimpering became especially loud, and the smell of a new batch of urine that had leaked into someone's trousers became noticeable. Given his heightened senses in general and his sense of touch in particular, this smell was even too distinct for the earthling. With some disapproval and even condemnation, he shifted his gaze to the bandit tied up according to all the rules of a field interrogation, and looked at the Wendigo, who did not hide his true nature, with genuine horror mixed with sincere panic. In some ways, he even understood him, but couldn't bring himself to sympathize, both because of the Twin's memory and because he had managed to superficially examine the abandoned outpost.

I found the bone.

If only it were just her, yes.

"Well, dear Razz, if I remember your name correctly, it seems we need to talk." This time, Ilya's words do not carry any particular horror, and his voice is almost normal, only slightly hoarse, while the aura of wrongness around him gradually disappears, and his appearance emerges from the sinister valley, for he has just activated the disguise of the Lurking Evil. "I remembered correctly, your name is Razz, right?"

A short, wiry old man with a dandyish thin moustache, an unkempt beard, cloudy grey eyes, and a tightly gagged mouth mooed and nodded, as if to say, yes, that's right. The gag, like the method of tying, suitable even against some gifted individuals, tying each finger and the whole body separately, making it extremely immobile so that it does not move, was taken by the diver from another guide for beginners. There, a man on the forum posted links to virtual simulators that taught, among other things, the art of shibari, as funny as it may sound. Because, unlike field interrogation manuals, they could be found for free and did not require filling out a registration form to own a semi-military virtual simulator.

To be fair, Ilya also obtained and studied a pirated version of the simulated field interrogation, but, to be honest, learning on female models, naked or dressed in all sorts of outfits, was much more interesting than on faceless mannequins from a hacked military base. And it cannot be said that the field interrogation was that much more informative than that example of Japanese culture, at least in terms of methods of restraining a dangerous target. Ilya suspected, or rather, was absolutely certain that someone had deliberately marked that simulation as a ‘porn module’ in order to slip a technique suitable for divers under the radar so that it would not require registration and filling out forms. The state had no right to prohibit preparation for diving — within reasonable limits, of course — but at the same time, the Treaty did not prevent the collection of information about prospective divers and those preparing for diving.

"Wait, mate, I'll take out the gag now." Speaking in a friendly and even welcoming manner, slightly apologetic, as if he was embarrassed by his actions, was difficult, as he wanted to gouge out the monster's eyes and cut off several protruding parts, but he managed. "Come on, carefully, I'll give you some water to drink. So, shall we talk?"

"I will, I will, I will do everything, kind sir, I will tell you everything, just don't, I will give you everything, I will tell you everything, I will talk, I will tell you, don't..." Well, either he's a genius at pretending, or he's ‘softened up’ enough that no further unpleasant actions are necessary, especially considering those couple of drops of potion found in the bald freak's belt bag, which, fortunately, was labelled with the laconic designation ‘TRUTHFUL’. "I'll tell you everything, everything I know, everyone I know, I'll tell you everything!!!"

It took some time to calm him down and slightly reduce the intensity of his hysteria, as his natural dislike of communication in general and his persistent hostility towards the object of communication had an impact, but he managed it. And once he had managed that, he began to do what was highly recommended to any novice diver when encountering the local natives of the Broken World: to lie loudly, powerfully, and completely shamelessly, to pull the wool over their eyes, to drive out demons, and to openly spout nonsense.

"...that's how it turned out, my friend. It was completely stupid. I was ready to talk, but your comrades immediately attacked me." Yeah, they would have attacked me if they had managed to do it first, and Ilya hadn't attacked from ambush. "Unlike that old man you cut up, I don't give a damn about you, I'm a stranger here and have nothing to share with you. So answer my questions and we'll see what happens next. After all, I could use someone who knows the local, um, let's say, concepts. Well, to know who to talk to, who to communicate with, and who to ask, you understand?"

It's bullshit, of course, but not a complete lie, as it might seem at first glance. Of course, Ilya had no intention of keeping this freak with him or even letting him live. Some other diver with a loose tongue or the right talents might have tried. He would have tried, choosing the class of Snowwalker, to turn this scum into a doggedly loyal servant, but a simple obsessed one, who has no means of ensuring obedience and control, this shit will give him up as soon as he reaches the nearest town. First, of course, bring Ilya there and sell him to the south. Of course, being a good psychologist and a non-disgusting individual, one could really bond with this individual, go and bow down to Pahom the Executioner, and the leader of the whole gang.

Replace the slain Warlock who specialized in necromancy. He will most likely be welcomed with open arms. They could also hand him over or sell him, or even try to kill him, but that's not a certainty, as it depends very much on the cards that are played. Because the fool, who is desperately hoping to survive and has calmed down noticeably, believes him. After all, Ilya says things that not only want to be believed, but can be believed! Indeed, why would a stranger-cannibal get involved with the city dwellers, the aristocracy, the Crown's troops, or the Special Office, when there are those very bandits? Who cares about cannibalism in principle, if they won't eat their own, if they are already outside the law and therefore won't look askance at the ‘forbidden’ class, if they really need fighting power and a good scout, especially now, after the death of Bald?

Yes, everyone really called him Baldie.

Eralius the Bald, this name and nickname were indicated even in his Warlock patent issued by the High Athenatum, Faculty of Bone Paths. Well, if the patent is not a fake, but he was too much like his patent, and not just a random Blessed One, then at least some training was evident. And there was also a great resentment towards life, because of which he did not settle down in a warm place with everything ready, but wandered through the rocky wasteland in the company of thugs. However, they were elite thugs, performing some very delicate tasks for someone important. The prisoner himself knew nothing about this ‘important person,’ but intuitively guessed, because they all clearly had very reliable cover, the leaders knew when the road workers would raid, when the necessary caravan would pass, and when it was safe to stay in their lair.

And yes, they did not destroy all caravans, sometimes attacking groups of migrants who were completely useless in terms of loot, and sometimes passing up very lucrative targets. And the composition of their group was also diverse and unusual. It wasn't just the three gifted ones — all of them were experienced, skilled fighters who knew discipline and weren't talkative, and they weren't locals, except for the guides. And they were smart. Razz, for example, knew perfectly well who the divers were, because he was educated, attended liturgies in churches where divers were mentioned, and could read and write, even knowing one of the dead languages in which the texts of the Passat Bringer's Bibles were written. It was to this Dead One the robber himself prayed very fervently, regularly, and every evening at sunset.

The interrogation continued, and the bastard relaxed more and more, gradually beginning to believe that he would actually survive. Ilya may have been interrogating a future corpse for the first time, but he knew the theory inside out, passing his exams at London University on his first attempt, even under Bronislav Valediktovich Yanin. This individual, despite being a guest specialist and not a Brit, knew his stuff well, hammering the science into young and not-so-young minds, and he pressed so hard that sometimes it seemed better if he had actually hit them. However, as with such an epic teacher and his exams, the whole point of interrogation is how exactly to conduct it and what to ask, what to press on, and what to be interested in.

Ilya asked about the division of spoils, how exactly their gang hid from the crown's searchers, who to negotiate with, and what to offer to become one of them. It is quite possible that the fool lied to him about this, deliberately telling him the sweetest fairy tale about brotherhood in arms, because the picture he painted was too smooth. Ilya pretended to believe him, but asked about what really interested the novice diver in passing, often even deliberately interrupting and turning the conversation to details that were more ‘interesting’ to him. The result was a picture in which the captive answered Ilya's questions without any ulterior motives or attempts to lie, without even understanding what exactly interested the diver.

The conversation lasted about three hours. The earthling gave his interlocutor something to drink and even untied his fingers, but not his whole hand, out of caution, for the time being, as you should understand. Razz was practically not afraid anymore, or rather, he was afraid, but in a controlled way, and the truth serum he had taken in an alchemical manner had stopped working. Again, the concussion he had received from Ilya's blow was also subsiding, because he had to pour half a bottle of potion labelled ‘Zinger’ into the patient. However, he suspected that this mixture did not heal, but acted as a stimulant, because thug was imperceptibly getting worse, his lips were turning pale, his face was turning green — all signs of intoxication that the body had already noticed, but the consciousness had not yet.

"So, okay, I understand about the trophies, but now I have a couple more questions about my personal responsibilities..." Formally, such questions should be addressed not to a captive bull, but to one of the commanders, but Razz was in no hurry to dissuade Ilya, and Ilya pretended not to realise his real role, which did not include making such promises on behalf of the commanders, because it was not his gang and the other fighters did not obey him. "Good night, asshole."

The earthling finished his sentence after driving another femur bone straight into the temple of the bastard who hadn't even seen the blow coming, granting him a completely undeserved quick and painless death. Part of him wanted to kill the bastard slowly and painfully, in memory of the Twin, of those who had been close to him, of all those whose bones lay in the depths of the rooms carved into the rock. This part wanted to torment, tear apart, slowly and piece by piece eat him alive, enjoying the torment and pleas, and what was most unpleasant was that this desire did not belong entirely to Wendigo alone, it partly concerned Ilya himself. And yet he denied himself such entertainment — death equalizes everyone, erases and liberates everyone, sending them into oblivion.

The bastard deserved to die, and Ilya gave him death, making sure that this piece of shit would not bring grief and pain to anyone else, unless, of course, he rose as a walking corpse or some other creature. All this torture, torment, and other retribution is, of course, very pleasant for the avenger himself, making him feel superior to others, feel like justice itself, the embodiment of retribution on earth. But they are needed precisely by the avenger, and not by anyone else, and therefore, Ilya refused this decision, did not torment or even frighten the murdered and deceived bastard before his death. Deceived, first of all, because the freak himself wanted to be deceived, wanted to believe in the best.

"Let the earth be nails and concrete for you." He summed up his thoughts, standing up, dusting himself off, and finally discarding his torn pants, remaining in his birthday suit, since there were no witnesses left. "I'm not going to bury you anyway, it's too much honor."
T.N.

There was water at the outpost, even if it had to be heated using an extinguished stove, which had to be lit manually, almost causing a fire in the process. A system of primitive amulets absorbed the smoke, preventing them from being exposed by a column of smoke, and the water was taken from a well hidden in the rock. The well was created by magic, most likely by classic stone shaping or rock alteration, but the water in it was clean and fresh. Fuel was also found, in the form of compressed briquettes made of shavings, dry grass, and, apparently, dung with some cheap alchemy. But it burned long and hot. Enough to fill a barrel with water and soak to his heart's content, and then wash the most suitable clothes from the set he had managed to gather from the corpses.

The hair on his head was matted into a hopeless clump of dirt and filth, so he had to cut it all off without mercy, shredding the strands by hand, trusting his eye. The same eye helped him use a very old, almost antique, dangerous razor and a piece of primitive soap made from someone's fat. Ilya sincerely hoped that the fat was not human, but he would not have risked betting a large sum of money on it. The process of washing and shaving revealed not only the pale skin hidden under a layer of old dirt, but also the face of the Twin. This face looked frighteningly familiar, like Ilya's own, only very emaciated and tired, as if he had been starving for a long time and had not slept properly for even longer.

"Life was trashing you, my friend, for sure." The mirror in the building was made of polished copper, and the image it reflected was not of the highest quality, but that was a good thing, because seeing such a face would spoil even a vendigo's appetite for longer than five minutes. You should stop working such long hours and take care of your health.

The preparations were unhurried. Ilya had no intention of taking all the valuables he could carry, especially considering that thugs and the others had already taken everything of value. From Razz's interrogation, it was roughly clear where to go and what to expect from those around them, especially with regard to the lone diver. To be fair, Razz was so knowledgeable because he was deeply religious. Yes, he donated a quarter of his loot to the temple. That's why he knew about the phenomenon of evil, cursed souls that find a body and then commit all sorts of atrocities. And that was only because Ilya had personally introduced himself to him and explained who he was. An ordinary peasant would most likely not even know about divers, remembering seven prayers and nine invocations by heart. Although, okay, at most a literate peasant would know all seven or nine, and even that is not a fact.

In any case, Ilya had no intention of revealing his true nature or standing out in any way, and he wasn't worried about it yet, as it was too early to worry. Right now, he was preoccupied with the most mundane of concerns — there was still plenty of food left at the outpost, enough for the entire group that remained there, and even enough for the journey to catch up with the main detachment. And so, chewing on biscuits and dried meat, washing it down with herbal tea and dipping crackers in some kind of berry jam, Ilya wonders whether he is an idiot or actually smart. Thinking about trying to catch up with the main group and arrange the Silence of the Lambs for them, to put it mildly, indicates a low intelligence quotient.

He decided that even though he was an idiot, he was smart, and so he would postpone the silence of the lambs until a more suitable occasion, when he would be sure that he could at least escape from a battle with a couple of pumped-up gifted fighters and a crowd of skilled swordsmen.

The food tasted good, and it wasn't even bland. Ilya could have enjoyed some decent jam. The other dishes weren't worth mentioning. But he didn't feel full. His body and soul craved human flesh, craved to devour the corpses he had personally arranged with his own hands. They could crave it, but who would give it to them, right? So the earthling simply dragged all the corpses and even pieces of Baldie into one storeroom, and also prepared a high-quality combustible mixture, which he found in that very storeroom. If he was going to leave, he would do so with fire, using fire to cleanse all traces of his presence here. The bodies would not burn; there was not enough fuel, but the flames would damage the traces, both physical and aural, if anyone tried to read them.

He left slowly, searching all the rooms several times and even finding a couple of hiding places, one of which was empty, while the other contained a single hidden boot. A woman's boot. With a high heel. There was clearly some old and interesting story behind it, but there was no one to ask, even if he hadn't killed everyone. The boot was so worn out that it was falling apart and had obviously been lying in that hiding place since the day the outpost was built. He collected silver and copper from the simple, ungifted people. There wasn't much of it, but that depended on whose standards you used. The copper leaves of various denominations alone would be enough to buy a decent house in the village, if the Twin's memory served him right, and there were also worn and filed-down, but still genuine silver petals, which the commoners no longer used for payment. Again, many types of goods cannot be sold even for a mountain of copper, let alone a handful of it.

The bald magician turned out to be more useful, leaving behind a purse stuffed with silver, as well as a few gold coins, flowers, according to local tradition. Flowers, precisely because they are of a smaller denomination, as opposed to larger and heavier blossoms. Showering someone with flowers or petals here symbolizes the earthly equivalent of “gilding,” yes. Or pouring molten precious metal down their throat. It was one of the punishments for nobles, which formally did not spill their noble blood, but applied to individuals who had distinguished themselves before the crown. However, looking at these brand-new and clean coins, which most likely constituted, if not the cash reserves of this part of the detachment, then an untouchable reserve for a rainy day, Ilya realized that it would be difficult to spend or otherwise legalize this little treasure.

The rest of the trophies from Baldhead were, to put it mildly, annoying. He had enough of the prepared-for-payment but powerless human parts, bones, ashes, and tendons to withstand a small siege, no less. There were also several sinister-looking sheets of parchment, covered with neat handwriting and reeking of Death, which made Wendigo's sensitive nose twitch and made him want to sneeze. A useful little thing, analogous to the magic scrolls from earthly virtual games. Imbue it with magic and cast the ritual depicted on it until the text burns out along with the parchment.

The problem is that these scrolls will only work for the person who made them, or someone else who is more skilled in necromancy, not necessarily even a warlock. After roughly assessing the text written in one of the theurgical languages of the Broken, addressing the Ever-Coming in the aspect of the Young Bride, Ilya was glad that the enemy had not managed to grab these scrolls for the battle.

It's not because we forgot, it's just that these scrolls aren't ready yet. They need to soak a bit longer in water soaked with death, which you can't call dead water, so as not to cause a fuss among all the alchemists within a thousand kilometers. It's ersatz, yes, but it was enough for this kind of craft. It's not that Ilya is so savvy, although he is savvy, it was indicated in Bald's diaries, notes, and recipes. In principle, these items and preparations could have been sold to someone knowledgeable, but Ilya didn't know anyone like that, and by the time he managed to find such individuals and agree on a price with them, the material would have long since disappeared. Several amulets were also tied to blood and class, except for the one that granted night vision. His earthling took it with him, along with a small belt plate that allowed him to somehow detect poisonous impurities in food. Someone didn't trust his subordinates and colleagues very much. As well as a knife.

Oh yes, the damn fire knife.

He didn't dare use it yet, even though the artifact seemed typical and detailed instructions on how to use it had been posted on the Forum back in the old days. It just seemed a bit reckless to activate the dagger indoors, risking burning even the stuff he wanted to take with him. The blade glinted dully with the reddish blood copper it was made of. The handle, made from someone's bone, insulated the copper well, preventing the metal from burning his palm. It was a very useful thing, especially considering the predominantly ice magic in his arsenal and the fact that no one would expect Wendigo to use a fire artifact. However, this contraption must consume a lot of magic, and using all the functions of the “dagger of fire lines,” as Bald called this trophy toy in his diary, was only possible if one knew how to handle amulets and artifacts.

Baldy possessed these skills, as did the mage from the caravan guard who was killed from behind. A normal caravan with its own Fire Starter, not just a bunch of incompetents. But Ilya, alas, did not. The Baldy also had a spare set of clothes made of good fabric, not the rags made of human skin that he wore when there were no road guards or civilization nearby. Alas, the fabric was too good, and Ilya did not hope to pass for an aristocrat or a gifted person, so he had to carefully fold the suit that fit him well into one of the bags. He dressed himself in high-quality but simpler clothes that did not look too expensive and were quite warm, although he did not care about the cold. Most of the luggage consisted of a supply of provisions, with which Ilya hoped to slightly correct his unnatural thinness, which made him stand out too much in the crowd.

The flash of the red-hot dagger, the line of flame and heat that burst from its tip, consuming nearly a third of the total reserve, the ignited fuel and remnants of firewood, the combustible mixture, and all the fabric available to the earthling. The flames hid the traces of the battle between humans and the creature they had spawned, leaving only thick smoke and soot. He did not wait for the fire to end, hastily leaving the outpost and moving southwest, guided by the sun that had just begun to set. Dull gray in the gray snowy sky, the local sun was not warming up to ten out of ten, but it was able to illuminate the path. After about three hours of leisurely jogging, Ilya threw a human bone, covered with patterns and crushed in his fist, into a snowdrift. No matter how memorable and beautiful this little thing was, it was very sinister material, and the image was revealing. He didn't need to carry such compromising evidence with him, or someone might ask questions.

Behind, the birthplace of the true manifestation of the Twin in this world was burning out, becoming a common grave for someone.

Somewhere west of Ilya's current route, a group of elite bandits on special assignments was moving along secret paths between rock formations, no longer waiting for their slightly delayed accomplices.

And ahead lay a continuous rocky wasteland covered with fine snow, calling its new child into its cold, icy embrace.

* * *

The most primitive creatures of the Broken world were considered to be mutated animals, ordinary beasts that had seized power from one source or another, becoming partially or completely magical. Yes, among them there were sometimes kings and queens of beasts, capable of devouring a group of four, and making a group of five sweat profusely, and sometimes there were animals that ate the previous ones, like cats eating mice. But on average, according to repeatedly verified statistics, it is the animal creatures that are the weakest and most worthless, the most vulnerable and lacking any special tricks up their sleeves. They don't have sleeves either, of course.

Basically, their magical abilities simply helped to enhance their existing properties – strength, durability, and regeneration. If there is poison, it becomes stronger, all kinds of roaring and howling sounds are developed, and some even gain remote attack abilities, such as the ability to throw their own spikes. In general, the enemy is not safe anywhere, but, in essence, predictable and easy. Ninety percent of the beasts were the same beasts, only stronger and more vicious than usual, often by orders of magnitude. Even the less gifted locals could handle such creatures, and the locals and newcomers whom the Mechanism had gifted hunted such creatures themselves. It was easy prey, as far as such prey could be easy!

It is another matter that it is better to hunt in a group, with those you trust to have your back and support you. Also, one must not forget the extremely unpleasant habit of wild animals to move around in groups rather than alone. As a result, among novice divers who die from the fangs, paws, and other limbs of creatures, more than half perish from beasts. The zoo can be deceptively simple, but the local mobs are not from a virtual simulation. They are intelligent, albeit with animal intelligence. And that intelligence is enhanced by magical gifts. They are cautious and do not rush into hopeless battles. They know how to lure their prey, have a rudimentary understanding of tactics, and use all kinds of ambushes and pack work.

That's why hunting animals is not the easiest task, and going alone through lands occupied by creatures, being nothing more than a piece of fresh meat to them, is a task with an asterisk, or even two. Ilya prepared himself for problems and even mentally resigned himself to the fact that he might lose his first spare life. But everything turned out to be much easier. His affinity with nature, combined with his appearance and knowledge of the curse, simply drove the weak beasts away from his path. And the strong ones did not risk engaging with him, sensing that he was no more than a weak predator who had passed through their territory without claiming it as his own.

It also works with ordinary Wendigos, but much weaker, affecting at best the most ordinary beasts and domestic animals. Cattle and other horses will betray such a diver to the guards. Ilya, of course, had hopes and calculations for such an outcome, but no one could give him a guarantee. Still, gathering such a set of talents at the first level without going crazy within a day is, to put it mildly, a non-trivial result. He had no examples, or rather, there could have been, but he couldn't say for sure. It wasn't a topic he had studied in great detail. So he had to correlate his knowledge of the second levels of his native class, as well as make a very rough calculation of the formula for amplifying the aura of danger that his Twin emitted into the surrounding space.

It turned out well, even excellently. A pack of snow wolves, ordinary but led by a leader, encountered him in the snow-covered rocks, looked at him, and left peacefully before things turned ugly. Another creature, originally a snow caracal, betrayed by its characteristically elongated body shape, also did not take any chances and quickly ran away. And so Ilya walked, at a brisk pace, unaware of physical fatigue and practically forgetting the cold, if you don't count the Cald inside, overcoming kilometer after kilometer. He only stopped at night, most often occupying some burrow or other shelter, not lighting a fire, feeding on the supplies he had brought with him, without feeling satiated. He did not feel satiated, but his physical emaciation gradually disappeared, and he doesn't care about permanent Hunger thanks to his self-control.

As a result, according to rough estimates, since Ilya did not have a smart bracelet on his wrist, he covered about fifty kilometers per day. And that was with many kilograms of cargo and very changeable weather! The snow was falling lightly, not even covering the rocks and ground completely, but the wind was so strong that it could knock an ordinary person off their feet and prevent them from getting up. The wind swept away the tracks in the shallow snow, simply blowing all the snow back into the sky. In principle, it is possible to cover such a distance in a day, especially if you march quickly, but to maintain such a pace for a week and a half is, you know, quite an impressive result.

Ilya moved forward, making an arc through uninhabited territories and advancing, as he assumed, parallel to one of the trade routes. Of course, the path was not smooth, and he had to regularly turn aside, bypassing rocks or gorges inconvenient for passage with cargo. That is why fifty kilometers on his smart bracelet turned into twenty-five or thirty in a straight line, but the fact itself! He tried to go deeper into the lands of the former rebellious duchy. There, the royal authority was weaker, and there were many, many refugees whom no one particularly needed. It was easy to get lost, especially if you strayed far from the place where the Twin had lived and the area where strange bandits operated, who were more like a terrorist group targeting someone's competitors. So Ilya walked and walked, gradually testing his abilities and regaining the appearance of a normal person, rather than a fugitive from a concentration camp.

For example, he hunted a couple of times, killing a couple of very large deer with his bare hands, one of which seemed to be on the verge of becoming a creature. In both cases, following the instincts of an animal fighting style, he attacked from a blind spot and broke the fragile deer's neck with the first blow. Those same instincts demanded that he eat, eat raw and still warm, stuffing himself with meat and entrails, since hardly any helminth in the Wendigo's body would be able to take hold. Unless this helminth itself is a strong and highly specialized creature, but even then, heat treatment may not necessarily help. Be that as it may, Ilya refused to eat like an animal, so he roasted both carcasses on a fire made from materials gathered near the campsite. Although more likely, he baked them in the coals, fervently regretting that the blade of his new knife was too narrow and it would not be possible to fry a steak directly on it.

He had to leave most of the meat behind, but he carefully cleaned the horns and some of the largest bones of meat using the same set of sharp picks that he had adapted for his craft as a carver. He carried them with him, practicing little by little, creating practically useless trinkets, but trying to make them effective as a whole. Thus, from two shoulder blades and fragments of horns, he managed to make a full-fledged marker. The magical power in the correctly arranged bones changed slightly, resonating and creating a kind of concealment field, making it somewhat difficult to find the Wendigo's lair. The protection was fragmentary and did not amount to a full-fledged ritual or skill; it simply increased the chance of remaining unnoticed rather than guaranteeing a specific effect.

Such is the difference between abilities and skills: the former always work, while the latter can always fail, especially if you put in minimal effort. Off the top of his head, the diver would guess a two or three percent increase in stealth, and not in general, but specifically in the chance of discovering a lair without using specific abilities. For so much effort, a laughable effect. Ilya didn't even bother to take these bones with him, barbarically crushing them right there, gathering himself from the camp, and setting off on his journey. The power of this talent unfolds slowly, not for nothing does it have four divisions, but does he care if the talent itself was taken for decorative and commercial purposes?

Yep, he doesn't care.

And the Mechanism had already noted the first creation of a conditionally working prototype of magical amulets with its own attention. And this attention had already readily repaid all the efforts that Ilya had gone through with the extraction and processing of these cursed bones. Washing your hands of blood in an icy stream, first breaking the ice with your fists to get to the water, is a pleasure for a connoisseur, and a very perverted one at that. But the reward is such that even someone without protection from the cold would agree to bathe in that stream, let alone wash their hands.

Tap.

Another drop of scarlet gold trickled down the bleached skull, slightly enlarging the puddle at the bottom of the stone bowl, while the diver seriously considered which talent to improve upon reaching ten units of essence. He didn't even think about investing that essence in his level. With his blessing, he needed to seize the moment and pump all his talents to the maximum, and only then make a dash for it. He wasn't sure; it was too complicated math, and without computing programs and simulation neural networks, he couldn't guarantee it. But, according to preliminary estimates, it seemed to him that, having invested in all his talents to the maximum, even at the first level, he would be able to match the combat power of those who had moved on to the second.

Not to stab someone in the back, not to trap them, not to take advantage of circumstances, not to overwhelm them with a crowd, but to fight them face to face in direct combat and defeat them.

Well, or at least not lose.

It is worth clarifying: it is desirable to compare yourself with someone who has just transitioned and has not yet mastered this level, preferably not even an Earthling, with their ability to assemble builds. Moreover, the build should not be purely combat-oriented, but should also belong to one of the classes against which Wendigo will be an effective counter. Nevertheless, such an opportunity means a lot. Even among Earthlings, there are very few who are capable of pwn within their level plus one. A little more than the fingers on his hands, but not by much. They exist, albeit mainly in the confrontation between the first and second levels, but that's still quite a lot! Again, who wouldn't want to repeat the feat of Karamelkin, Ekhidna, Ernest Wellington, or other outstanding personalities known for killing enemy fives and fours without being one themselves?

Everyone who wants to become a normal diver knows the correct answer on Earth — no one wants to, damn it. Because the very fact of confronting a local, an outsider, or a creature of a higher level means one simple truth: you screwed up somewhere, you messed up badly, and now you're going to reap the fruits of your mistakes. If you clean up, you'll become a hero of the Forum, like the guys mentioned above, and if not, you'll just add to the list of those who met an opponent beyond their level and stupidly died. It's just that no one makes documentaries about the latter, and there are no debates on the Forum in their name, since such a loss is a natural routine the Forum is full of.

Ilya did not allow himself to become arrogant, fully aware that he had not yet fully developed his talents, realizing that although he was now stronger than the typical novice diver, this strength was not enough to make him invulnerable. It just slightly increased his chances of survival, and no increase in chances would help if he thought himself an immortal genius and died, as is fitting for completely mortal idiots. The only difference was that he would have to die more than once. It's no wonder that Earthlings joke that spare lives are the diver's main teachers. After the first death, all the nonsense is knocked out of еру head at once, еру brain kicks in immediately, everyone starts looking for options and asking for help, and in general, manages to act more effectively.

If it weren't for the high price of the essence and the difficulty of obtaining it, it would be extremely difficult to abandon the idea of pedagogical killings of particularly stupid divers, who can drag the whole group or community down with their impenetrable stupidity. Although, to be honest, this is often what happens to extremely mentally gifted noobs, and then they either come to their senses, die, or are killed so that they don't spoil the lives of those around them. Or the noob will remember, keep quiet, wait, and then betray the entire community to the natives, an attacking horde of creatures, or a single creature that is extremely powerful. Anything can happen, including this.

Experienced divers say that anything can happen in Broken.

And there is definitely a place here for battles for your life, which you cannot avoid, because one of the sides is bent on conflict. This happened to Ilya, on the thirteenth, fucking happy day of his long walk. He didn't sense his enemy in advance, but in time, banally hearing a barely discernible rustle somewhere to his left and behind him with his heightened senses, and then beginning to react. All adventures in Broken, as in real life, are mostly boring routine, interspersed with isolated episodes of mortal danger and flashes of ultra-violence. That is why concentration, focus on your surroundings, and the ability to instantly break out of routine mode and start fighting for your life are so important.

Or take someone else's.

Ilya did not see what exactly caused the noise, but he could not miss an ordinary animal hiding in some crevice, which meant that the creature had successfully escaped his senses and special vision. He did not have time to think it over, did not have time to calculate a plan of further action, but simply began to act according to the patterns he had learned on Earth. These were further enhanced by attributes, talents, and constant pressure from danger. Without thinking about how it looked or why, the earthling rushed to the side, throwing off his now considerably lighter backpack as he ran. It wasn't a somersault, but rather an attempt to spread himself out on the rock, moving on all fours, and he succeeded, without even touching his shoes, although they tried to grab his leg, pulling the victim closer and depriving him of maneuverability.

Without turning around, the diver runs up a low rock, no higher than two feet above his height, and only when he reaches the top does he turn around and take up a position convenient for escape or defence. What he saw did not please him, for he was attacked by a strange mixture of a bear, a wolf, and something lizard-like, with a striking feature of natural colouring: it was not covered with fur, but with hard shields that looked like bone, but were in fact more like stone. Optical camouflage, some form of noise suppression of breathing and movements, as well as full-fledged magical disguise, which hid the enemy's heart from Wendigo's eyes, complemented the set of concealment abilities. But judging by its size, the creature was not only good at camouflage; it had the traits of a predator that would not back down in battle, fighting to claim its kill.

Ilya couldn't help but laugh: just recently, he had been thinking at length about how beasts are usually extremely straightforward, simple, and primitive, and here he had encountered one of the few creatures that deviated from the stated paradigm. However, it didn't deviate much. Yes, the combination of abilities was extremely unpleasant, and Ilya was saved from his first death in the new world by the pebbles that crunched during the rush, but nothing more. And it's not a fact that the creature would have killed him, because he doesn't take off his Hide protection at all these days, he would have repelled the first blow, and then he could have taken on a different appearance or frozen the creature to death. The creature is good, but its abilities are more dangerous with the right combination, multiplied by speed and mass, and the same Warlock was more dangerous and powerful.

"You're not going to leave me alone, are you?" He asks lazily, smiling his most unpleasant grin, and begins to remove his clothes, layer by layer. "It's your choice."

Throughout the sudden striptease, he keeps his eyes fixed on the creature, which could easily jump and reach the top of the cliff. To the feet of Ilya standing at the top, for sure. In size, this thing was like a bear, but it was more elongated, like some kind of lizard. Its armour of rocky scales, each about the size of a third of a palm, looked strong, but it didn't restrict the creature's movements, which were lazy and smooth, instantly putting Ilya in a serious mood. Ilya was facing a creature that was a natural-born killer, and he had to prove that a diver was an even more natural-born killer. The magical beast's behaviour did not suggest hunger but rather intention, thirst, and desire, which drove the creature forward.

It was under the impact of acceleration, consider it a high!

Sometimes, when a beast creature, which is considered the most peaceful of all types of creatures, hunts more out of necessity, it gains particularly powerful potential. After devouring something, absorbing a stray fluctuation, or bathing in a magical spring, the creature becomes cramped in its existing body. It strives to develop itself, become stronger, and accumulate more essence, using its distorted analogue of the Mechanism. Such creatures begin to kill not for food, eat not for satiety, and destroy for the sake of destruction. They grow in strength, becoming more and more powerful, until they calm down or exhaust their potential, finding themselves in a body that matches their skills and power. Or until they die at someone's hands or claws, which happens even more often.

The creature standing before him was already quite experienced, having mastered its new powers, frozen a few steps away from breaking through to the second level. It had undoubtedly instinctively invested all its strength and essence into the Vessel of Eternity, or rather, its analogue for creatures, and had spent only as much as necessary on developing its talents. It was not a colossus with feet of clay, but a tin soldier with matchsticks for legs, by God. The same Baldie, if he had not died from the first sudden attack, would have disembowelled this shit even faster than Ilya himself dealt with Baldie. Especially with his dagger and in a prepared position.

The beast sensed the danger of its enemy, the spirit of the hungry offspring of winter and snow, and instinctively sensed and understood the danger of such a battle. But the beast also sensed his strength, and therefore deliberately sought a way to devour that strength, increasing its own. In such a situation, there was no peaceful solution. Even if Ilya now frightened the creature with his howl, it would simply retreat and continue its pursuit. It would not find any normal prey in the area that would give it a little more strength. Probably because it had already devoured all the normal animals in its hunting grounds.

The earthling had no idea how intelligent the beast was, but he got the feeling that the creature was watching him solely because it didn't want to spit out the fabric and dirty its belt with patches. And now this funny piece of meat was removing its tasteless skin — why interfere? Ilya's smile became even more unpleasant, distorting his face, dividing it in two, as if his bones and cartilage had shifted slightly. The beast roared quietly and soulfully, or rather exhaled loudly, its stubby tail twitching imperceptibly, but its posture did not change. Instead, its body tensed, preparing to react and attack, to rush into battle and knock down its nimble prey with one sharp blow. And the prey did not disappoint, throwing aside the cleaver clenched in its free hand, which the beast, already clearly devouring its two-legged prey, was a little afraid of.

No, of course, he could have tried attacking with his trophy fire dagger, but Ilya didn't have the right talent, so in his hands, this contraption was a third weaker than in Baldie's hands. And it consumed three hundred percent of the previous owner's reserves. At this rate, he could either break the toy or be left with an empty reserve, without ever hitting the target, which clearly had no intention of standing still. After all, to work properly with amulets and artefacts, you need at least some basic knowledge, and his only knowledge was that of a Carver, and even that was only in the future.

Distant.

Very.

The other options, such as a half-disassembled light ballista snatched from the bandits' arsenal, were ruled out by default. Even though it was high-quality, a crossbow designed to be used against people would not even knock out the eye of a creature reinforced with stone, and he would still need to retrieve the item from the discarded backpack, assemble it, and take aim. There were also two high-quality darts, taken for larger game, but without transforming into another form, Ilya would not be able to throw them hard enough to pierce the stone scales, even if they remained in the same backpack. And if he transformed into another form, why would he need these darts at all? In the end, as paradoxical as it may seem, it was precisely his weapons that would be a hindrance in the fight against this crap, and even a way to destroy the weapons he had.

After assessing the creature once again with his critical gaze and passive talent for observation, he devised a plan of action and concluded that this was a case where close combat was not only more promising but also safer. No, he could still try to strike the eye with a dart... It was very small, low-set, hidden behind a powerful brow ridge, and covered by a magically reinforced eyelid. He wasn't that accurate, especially considering the beast's agility, which was probably familiar with the concept of throwing weapons and would not want to play the target.

The armoured thing jerked, preparing to intercept the aggressive man when he made the mistake of trying to attack. And the man? The man simply jumped off the opposite side of the rock and immediately ran away. This creature does not growl; it seems to dislike making any sounds at all, so only hoarse breathing and the rustling of pebbles and other debris can be heard behind it. And not under the creature's paws, but behind it, because everything around it is muffled by a veil of silence. It's a truly remarkable specimen, worthy of being entered into the Scarlet Book. That is, damn it, into the Red, Red Book! The Scarlet Book is an artefact-grimoire in the possession of the Citadel, containing spells of bloody magic that can be activated from its pages, while the Red Book is a list of endangered or near-extinct animal species under the protection of the Assembly.

He always confuses these two terms.

Humans, or rather those who are only human on Earth, move on four limbs, crouching low, manoeuvring and constantly changing direction as they run. The stone beast is faster in a straight line, but worse at manoeuvring; its mass is decisive, and even the convenient arrangement of its limbs for compensating for inertia does not change this factor. Ilya does not even try to use his howl. The protection of unnatural silence will allow him to weaken or ignore the talent at the first rank of development. Instead of howling, he waits for the right moment to jump aside and breathe a stream of icy magic into the creature's face, trying to hit the enemy as it inhales so that its lungs are frozen, not just its eyes and nose.

The enemy not only slowed down but also stumbled, began to lean to one side, opening itself up to attack, which Wendigo did not hesitate to deliver, nearly breaking his fist on the creature's rocky side. He managed to jump back and mentally comment on the creature's armour, but the earthling did not like how close the limb that struck him in the back had come. The rest of the fight resembled a game of cat and mouse, in which Ilya gradually used up a third of his reserves, slowing the creature down considerably and partially blinding it. Yes, blinding it, with very characteristic movements, uncertainty in them, and an extensive blind spot, making it easier to avoid the creature's increasingly awkward attacks. Alas, this cannot be called a victory, or even close to one. The enemy is simply indecently resilient and armoured, quite slow, but there is nothing to break through it with.

Of course, he could have tried to invest most of his remaining reserves in an Ice Breath and hope that afterwards he would be able to finish off the now completely blinded and weakened abomination. But it was much more likely that he would simply be left without most of his reserves against the still dangerous creature. It was not possible to end the fight beautifully with minimal effort, but he did not count on that from the start; otherwise, he would not have taken off his clothes. Feeling like some kind of combat stripper-exhibitionist from outer space, he exhales heavily, then turns and runs away before the creature comes to its senses. He had gained enough time to find another rock, higher than the last one, quickly jump onto it, and turn around to face the beast that had just begun its pursuit.

"Come here, you little shit, I'll show you who's boss here and who walked through the wrong door." There was no particular malice in his words, nor in Ilya himself, as the battle had been tough but not dangerous so far. "And you definitely don't have three hundred eurocredits!"

By the end of the sentence, he is already shouting, and then immediately switches to a soul-wrenching howl, as the human body once again takes on the Form of a Wendigo. The calculation proved to be correct; the beast did not even have time to approach, as Ilya, having already completed his transformation, moved toward it in one mighty leap. Still, the first division of this talent will need to be improved first, and in the direction of facilitating the transition between forms, because he doesn't care about pain, and with his Trait, he can endure even more. But here's the thing! Time that must be found in battle, and without cover, becoming vulnerable at the moment of attack! To gain that time, he had to slow down and partially blind his opponent, which is unacceptable in a classic battle against multiple opponents.

Softly and deceptively slowly, the Wendigo landed from the cliff and walked towards the creature, stretching to its full height and straightening its back. From the side, it must have looked very cinematic. The genderless humanoid monster and the magical beast, which reached just above the waist of this figure, walked towards each other with the same goal. The sun shone dimly on the rocky plates of armour, as if polished by wind and water, and the Wendigo's blue eyes sparkled faintly as he examined his prey. Unfortunately, it is impossible to understand who is good and bad here, because neither side was particularly good. Ilya sincerely considered himself neither good nor bad in this scene, but simply the ugly.

Well, and at the same time, chaotic hungry, but this part of his essence was easily ignored by him.

One step, then another, closing in, gradually tensing up more and more. The beast couldn't take it anymore; it saw its strength and the path to even greater strength, it saw the weakness of its prey, which had already fled once. Yes, agile, yes, breathing an unpleasant cold, but nothing fatal. His eyes had partially regained their sight. The curse of the cold was being washed away by his strength. The frostbite of his lungs, though fraught with death, was something the beast simply could not comprehend, so he did not worry. Ilya froze in place and waited. The enemy was as fast as a predatory beast, but nothing more. The diver surpassed the enemy in everything except running in a straight line, even without using his Form, and once he put on his combat Form, the beast slowed down even more, ceasing to be dangerous, unless he was stupid enough to fall into its embrace.

The beast pressed itself even harder against the ground, sprawling out on the rock and snow, its shields began to flicker, taking on a camouflaged appearance, not so much hiding as blurring its silhouette to make it harder to dodge. A throw, even a jump worthy of a world champion in the long jump, directs the entire mass of the now semi-transparent body straight at the torso of the motionless vendigo. Instincts scream to rush forward, to strike, to entwine in the embrace of hunger, to tear and torment, to win through survivability and regeneration, fuelled by the flesh of the slain prey. Instincts habitually go to hell, recede into the background, and the mind chooses from those instincts the path that is necessary for the mind, not the beast.

Wendigo bends backwards and sideways, simultaneously twisting on his toes, clinging to the rock beneath his feet with sharp nails, orienting himself towards the barely discernible heart of his prey beneath the camouflage to avoid contact. And the massive carcass of the creature rushes past his body, exposing its unprotected side. A moment of vulnerability, because in mid-air, right in the middle of the jump, the beast is unable to change its flight path. Ilya takes full advantage of this moment: the blow from top to bottom hits the area between the creature's neck and collarbone, on the shoulder that protrudes slightly to the side. The power of the blow, delivered by hard, frozen flesh held together by even harder bones, was enough to send stone shields flying in all directions, and the creature's front paw bent and twisted awkwardly while still in flight. The flight was also corrected, and something that made a dull thud crashed to the sinful ground, not at all gracefully.

As if a sack of potatoes had landed, indeed.

Only this bag moved, waved its somewhat concussed head, and quickly got back on its feet, intending either to continue the fight or to run away from this completely dishonourable prey that did not want to feed it. Ilya never understood what exactly the creature intended to do, as he pounced on the wounded animal shortly after it landed, delivering blow after blow to its head and vulnerable stomach, breaking off its shields in industrial quantities. The rest of the fight took only a few seconds, ending in less than a minute, leaving several wide scratches on Ilya's hands. Even as it died, the beast resisted desperately, unwilling to die, and until the very end, it lunged at the body of the Wendigo that was killing it.

He didn't get through, but he almost managed to draw blood.

Tap.

Tap.

Scarlet-gold grains fall onto the bleached skull, trickling into the depths of the bowl, adding to the existing supply. Less than with Baldie, but he was much more dangerous; there, he had to take real risks, and now even these minor wounds were more due to stupidity, underestimating the beast's vitality. He should have retreated immediately after landing a series of blows, but he was afraid that it would start to run away and he would have to chase it, and then drag its carcass back. With two blows, he removed the skin and still scratched his forearms, even with his powerful combat appearance, but that couldn't be considered dangerous. In fact, after the failed ambush, this nonsense had no real chance of killing Ilya; it only wasted time and made him hesitate slightly.

A dark, almost black liquid did not flow from the wounds; only a few drops fell onto the fine snow, sprinkling it with cold blood, which you would not immediately say had flowed through living veins. The scratches had already begun to heal and tighten, attacking the mind even more fiercely with hunger, forcing him to eat and eat the captured beast. A cry of pain, agony, and malice towards the whole world, with which Ilya, unwilling to waste his strength, became human again, swept across the stone plain. Following him, the man, slightly frozen by the wind, ran to his abandoned belongings to bandage the remaining scratches on his human body and throw on at least some clothing. It was more for psychological than physical comfort, but walking naked in the middle of the winter wasteland was still somehow awkward.

The carcass of the slain beast had to be cut open with several available knives, expropriated from the robbers, and one of these knives ceased to be usable because it broke while attempting to pry open another shield. The diver ignored the urge to eat the flesh of intelligent beings and did not feel the desire to eat raw deer, purely for aesthetic reasons, not moral ones. But here before him was a magical beast, and a powerful one at that! Even among the non-cannibals and raw foodists among the average divers of Earth, it is considered acceptable to eat such nonsense with minimal preparation. Because without alchemist or craftsmanship skills, as well as without suitable enchanted containers for storage, all this precious meat will quickly become just meat, no longer very valuable.

With his talent, which even without additional skills in this area allows him to extract the essence from his prey quite well, it would be a sin to refuse such an opportunity. Instinct demanded that he sink his teeth into it and swallow without chewing, but Ilya, out of pure principle, cut it into pieces with a sharp knife and put the pieces into his mouth. The taste was surprisingly not disgusting, although it could not be called pleasant. The real taste, of course. Whereas for the creature sitting inside, this dish was sweeter than honey and more desirable than another portion of glitter for a slum socialite. It's good, after all, that his Trait clearly separates these two streams of sensations, preventing them from mixing.

Following the heart, he ate the liver and tongue, which turned out to be much more unpleasant for humans, but the essence of Wendigo demanded more and more. Back on Earth, the diver had read that polar bear liver could be poisonous due to the huge amount of vitamins it contained. These rules also applied in Broken, and the Essence-filled entrails of those creatures that could still be eaten, at least in theory, were best left untouched by the ordinary diver. But if there is an initial class that can chew on almost any entrails, even those that would tear a normal individual gifted with the Mechanism to shreds, it would be the Wendigo. Although even he would be better off not sniffing certain specimens, because even inhaling the vapours from the entrails of a fifth-level creature would be equivalent to Ilya taking a couple of litres of adrenaline intravenously.

In the earthly body, not in the Twin!

But this stuff isn't like that at all; it's totally harmless and only good for you. Although, okay, you could say it's a bit of a pain to have to wipe blood off your hands and face, which you'll get covered in anyway while eating. But that's hardly a big deal compared to the benefits he got from his diet.

Tap.

Tap.

And a little later, as if thinking for a moment, another one...

Tap.

A decent amount of scarlet gold had already gathered at the bottom of the bowl, making him feel proud of himself and his achievements, and anticipating the amount he could get for this Essence through the official converter. No, the fact was that there were twelve drops at the bottom of the ritual bowl, not just a puddle, but a decent amount filling one-tenth of the bowl. The skull lying in it is filled to the very edge of the teeth on the lower jaw, as if each drop actually contains much more than just a drop, spreading out in a whole handful of golden scarlet. No, it's logical, because the vessel can only hold a hundred drops, which will fill it to its maximum limit.

What is important is not the images in his mind, which form a unique inner altar for each person, but the fact that the bar for increasing talent from the first division to the second is ten units of Essence. And he has just crossed this threshold, and not just crossed it, but done so in his first dive cycle! Only those newbies who immediately found themselves in a combat zone, where they really had to kill someone all the time without a break, and then miraculously survived the dive, can boast of such a feat. Well, or at the Citadel, where they got pretty good at squeezing more Essence out of the Twin's actions, and there was never a shortage of creatures, because they flock to the Citadel like flies to honey or welfare recipients to the distribution of outdated brand-name equipment.

Question.

What exactly should the Essence be invested in?

The appearance is very powerful and has twice allowed him to win in battle against a truly strong opponent, but the transformation is too long and painful, leaving Ilya vulnerable for a few seconds. Ice Breath is extremely useful in battle, but it would benefit from greater accuracy and penetration, as well as the ability to concentrate the breath in a single point. Or the same eye? He needs reconnaissance and the ability to track ambushes. The now-dead beast could well have killed him if Ilya had not reacted; even his skin would not have helped if he had found himself in the strong embrace of a beast capable of withstanding the damage of an Ice Breath. In general, almost every one of his talents could be improved upon, and many truly valid and correct arguments could be found to support this. But all these arguments were shattered by one factor: he had almost reached his goal and was unlikely to encounter anything as dangerous in the next few days. The creature, killed in fair combat, had devoured the entire neighbourhood.

Very soon, Ilya will be going out to meet people, and in this important endeavour, he will need the only active skill without which it is impossible to go out to people. So he will improve his disguise, no other way. He specifically chose ‘Lurking Evil’ rather than ‘Silent Hunt,’ even though the latter has four divisions. This is because the talent he chose was not focused on stealth and invisibility for searching, scanning territory, or keen eyesight, but rather on social mimicry. He would have chosen something better than a three-point camouflage, but the other types of mimicry were even worse: ‘Mask of Devoured’ and ‘Eaten Skin’ had five and four points, respectively, but he didn't want to build his build on them.

If there are things that any pro-diver would do to save the Twin or some other equally important goal, but just for the sake of eating people, alive and still conscious, while they are being eaten, tried on, put on... Let's just say, there are ways to do that, but Ilya didn't see himself as a moralist from the Assembly, but as a clean-cut guy. With his bonuses and talent trio, even though most of his camouflage talents were only one or two divisions, he would be able to quickly develop them, reinforce them with some kind of amulet or something similar, and cope just as well. Although, to be honest, if it weren't for the fact that the masks of the devoured are not eternal and regular hunting is required to maintain them, he might have considered it. It is a convenient and high-quality talent.

Of course, he did not immediately begin to improve his skills. He did not reach his goal, and may need to drastically revise his plans. However, if nothing unusual or dangerous happens, he will still go out to people in the next day or three. Even if only for a short time, it would still be a way to legalise himself and gain some comfort. It is often recommended that lone divers spend their first cycles getting used to the environment, working at a simple job, even if it means being a labourer. This is simply to get rid of any remaining stiffness and to finally adapt to local realities. Only then will it be possible to think about looking for the rest of his ‘parents’ gang, and simply thin out the population of creatures or tates in the area.

The main thing is not to overdo it, because anything can happen, including a group of liquidators coming after your head. All bandits, especially strange, strong, well-equipped, and cunning ones, such as those Ilya met in the prehistory of the Twin, belong to someone, serve someone, and protect the interests of important masters. In short, it wasn't just paranoia that drove the earthling to flee to the other end of the Ridge from his birthplace. It's easier to be overly cautious, but start where they definitely won't look.

Because they can find it.

* * *

A short and very twisted tree grew in the middle of this wasteland, as if by some miracle. Ilya examined it carefully and even sniffed it, trying to find some kind of druidic blessing. He found nothing, absolutely nothing, only got a little dizzy before sitting under the tree, placing his noticeably emaciated baggage under his backside, closing his eyes, and turning to his altar. Again, images of the snow-covered tundra. Again, the frozen lake and the rock with the bowl, only now drops of essence flow up the walls of the bowl, spilling over the top, flowing strictly along one of the corners. Drops of scarlet gold fall on the rock, flowing along its stone surface, falling between small cracks and marks carved into the stone.

They are concentrated in one area, where the symbols form recognisable, albeit very schematic, images, like primitive drawings. These scenes carved in stone show a tribe of people, hunters and gatherers, living their lives, unaware that another figure has joined them. Almost the same, but different, slightly different, and therefore frightening even in such a careless depiction. The signs carved in stone follow one another, strangely fitting into one small section of the rock, but at the same time occupying a huge area, as if drawing themselves, like some kind of fractal from the world of rock art.

The images instantly become clearer, more advanced, understandable, different, profound, and comprehensible in the only way possible. A certain boundary, clear and distinct, has been crossed, and something in this rock has changed, retaining what was before and acquiring something new. The moment passed, consciousness returned to the body, assessing the much clearer and less psychedelic images of its own status. Or rather, one very specific part of that status, which Ilya had modified somewhat.

That's exactly how he modified it, just as he needed to.

At least, he managed to convince himself of this.

He skimmed through the message about the general enhancement of the skill; it was practically always the same, and Ilya knew the development tables for this particular skill. He didn't know them by heart, but he could make a rough tabulation; it wasn't that difficult if you understood the general scheme. The question was which improvement feature to choose: they were also more or less standardised for all masking or mimicking active skills, but still had certain individual characteristics depending on the other talents chosen. In his case, the first upgrade was obvious enough that he didn't have to choose — a rough plan formed in his head on its own. And with only three options to choose from, the choice was as simple as possible.

Lurking Evil: 2/3 (Essences invested: 0/20)

Even without magical gifts or special scanning abilities, an ordinary person standing next to a Wendigo will feel a certain nervousness, instinctively fearing what stands before them. The coldness and chill in the body, spirit, and essence of the cursed one are too strong to be contained, making itself known. Therefore, those Wendigos who try to live and hunt among their victims, in cities, villages, and settlements, always nearby and always apart, have learned to hide their nature, to hide their Hunger, just as a beast lurking in ambush hides itself. The unarmed eye of the ordinary person does not recognise a Wendigo, does not notice anything wrong or sinister. And even those who are somewhat more perceptive are quite capable of missing the lurking Evil, especially if they do not wait or search for it deliberately.

Overall effectiveness of the skill has been increased, while the cost of energy and concentration required to maintain camouflage has been slightly reduced.

Depth: Learning to hide its eternal Hungor and Cald from the outside world, the Wendigo covers itself with an increasingly dense veil, concealing its essence not only from ordinary people, but also from the watchful eyes of those accustomed to noticing the incomprehensible and dangerous. The depth of the masquerade of the lurking Wendigo increases, allowing it to hide even from full-fledged scanning spells, pretending to be what it once was long ago. Unless, of course, the knowledge or the knower proves too strong.

The other two options, ‘Immersion’ and ‘Addiction,’ are also good, but not for the plan of action chosen by Ilya. The first would make the skill masking in a more general sense of the word. People would not just see him as a person, but would not see him at all. Not bad, right, but such invisibility, or rather, a kind of distraction, turns out to be very weak, inferior to the normal talents of this branch. It is possible to scare simple beasts and the ungifted with the Mechanism, but it will scare them even without this enhancement, and a full-fledged enemy will ignore such camouflage or laugh at someone else's naivety.

The second of the discarded paths helped not only to hide his true nature, but also to use his other talents, including active ones, while Wendigo's true nature remained hidden. Now, under his disguise, Ilya will only have pure physical strength and passive abilities, such as his eye or reinforced flesh. This is not bad, of course, but with his chosen preference, he would have only part of his strength, but he could cast spells from under his disguise without causing the sinister feeling of a cannibal standing next to him. But surprise, surprise, his build is such that if he has to fight, he has all the skills of a cannibalistic, sinister creature, except for breath, and even then, Ilya's resistance to cold will give him away — that's enough for a smart person.

So, only Depth, there are no other options.

Yawning and stretching, Ilya quickly checked his knapsack, making sure he had left all his valuable items in a spare bag, which he had hidden in a secret place at the top of a cliff about five kilometres away. It was a very convenient crevice, but climbing into it without special skills and equipment would take some effort. He set off at a brisk pace, glancing at the sun sinking towards the horizon, before reaching a small hill. From there, he could clearly see a fairly large village of almost a hundred houses, which was practically a small town, considering the number of peasants living under one roof. There was a fairly high wall with a gate and a watchtower, a large inn, as well as two mills and what appeared to be a simple smithy.

It is a very rich settlement. It's all because one of the branches of the trade route passes through it. That is why traveller are not surprised here, especially if he have enough carved trinkets in their bags, not only made of bone, but also of wood, when he managed to find suitable material. He also wanted to take a dozen bone shields from a dead beast, but changed his mind. It is possible to lie about finding a moulting place of some particularly mutated variation of the armoured beast that inhabits almost the entire Broken. The question was whether there would be a normal hunter here who would be able to understand that the shields had been removed very recently and directly from the body of a recently alive armoured creature? So all the plates, including the talismans carved from them, remained in the hiding place.

The traveller was walking towards the settlement.

Not poor enough to be chased away, but not rich enough to be robbed on the spot. Dressed modestly enough to pass for a traveller, but still carrying a small utility knife and a simple hatchet on his belt, showing his readiness to fight if necessary. Perhaps there would be work for someone with his endurance, strength, and coordination, especially if he showed off the trinkets he had brought with him — everyone was fond of beautiful and unusual things, and the peasant of Broken was no exception. Ilya sincerely hoped that he would pass his first test of practical social mimicry without reducing it to a senseless bloody massacre.

But, if anything, he was ready for that option too.

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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/88055/588721

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP