Готовый перевод Быть Гладу и Хладу / There will be Hunger and Cold: 6.

6. For a second, he imagined that these rocks were really the butt of an ancient stone giant who had fallen asleep and gradually become part of the landscape.

* * *

No one will ever be able to count the number of cases in which powerful magicians and warriors, great schemers, veterans of every war imaginable, ultra-professional special agents from various organisations, and other such individuals died quickly and ingloriously, simply by falling into a well-planned ambush. Once caught, and before they had a chance to show off their coolness, experience, skills, and abilities, they quickly became corpses. This rule applied on both sides of reality, on Earth, in Broken, and in any other worlds where intelligent life existed. And even when it comes to non-intelligent life, one cannot say with complete certainty, yes. Everything is decided by readiness, planning, and timing, especially in the early stages, where one's own vulnerability and mortality do not forgive one's mistakes and carelessness, or the successes of others, when correctly used, moments arise.

Ilya fell into a trap set by others, right at the moment when he was relaxed and pensive, completely unprepared for the events that followed. They were waiting for him right at the entrance to his familiar office, where he entered, lost in thought, most of which concerned his own adventures in Broken. He had barely used his smartphone to go online on his way to work. Although he almost always preferred to read at least the approximate news reports about Broken World on the first day, as a lot often depended on it. Still, he regularly moonlighted on the Forum even before becoming a diver, providing advice on build construction and the Broken World's lore, so it was quite logical for him to keep up with the latest news.

But today he was completely absorbed in thoughts about his own path, his mistakes and successes, which is why he was caught like a baby. And what could he have done? Even if he had noticed the slightly strange looks of his colleagues, who responded with a slight delay to his gloomy greeting and wish for a good morning, it would not have changed anything. Ilya entered without even looking around, nodded to Gosha, expecting to receive another list of tasks for the day. Gosha coughed hoarsely, as if he wanted to say something, but at the last moment he changed his mind. Then Ilya caught a glimpse of some movement to his left and behind him. If Ilya Khvat, with his reflexes and attributes, had been there, he would have reacted, but Ilya was an ordinary person with no access to Wendigo's combat skills.

And he was caught, like a small child, like a bird in a trap, like a criminal being tied up by police special forces. In an instant, a powerful blow struck his entire body, his hands were blocked, and a mighty and deafening scream rang out like a giant bell. And it would have been fine if it had been the classic ‘lie down, don't move, the Assembly's special anomaly control department is working on it,’ where at least it was clear what to do and what would happen next. No, instead of the security forces, who somehow learned about the peculiarities of his power-up, he fell into the hands of a completely different force. And here, all of Ilya's experience faltered, leaving him in a stupor, at the mercy of an irresistible force that continuously screamed in his ears.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you," A female voice, quite melodious, if only it weren't so loud, if only there hadn't been sudden physical contact with Ilya, who was unaccustomed to such a violent display of emotion. "Thank you very much, thank you, thank you very much!!!"

His face burns with hot breath, smelling of caramel and cherries, and his freshly shaven cheeks are struck by the slightly cool and gentle lips of a woman kissing them. And then Ilya was lifted slightly and almost spun around in a dance, like some kind of mannequin, while continuing to thank them profusely and insistently. About six seconds into this aggressive greeting, Ilya realised that no one was going to arrest him and drag him off for questioning to some unknown location with predetermined objectives. By the twelfth second, he had even recovered enough to begin actively resisting what was happening, but he simply did not have time to take the pain-inducing break with an additional knee strike to the liver, as she let him go, showing remarkable intuition.

The very one, feminine, legendary, and mythical in every respect.

She was tall, definitely over six feet, because even Ilya, who was by no means short, looked up at her from just above her chin. She was blonde with wheat-coloured hair, natural, not like Sonya with her obsession with dyeing it, very beautiful and curvaceous, and also quite athletic. She wasn't pumped up, no, she was more into athletics and aerobics, like many of those who wanted to get a free trait in Broken, which was tied to athletics and physical training. Her eyes are bright blue, almost sky blue; her features are Nordic, even Scandinavian, hair is braided into a simple ponytail, but a bracelet with the runic symbol of the Proclamation of Flame is woven into it. It is clear that this is simply an imitation printed on a 3D printer, and not a real talisman created using the methods of the Broken by the hands of one of the fours.

However, it is not only the trinket woven into her hair that gives the Broken vibes. There is also a very authentic choker necklace emulating the Ring of the Fire Maw, an artefact symbolic of the Warlock with an emphasis on the cursed flame, considered almost mandatory to purchase. Runes of protection and fire in the form of a print on a T-shirt and a handmade craft belt with a badge bearing the seal of the Fire of the Igniter in the attribute of The Bestower of Punishment. Someone clearly did not hide their passions and obviously knew in advance who exactly they would be playing in Broken — one of the superstitions of the new Earth, assuring that such decorations will increase the chance of getting the desired class when creating a Twin. Well, or maybe she bought the attributes after her first dive just for fun, purely to show off how cool she was.

Instantly, Ilya realised who he was looking at and what they were thanking him for, which made it hard for him to stop himself from slapping himself in the face. Moreover, he had not yet decided whose face he would slap — his own or that of this girl of twenty, exactly twenty, and not eighteen, as he had initially thought from Maria's words, who had managed to fall into the clutches of the natives in such a stupid way. He had to summon all the tact and gallantry that still lingered in his body to refrain from accusing her to her face. Ilya had always considered arguments such as ‘it's her own fault’ directed at girls and women who had become victims of violence in Broken to be, to put it mildly, the natural rot of human society.

In his view, no amount of nonsense could justify the guilt of all kinds of bastards... but in some cases, he wanted to brutally kill the aboriginal rapist and gnaw on his bones, and beat the victim long and hard with a pointer on his fingers until he learned the rules of safe integration into aboriginal society by heart. The main thing now is not to say such things out loud, otherwise they might very well caress his face with that very palm, with the only difference being that the palm would first be clenched into a fist. And while he was trying to construct a rough plan for a dialogue and gather back the fragments of broken patterns and expectations from the morning that had gone awry, a female voice, but one that was very familiar, sounded from the opposite side. Full of self-satisfaction, tenderness, and hidden malice, which in the whole office could belong to only one person. Or rather, only one woman.

"Ilya – Irina. Irina – Ilya." Please love and cherish each other. – Maria now seemed to be bursting with self-satisfaction and some kind of sincere joy at having played a well-planned prank. "This is my friend, the one you helped on the phone back then."

"I think I figured it out," Ilya said in response, looking at the cosplay of the Warlock's class attributes. "Well, I'm glad I could be of use."

"And I'm so happy, you can't even imagine!" Ilya again barely managed to refrain from an old man's groan when, amid the muffled laughter of his colleagues, he was once again hugged so tightly that his ribs cracked alarmingly and he had trouble breathing. "Especially the look on that little shit's face when he realized what was about to happen! Damn, it's worth dying for! So... thank you, thank you, thank you!!!"

The stifled coughing of his colleagues became even more pronounced, causing Ilya's eyes to twitch, but he simply couldn't figure out how to react. No, he had helped people in similar situations before, but somehow everything had gone more smoothly, or had been limited to messages on the Forum, occasionally confirmed by an additional bonus to the person who had helped them from the grateful survivors. No one had come to thank him personally yet, especially beautiful girls, especially ones who were so, well, emotional. It's not that he was so against her company, but she was so persistent! And the situation itself, when the whole office was watching his painful attempts to conduct a conversation in an extremely businesslike manner, caused a dull desire to throw his colleagues, who were mocking his awkwardness, out the window.

Maria, if anything, will be the first to go, and Sonya, who is currently delighting the world with her acid-green hair, will follow her friend right behind. Fortunately, after expressing her initial gratitude and enthusiastic squeals, Irina, who can be called simply Ira or even Irka, but definitely not Irusik or Irochk, calmed down a little, and the dialogue became less one-sided. She at least began to give him a pause to respond. A huge step forward in their unexpected and unwanted relationship. And so, when she suggested going to a large-scale party in a very decent restaurant to celebrate her release and her revenge, Ilya thanked the universe that today it was his turn again to sort through Malenkov's tasks, who would never forgive him for not filling out the forms on time.

"No, no, colleague, don't worry, I've already assigned this task to Kremnik, you can go, I'll personally cover for you in front of the executive if there are any questions." It is unclear when a portly, balding man in his sixties, who entered their office and looked at the world through thick glasses, as if declaring aloud how much he despised vision correction and even simple lenses, dealt the final blow to Ilya, who had almost renounced his dubious honor. “Well, don't look at me like that, colleague. I may be a harsh man who demands strict fulfillment of duties from everyone, but I'm not completely heartless! What do you think, that I'm not even human?”

The look of malicious envy on Maxim Kremnik's face, who had been assigned someone else's work, slightly improved Ilya's mood, as he remembered every attempt to frame him by his disliked colleague. But only slightly, especially when colleagues from neighboring offices came to offer their congratulations, as did the deputy head of their entire office, who personally said that he had always known that Ilya was someone who could be relied upon. With a slight horror that turned into something much more serious, Ilya began to realize that Mashenka's loose tongue had not only revealed his role in the liberation of the young Warlock from treacherous Eastern captivity. No, she had told everyone about it, apparently embellishing the real contribution of the modest LORE expert.

And Irina, who came to thank him personally, embodying the general impression of a “cool and sexy diver,” ultimately crushed his hopes of getting out of the upcoming drinking session with the universal excuse, “I have work to do, my evil boss will scold me.” Yeah, right, a super cool diver, yeah. A whole year in Broken, eight full cycles, and she only died once. And the fact that most of that time she ran around Wild Territories and hid in sand dunes from all kinds of hungry chthonic creatures, trying not to starve to death and get back to people, is just a detail. Ilya, who knew perfectly well that she had lived for almost a year solely thanks to FoFa's connivance and her virtuoso ability to run away, was seized with a fierce attack of Spanish shame at the reaction of those around him to Irina's coolness.

All he could do was force a smile and let himself be dragged along by the girls who had run off to go for a walk. The only thought in his head, apart from plans for revenge for all the good things, turned out to be a perfectly logical question: let's say his unscheduled day off is understandable, after all, his services and useful advice have been advertised so much that it's touching and infuriating at the same time. But why the hell did they give Maria, who also ran away with her friend, a paid day off? For moral support and mastery of the talent “Spreading Rumors” at the highest level? If Maria had been allowed to connect to the Mechanism, she would have been guaranteed the title of Storyteller. Broken loses a lot without such an outstanding person in its ranks. That is Ilya's humble opinion.

And no one will convince him otherwise.

Apparently, the girl not only successfully committed suicide but also managed to make money from it, receiving the essence and immediately withdrawing a considerable part of the proceeds to pay for the revelry. It is common practice among divers to always thank Fate and Fortune for their success, lest FaFo not forgive them next time. Ilya was three hundred percent sure that the authorities encouraged such superstitions, which were not proven by anything, in every possible way, using intrusive and non-intrusive types of propaganda. They benefit from divers who spend everything they earn immediately, putting the money they receive from selling essence back into the economy without accumulating it. This not only sponsors the entertainment and service industries, but also reduces the risk of euro credit depreciation.

Irina-Ira-Irochka didn't skimp on the party, that's for sure, renting out an entire hall in a very decent restaurant with authentic cuisine and a beautiful “old-fashioned” interior, as if the designers wanted to recreate the interior of one of the taverns in Broken. Of course, it wasn't the Split Coin, which was an exact replica of the inn of the same name, where those who would later found the Citadel first met and got drunk. That place was originally not so much an inn as a small fortress and fortified caravanserai, a transit point in the wild lands. But even with a lot of money, it is extremely difficult to get into SC, unless you have a direct invitation from one of the regular and respected patrons, or you are an official diver of at least the third level. The second is also possible, but only with an invitation from at least three other patrons, even if they are not VIPs.

Let's just say that the place Irina picked was kind of like a cheap version, but not the cheapest, and the food was pretty good. There were a lot of people there, and Irina had a ton of friends and buddies. Some individuals broke the mold with their clothes, style, and elements of all subcultures at once. And they all thanked him and respectfully patted him on the shoulder, asked if he really had a London diploma, asked all sorts of nonsense, and, damn it, wouldn't calm down. Maria and her friend took care of the communication for him, continuing Ilya's PR campaign hour after hour. He caught other glances, openly hostile, as if they were jealous of the cheerful beauty. One young man, about the same age as Irina, stood out in particular, vaguely reminiscent of that very same sun lamp from Broken. Whether he was a brother, a love interest, or an admirer stuck in the friend zone, Ilya didn't know and didn't want to know, let alone ask directly.

"And then he, that bastard, says to me, hey, you unfaithful daughter of a whore, have you come to your senses, or should I continue to drill my father's teachings into you, pour them into you, shove them down your throat, and all that?” Irina was already quite drunk, so much so that she recounted the very humiliating and salacious details of her captivity without any inhibitions, although the Mechanism's mental defense played a role here, as did the fact that she had closed this gestalt. "And I'm silent, my head down, waiting, waiting, waiting, and-and-and-and... I waited! They all came in at once, together, and even came up close and closed the door behind them. And he kicks me with his fat leg, and I look him straight in the eye and smile. At that moment, my veins were glowing like fire all over my body, and marks appeared on top of my shackles. That's when he naturally emptied himself, and it smelled like shit. But, bitch, not for long!"

Drunken laughter fills the room, someone raises a glass and toasts to the idea that any aboriginal who even thinks of harming an earthling will immediately shit his pants in fear of retribution, someone adds that pretty aboriginal women might react a little differently. Everyone is having fun, everyone is laughing, and Ilya mentally notes that the ritual was performed at the very edge, because normally, the scheme he suggested to Irina should strike immediately, instantly, so that the freak does not have time to apply protection or otherwise escape. He was untalented, but he came from a family where there were three such people, and his bodyguard was also one of the talented, local, unknown people. The very same “despicable rabble that by mistake of the Mechanism received its blessing,” as the nobles of Broken like to say.

In general, if all eight of them, including one of her kidnapper's brothers who had come to visit and assess the delicious unfaithful stranger who did not know the Laws of the Father, had not been so stupid, they could have not only retreated, but also simply killed or just knocked her out, breaking her spell. It would have been a shame, but Ilya didn't want to spoil everyone's mood with his boring whining, not only because no one would hear him in such a commotion, but also because they might try to smash his face in. No one likes those who spoil the party, regardless of whether they are the cause of the celebration or not.

"It blew up spectacularly, engulfing the entire dungeon in flames, red as my fucking blood." Any killed diver or local who has found a way to revive can observe the surrounding world and those who were nearby at the moment of death for a few seconds after their death, and some talents increase this period as a primary or additional element of leveling up. "Honestly, I didn't expect it myself. The stone melted. The iron on the grate became so hot that it began to bend under its own weight. One of them covered himself with something, but he only ran a little longer, the bastard, you could see his bones. Hey, Lenchik, why are you so green?"

"It's okay, Ir, go ahead, everything's fine." A young man, introduced as the cousin of the guest of honor, hastily put back on his plate the pork rib he had just taken from the hot plate. "I was just thinking about something. About my own."

Irina continued to recount her final blow for the thirteenth time, which had earned her two drops of essence. She had almost earned the first one anyway, according to her, but the second one was honestly awarded by the Mechanism for killing two gifted individuals and a group of high-ranking natives. All in all, it was a normal reward, although Ilya would have preferred not to spend it so recklessly. It was not yet certain that after resurrection, she would be able to survive even a little longer. Often, the first death triggers a spiral of doom, and that's it, they catch you at the moment of rebirth, and you can happily stay there. Let the diver always be reborn at the beginning of the next cycle and always where there is no observation or traps, but a naked and barefoot woman in the middle of a big city of fanatics worshipping the chief misogynist of the Broken won't have to look for trouble, they'll find her themselves.

"Something doesn't add up... I heard the instructions for this crap, read them, I mean." That same blond guy who looks like a lantern from Broken was talking to Irina, but he was giving Ilya such looks that he was about to ask him to leave. "There's no explosion there, ik! Just... that... just, that thing, spontaneous combustion."

"And this is not a standard scheme that can be found in the help bureau, I checked later." The diver smiles a broad smile, stretching sweetly and almost knocking over a glass of some kind of cocktail. "Ilya made me a personalized plan with an emphasis on all the talents I've managed to acquire and develop. Plus, the ritual itself is one of the more complicated ones. I had a hard time finding it on the Forum, right in the depths. And, what's cool, it's literally tailored to my conditions — so that the shackles with the collar are blackened, so that the camera-dungeon has iron bars, and so that the build is almost like mine. So he recalculated it right away to suit me, adjusted it on the fly!"

Everyone looked at Ilya as if he had suddenly grown horns or wings, which made him want to ask everyone to look somewhere else. Realizing that they would not leave him alone, he tiredly rubbed his face and began to explain with his fingers that he had not been counting anything on the go, that it was difficult to do such things without specific talents, and that it was better to count in Broken. He simply knew the basic typology of self-immolation rituals from the outset, shuffling individual ready-made blocks — for this, it was not necessary to have access to the skills of the Twin, the very erudition for which earthlings are so famous was enough.

"Smartass. “Almost inaudibly, the blond said, downing another shot of tequila and casting increasingly unfriendly glances at Ilya. ”Bitch."

The diver, who could read lips, smiled slightly, trying not to turn that smile into a sneer. It was difficult to provoke him since childhood, but if he got angry, he could literally bite someone's face off. In one after-school fight, when he and a couple of friends, foolishly venturing into a rough neighborhood, were cornered by a small gang of welfare recipients, he actually bit through the arm of the guy who had him in a chokehold. And the mess around him had now reached the point where it would be easier for him to resort to a fight.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the remnants of decency were still strong, and the drinking was gradually coming to an end, so everyone who wanted to have fun began to gather either at home or to catch up even more. Ilya tactfully and skillfully slipped away, saying he was going out for a smoke, even though he had long since quit. Breathing in the heavy, cold night air, full of city dust, listening to the quiet hum of passing electric transport, he finally came to his senses. The whole day was ruined, honestly. It wasn't that he didn't like noisy companies, but he clearly felt like he was just a spare part at this celebration of life. He hardly knew anyone here, except for Maria. Everyone had their own private jokes, shared adventures, and connections, and he was on the sidelines. He could have eaten something delicious and drunk something hot at home, just by ordering it.

ЭSorry, Il, I didn't notice right away that you weren't very happy." Well, at least she's not calling me “Ilyusha” anymore, that's progress, and not insignificant. "Honestly, I've been like drunk since morning, and now, after getting drunk again, my brain has sobered up a little. I'm really grateful and feel terrible that you were uncomfortable hanging out with us here. And I'm not just saying that, don't get me wrong."

A quiet notification sounded, and a quick check revealed that his personal payment account had been credited with one hundred and fifty eurocredits. That's about half a drop of essence, give or take, depending on the exchange rate, yes. Ilya, working in a very respectable position at a successful company, which is also heavily subsidized by the state, usually earns fifty or a little more eurocredits in a typical month, and even then, it often boils down to forty. In his best months, when he received a bonus on top of his bonus and a thirteenth salary on top of that, he earned just over eighty eurocredits, but that was rare.

Another ten to twenty credits came from regular, but not particularly burdensome, part-time work on the Forum, purely on issues related to LORE and builds. Helping to compile talent selections, providing advice on cultural code types, and outlining tactics for filling specific lacunae. Tasks like these. He could have done this permanently, making it his main job, but he didn't want to risk his current position, which he had obtained through a combination of good luck and a certain amount of nepotism and cronyism. Besides, he didn't particularly enjoy communicating with clients, among whom there were always those who wanted to find fault with the work already done at any cost in order to be able to withdraw payment through the Forum.

He loved the mysteries of Broken. He loved to immerse himself in them and collect for himself and only himself a picture of its individual stories, but he did not consider it sacrilegious to earn money from it. No, he was not that exalted. It was too tedious, burdensome, turning his hobby into just another job, thereby depriving him of the pleasure of that hobby. Even with his existing income, Ilya had enough to maintain and pay taxes on his personal living space, which was larger than the current standard for densely populated agglomerations of nine square meters. It was enough for normal food, paying for his hobbies, and numerous purchases of restricted information through the Forum. In fact, most of his disposable income was spent on his hobby. Otherwise, he would have lived a much more expensive and luxurious life. Or maybe not, because Ilya preferred a modest lifestyle, not even buying a personal vehicle, although he could easily afford one.

For some, it is much harder; for others, it is more complicated. A typical clerk, manager, or technician from the offices five floors below represented the notorious lower middle class, earning a good twenty credits a month, plus some crumbs from subsidies and government payments. Social welfare recipients and those on reduced benefits most often live on as much as five credits a month. Yes, they have free housing, mostly cheap food, a bunch of humanitarian programs, and unlimited access to virtual worlds where you can kill elven princesses and save space dragons. But that's not life, is it? It's a meaningless existence where you don't have to survive and have everything you need, but life, a different, living, dynamic life, rushes past you.

It is not surprising that so many young people join gangs, subcultures that are not much different from gangs, Luddites, or followers of the Seven. Anything is better than a dull, gray existence. However, states are doing quite well, so more people are turning to the virtual world, especially for large projects developed and even supported with the help of essential technologies. The drama of space or fantasy clan wars is serious, and the cries of the humiliated and burned regularly seep into the real world. To the point that the victorious clan can be locked up in the den where they are celebrating their victory, and burned to hell.

And then, here, he gets such a boost from a young lady he doesn't know at all, who seems to be really grateful to him. To be honest, Ilya's work did not deserve such a reward, even if we disregard the fact that the diving assistance bureau would have helped her for free. Although the specialists there are, on average, noticeably worse than Ilya, so they would have given her standard instructions on suicide, and that would have been it. Effective, but more focused on escape through death than on revenge against captors. However, Irina really didn't want to go to that bureau and officially register herself as a diver, although he didn't understand why. It's just... she's not hiding, openly admitting it to her friends and loved ones, and she carries around characteristic paraphernalia. Although okay, the paraphernalia could just be mistaken for chunibyo, but not the regular parties that are beyond her means, and the large sums of money coming from an anonymous Forum account.

And so, it all came down to her asking a bunch of her friends for help, but only Maria was able to help, which bothered Ilya. In principle, he would have been satisfied with payment in the form of a cup of coffee. For help in escaping from such captivity, people try not to demand payment if possible. This is not an axiom, but rather a kind of established etiquette, which those who like to get more while paying less, or even get paid extra, often like to abuse. No, for him, this money is not superfluous. It would allow him to legally increase his expenses without risking cashing in his existing essence reserves, but still, part of him didn't want to take it.

Yesterdays Ilya received a very substantial sum, which for Irina amounts to a quarter of the essence received for her own death. Todays Ilya received literally pennies, because a hundred times more awaits him; he just needs to find a way to cash it in without attracting attention. He can't help but feel like an evil pimp and dishonest swindler, cheating a beautiful girl out of her money.

"If you try to take it back, I'll be offended and give you a slap." Irina immediately interrupted his musings, surprisingly accurately interpreting his train of thought. "And now, monsieur, would you be so kind as to escort a slightly tipsy young lady to her home? In recent months, all sorts of villains have been running rampant in the streets! Without a protector, it's scary to get out of a taxi!’

Great, she's even trying to seduce him, first taking him to a restaurant and giving him a very large sum of money as a gift. No, Ilya was not in the least bit sexist, but even he had to ask himself a perfectly logical question at that moment: who was hitting on whom, and who was going to fuck whom? He had already almost said a polite refusal, skilfully pretending that he had not understood or noticed any hints, but then he looked into the tipsy, yet still quite sober, eyes of the girl, who was more than ten years younger than him, smiling a sincerely happy smile. He remembered her figure, the feeling of her soft lips on his cheeks, and asked himself an even more logical question.

Why not?

"I would be honored to render such a necessary service to the lady." Having accepted the outstretched hand in his palm and having completed the taxi call, Ilya resolutely transferred all of the Broken One’s concerns to the following morning.

Or even for the afternoon.

* * *

Another blogger was waxing lyrical about the ongoing bloodbath between factions of what was once the largest of the mono-Chinese clans, while Ilya, smiling and scratching his neck with a hickey still visible, browsed through various forum boards, trying to find something that interested him. He looked through his own notes, saved on the same forum, and other people's blogs, and even the paid sections, which hadn't been locked down completely yet. The night and morning he spent with Irina were wild and wonderful, slightly lessening his regret about the time he had wasted. To be completely honest, this release seemed to be even more necessary for the girl than for him. To his great relief, she herself had no plans for her savior and just wanted to have fun, to shake off the remnants of the despair that her Twin had experienced.

They parted amicably, exchanging contact details and promising to meet again if the opportunity arose. Ilya couldn't help but thank himself for his habit of keeping fit; otherwise, he would have embarrassed himself in front of this lively and resilient beauty. His inner male flushed with pride, but his habit of thinking with his head and not giving in to his emotions quickly brought him back to a working state of mind. The Forum was waiting for him, as were numerous news items from the last Cycle. Some were incredibly lucky, while others, on the contrary, were not so fortunate. The Citadel repelled another massive invasion of creatures from a large rift, a horde of which was ‘accidentally’ led to them by the natives, who were once again demonstratively taken by the balls. At the same time, they cleared out several lacunae and obtained a couple of very useful relics.

Another small community finally disintegrated, but this time everything went peacefully and calmly. Most of that community was lured away by local noble houses, which simply offered too much, including either adoption or the more common entry into the family through marriage. Adoption, by the way, is considered a more vivid recognition of the merits of strangers and gives significantly more rights than marriage. Well, in that part of the oikoumene where this group successfully and happily broke up. The nine guys made it to the second level and held a small territory for quite a long time, protecting it from rifts and gradually clearing out a very old and ancient lacuna, managing to finish it off and close it tightly. But they were left without any means of advancement or income, having become accustomed to living very lavishly. The offers from the local aristocrats came in very handy for them.

On forum boards, bets were already being placed on how quickly these lads and lasses would be used to fight each other. After all, the group's “location” was very fragmented, a bunch of separate baronies and counties constantly at war with each other and unable to organize even a normal education system on the level of at least some kind of duchy. This obviously affected the local forces, where almost no one reaches even the second level, there are literally only a handful of third-level characters, and there are officially no fourth-level characters at all. Against this backdrop, the experienced and knowledgeable second-level earthlings seemed like real pwners, which is why they were so actively recruited.

A number of other communities suffered losses, some young and fresh Hearts being devastated or destroyed, while others, on the contrary, were successfully conquered and activated. One of the official fours of Earthlings just as officially announced that he plans to move to Broken permanently after his beloved wife died as a result of a long illness — at such a respectable age, it's not surprising, the old woman was over 130, even gene therapy wouldn't have helped much, nor would essential technologies. Another member of the four married his own subordinate, a three, who was his deputy in Broken. They dragged it out for a long time, and jokes about their romance were circulating on the Forum so regularly that even Ilya, who didn't care about the personal lives of pop stars or Broken, heard these jokes.

Some fresh Three with the class of a dreamwalker brainwasher successfully charmed his suzerain with the title of countess, who initially kept him on a leash, reliably controlling and using his powers for her own needs, increasing the wealth of her county almost threefold, and its area by half, which is why she is now considered almost a duchess, only without the corresponding title. Descriptions of what he and his former mistress are now doing behind the closed doors of the master's bedroom, as well as the accompanying confirming images, are bluntly banned on some forum threads. They say that Mesmerikles himself, albeit through the Forum, supervised and, together with the prisoner of female power, planned another operation in the genre of “turning the tables.”

Ilya read reports devoid of pornographic details, which contained a lot of amusing stuff that pubescent teenagers simply skimmed through, quickly moving on to the sections where Countess Eltromentretti, unaware of the change in roles, was deprived of her anal virginity. But it was worth watching and reading, because the third level under the nickname Aizar Freeman, another irony of FaFo, spent most of his life in Broken with a collar around his neck, and posted quite a lot of things that the aforementioned strongest dreamwalker brainwasher on Earth usually did not disclose. Methods of cheating checks, bypassing amulets, manipulating servants, and then using them as unwitting pawns and triple agents, and all that stuff — it's hardly going to be useful to him, given his current class, but you never know, it can't hurt to write it down.

The same method of bypassing the protective “Veil of Dreams” in triple redundancy, which the countess used to protect herself from possible attempts at influence from, in fact, her personal slave. Pure respect and admiration for the skill and patience of others. From the first days of spring, he would not be lazy to begin processing the grape harvest with a specific ritual and a potion purchased through trained gardeners, in order to pierce a small hole in the monolithic veil, strictly under the tentacles of the will of the captive dreamwalker. Aizar did not lack patience, for it did not work immediately, and yet this was only the first of the influences, which did not subjugate, but only paved the way into the lady's mind! Still, the dreamwalker is a very special class, and to use it properly in the pale brainweave, you need to be pretty far along in the right direction, and that's while you're still on Earth.

Along with the news, topics directly related to his class were viewed, requests were made, and libraries were purchased. The Forum is moderated exclusively by Earthlings themselves. Each thread, once created by someone, gives the creator moderation rights to delete certain messages, shape the main topic, and prevent it from straying off course. Yes, the basic rules of the Forum, such as confirming the truthfulness of information if there is a corresponding note, still cannot be violated. However, in their sections, often consisting of dozens or hundreds of threads, Earthlings have complete authority.

But.

But!

This means that, apart from, say, the five most popular and active communities dedicated to leveling up and talents of certain classes and builds, there are a bunch of topics and sections gathering dust in the depths of the Forum, where no one writes, searches, or reads anything. But in such places, you can find some very amusing moments, often unique to a particular diver who shares their experience only in their own section. No one has canceled copying and quoting, but such things still need to be found. And you can only find them by digging through hundreds and hundreds of thousands of stupid topics with a set of anecdotes, cool tales without any confirmation of their veracity, as well as just banal pornography and gore.

Ilya, who is an expert in Forum mechanics, among other things, did not delve too deeply into this shit, although he was capable of doing so, sometimes finding his gems. They say that Eric Linderman, now a fourth-level Shadowmancer, derived from the starting Warlock, found a detailed description of a very useful theurgical ritual in such a forgotten topic, which helped him become a fourth. More precisely, it helped him open a sealed lacuna, in which he obtained something that allowed him to become a fourth. Ilya read the protocols of that clearing of the lacuna, a huge three-dimensional labyrinth of constantly changing tunnels filled with predatory shadows, where a third of the clearing group lost their lives, leaving for rebirth, and one of the divers was completely devoured, along with all the reserves of the Vessels.

However, this is all just poetry, more of a warm-up for the mind. The main task, food for thought, became questions about his own class and build. Wendigos, as already mentioned, were not particularly popular among earthlings, as was the entire branch of the possessed in general, but even so, a great deal of knowledge had been accumulated. He began to diligently plough through several specific sections of the Forum, occasionally asking individual questions anonymously. There are actually quite a lot of cannibalistic threads, but only a handful of them are popular and useful. Useful in the sense that they might deign to give you an answer, rather than covering you with profanity or infuriating you with unfunny jokes.

First and foremost, of course, is the native Central European “ALFS,” which stands for “And the Lambs Fell Silent,” in honor of the cult film that recently received another film adaptation sequel. Only now, the respected cannibal doctor turned out to be not just a maniacal killer, but a diver in the real world, which is why he gained his strength, reaction speed, and incredible ability to hide from justice. Returning to the Forum, this section was moderated by several real divers with the appropriate classes and a significantly large number of those who lost their Twin immediately or after desynchronization. The community here is very friendly and willing to help, but, alas, the main focus is on maintaining mental stability and reducing psychological damage.

He couldn't help but want to share my build, even without mentioning the accelerated essence acquisition, just to provoke a couple of deaths out of pure envy. Who knows, maybe he'll do just that, after all, it is precisely such actions that raise the general insightfulness of Earthlings. But he clearly won't decide right away; he'll have to think it over carefully. On the one hand, he can't be traced through the Forum, but on the other hand, he's not yet so confident in his understanding that he would reveal himself even in complete anonymity. First of all, because then any requests for information about the Wendigo class and ways to level it up without regard for the psyche would skyrocket in price. He raised the price of his work if a topic caused a stir and became very popular for a while.

In a couple of other sections, the rules are more democratic than on ALFS, but there, the divers themselves are frankly inadequate. Those who chose their class not by mistake, after regretting it and trying to fix everything, but quite deliberately. And not like choosing specific sensors or searchers, but specifically cannibalistic killers. The audience is made up of people who, in real life, you wouldn't shake hands with if you found out about their hobbies, but among them, there were also experienced people willing to share information. One philanthropist, who regularly responded in the section, even deigned to answer Ilya's request, describing several very promising ways to use a Hungry Hide when he asked about them. Thanking the diver with the nickname Bo Kassa, even though he wanted to wring his neck, Ilya leaned back in his chair.

Expensive and ergonomic armchair, purchased specifically for evenings like this, spent in front of a monitor rather than in a virtual capsule, it only creaked quietly under Ilya's weight. In principle, he did not make any serious mistakes; that is clear. Of course, he still had to wait for answers to his queries, including paid consultations with proven experts on the Broken. One cannot specialise in everything, and so Ilya, knowing his strengths, preferred to turn to experts on specific topics. The answers will arrive within the next two to three weeks, but they will be ready before the new Cycle. That's almost a month, a whole twenty-nine days of waiting and preparation. And these requests cost him several times less than if a shitstorm had erupted over Ilya's build posted on the Forum, which is important!

There were some annoying little things, but nothing more. So now it became clear to Ilya that he could have easily done without the Howl as a separate talent, at most adding a rank improvement to the same Form. But he couldn't have known that the howl would be almost useless in the first cycle. Either his opponents were weak enough that he could kill them without activating the Howl, or they were too strong for the Howl of a hungry beast to confuse and harm them. Ideally, he would have pumped at least the second rank and chosen the necessary improvement, then the penetrability and effectiveness of the Howl would become noticeably more suitable for the current level of problems. But he still needed to take something from the category of pursuit and tracking, or even some kind of point debuff.

But these are the thoughts of today's Ilya, who has already gathered all the experience and assessed the piece of Broken that he received after the first Cycle. At the moment of creating the Twin, unable to check the Forum and ask for advice, he chose what seemed to be the most versatile and potentially powerful option. It's not his fault that instead of hunting small game and working as a bone carver, he had to kill four more developed, gifted natives than himself in the very first Cycle. In the end, if a crowd of ungifted meat, armed with a stabbing and cutting arsenal, had tried to kill him, it was the Howl that would have been the trump card and the weapon of victory. It didn't work out, it turned out differently, and there's no point in feeling sorry.

Instead of feeling sorry for himself, he had to get down to work. It always helps to pull yourself together, as long as the work is something you enjoy doing. For example, planning your own build, especially if you already have a supply of essence that you can spend on improving the talent you need right now. Nineteen drops, damn it, nineteen free drops! A huge amount for an ordinary Diver and enormous potential that can be realised at any moment. The only question is how exactly to spend the available reserve so that you don't regret your mistake later. However, as the old-timers of Broken say, the main mistake any Diver sooner or later fervently regrets is the decision to become a Diver.

Ilya thinks a lot, draws diagrams and tables, and makes plans for the future, relying on the information available from the Twin's memory. And it all seemed that he needed to either improve his Hide protection, which he lacked this time, to avoid any injuries, or his ability to change his appearance, to speed up that ability, while slightly easing the transition process itself, and reducing the costs of staying in a different form. Or he could maximise his disguise, betting on the path to Upperstone. With a closed third step, if he chose the path of development that increased the depth of his disguise, the only danger of his exposure would come from those with specific classes who focused all their analytical powers on him.

Well, if we're talking about people who are as gifted as Ilya himself, but the second level will hardly even look in his direction, let alone scan him. And a quick glance from the second will be blocked by his current disguise, let alone an improved one. The only problem is the missing drop of Essence, but he can get it from any animal by deliberately hunting all kinds of deer and other herbivores. It's a risk, but he'll get one drop faster than he'll find an enemy capable of killing him. Mathematics and statistics are on his side. And immediately pour all twenty into the talent, closing it to the cap and not distracting himself with camouflage anymore! What's not to like about that plan?

Actually, this is a really stupid move for an ordinary diver with a standard essence acquisition speed. The typical doctrine of lone Earthlings focuses on quickly obtaining the second step in the talents essential for survival, because the third step is, of course, much stronger than the second, but three separate talents of the second level are much more useful than one third. Especially if the third is non-combat and involves disguise. For the first few Cycles, sometimes even a year or two, it is better for a lone diver to stay away from large cities. Outside of those large cities, even a one-point point in the disguise talent, let alone two, will protect you from almost any accidental curiosity. Especially if you chose your stealth talent according to the guides and tailored it to your personal build.

Ilya, however, is not a typical individual and has already managed to get himself into some kind of unpleasant situation. And there is no one to ask for help! He really needs to get to Upperstone, even though the people in the village knew about his desire to visit this city and could have told someone about it. He needs to go there at least to blend in with the crowd and cover his tracks, in case the next group of liquidators decides to go after him. Of course, he couldn't imagine why they would send not just a trio, but a whole group of seven liquidators after him. But let's be honest, he couldn't have imagined even the trio of pursuers who had almost sent him to his first rebirth. His tracks would be lost in the city, even if he stayed there for a couple of days and then left immediately. It was overcaution bordering on paranoia, but, by all the Dead Gods, he wasn't sure that this paranoia was unfounded!

In summary, either develop the Hide in conjunction with Shapeshift, or Shapeshift in conjunction with Ice Breath, or Ice Breath and Eye, if following standard paths. Alternatively, develop disguise to the maximum and only then begin to invest in combat talents, since such bonuses for development were awarded to him from winning the Lottery. In fact, for a simple traveller entering a not particularly remarkable city, even a two in the talent of Lurking Evil will provide an almost complete guarantee of successful infiltration. The third step here seems like unnecessary paranoia, but... he was once fatally surprised that assassins were sent after him for no reason at all. Is it worth the risk if you can avoid it without losing anything in particular?

Against the holy seven who came for his head, his two talents, pumped up to the second step, won't help him in the slightest. His only chance of survival in such a battle would be to avoid meeting the seven pursuers altogether. How likely is such a meeting? Alas, he does not yet know the answer, has not had the opportunity to talk to the three liquidators, and sincerely doubts that their belongings will contain documents, letters, and reports that will shed light on the overall situation in which Ilya finds himself. There is no way to check, only to hope for the best or prepare for the worst. Considering the intensity of the first cycle of events, which could have ended with the rebirth of Ilya Khvat, it is better to prepare for the worst.

"The main question is how exactly can they get to me if they do decide to go after me?" Ilya asks this question aloud, not in front of a monitor or next to his personal communicator, but in the shower stall, where there doesn't seem to be a microphone, and even if there is, it won't be able to hear anything through the running water. "Let's assume that this peculiar ‘box’ is indeed so important that it warrants sending a full team after a fugitive vagrant. Let's even assume that, in addition to direct pursuit, there will be other search options using more traditional methods. Descriptions, portraits, orders to informants and rumour collectors."

First of all, of course, the idea of changing your hairstyle or stopping shaving comes to mind. That's why he shaved all this time, so that, if necessary, he could cover his face with a beard and mustache without having to come up with a disguise. The opposite also works. It is not difficult for bearded men to shave, sometimes completely, and even polish their bald spots, if necessary. But what to do with those methods that are tied to rituals of searching or even attempts at direct insight, if not of the future, then at least of the past?

To see Ilya directly... no, hardly, unless there are third or fourth levels among interested parties with the appropriate class. But even at the first level, there are classes or talent branches tailored for clairvoyance, but they are rarely used. The further away from the ‘present,’ the less accurate they are; they are difficult to master and level up, they put pressure on the psyche, and they are simply inconvenient. Apart from already established communities, few would risk levelling up their own clairvoyant of any kind. Such a build is simply unviable without patronage and cover. And you will have to pour a lot of Essence into it before you start to benefit from such a subordinate.

Again, even if unknown box hunters and random divers have their own specialists, it is unlikely that there will be anyone like the famous Sanboy, who is currently at the fourth level. Incidentally, he is the only officially known earthling with the “Prophet” class. A few gifted seers manage to live long enough to see their abilities begin to bear fruit, but there are certainly no assemblies as ultimate as Sanboy's here in this part of the Ecumene. And if there are, then fuck it all, Ilya can't do anything about it anyway, it's easier to hang himself or drown himself. Many individuals begin their journey in a similar way, but Sanboy is the only one. Many would like to pump up the combat precognition and memory manipulation, but Blind Cass is also one of a kind. There are countless people who like to slaughter their victims on the altar in order to learn the future, but Heinrich Ruppert is still unique.

As a result, all Earthlings are taught that they must respect “GOFT,” that they must not forget that such classes exist and may be found among their enemies, but that they should not fear them too much or overestimate what these boys and girls are really capable of. The four starting classes from the standard roster are very rare, although in reality, it is not that difficult to get any of the four classes on the list of suggestions. It's just that many people don't want to bother and don't see the point in leveling up such a class, which is needed almost exclusively for large communities.

Garuspik-Oracle-Fortune Teller-Truth Teller, that is how the abbreviation is deciphered, denoting four classes that are highly skilled in clairvoyance. No. Of course, there are separate skill branches for dreamwalkers, investigators, and mages of various specialisations, but those are skill branches on which it is much more difficult to build a full-fledged build. So that left GOFT, two pure and two hybrids. The Truth Teller and the Garuspik were closer to hybrids, since both classes could become clairvoyants, but not necessarily. The Garuspik, for example, made excellent cursers and ritualists, while the Truth Teller excelled in manoeuvrable close-range combat. Oracle and Fortune Teller, although they could develop into some form of combat classes, were still focused on working with knowledge of the past and future, staying away from direct combat and combat in general.

So, audience, an important question.

Do unknown box collectors have their own GOFT?

They may well be found. If there are three well-equipped, gifted ones for pursuing a lone fugitive in the wild wastelands, then the likelihood that the death of all three will be immediately known begins to be unpleasantly high. So it's better not to linger in one place, but to gather up everything valuable that can't be marked or tagged as quickly as possible, and then set off straight for Upperstone to cover up any possible traces. His crafts remained in the village, one of which led to him, but by the time of the battle, these trinkets had already lost any trace of their creator, and he would probably be wary of selling new ones. He had enough money, he would pump up the disguise, and the role of a free hunter of any prey, occasionally trading in carvings, was certainly more pleasant than that of a labourer or handyman.

That's roughly what he decided on the second day after completing the cycle, and that's roughly what he thought the rest of the time while receiving the requested information or paid reports. He had to spend almost two drops of Essence, but he spent them anonymously. In real life, the only increase in spending was on food delivery. Normal food, not pasta in tubes, although it should be noted that a tube of good nutritional mixture with useful additives costs significantly more than cheap pizza or rolls. Ilya spent a lot of time in the virtual reality capsule, so he bought mixtures from the high, though not elite, price segment.

The excitement surrounding his great feat, accomplished in the name of Earthlings and Earth, much to his annoyance, had not been forgotten, but it had gradually subsided, and he was left in peace. He even had more work to do because he had to make up for the day he missed, and then correct the nonsense his colleague had left in the tables. It was even interesting to wonder whether he had been so stupid out of stupidity, or whether he had done it deliberately, counting on Ilya not to check. Ilya checked, and Ilya was right. His sudden popularity also resulted in a significantly increased interest in questions about Broken, but Ilya loved this work and didn't even complain much. Although answering frankly stupid or amateurish questions was a little annoying, but only a little. Ilya could talk about his favourite subject for a very long time, and his experience as a tutor allowed him to answer in a way that people could understand, rather than staring at him with glassy eyes.

However, he would politely and correctly send other cunning individuals to explore their own rectums without any unnecessary sentimentality. It's one thing to suggest a couple of questions, provide a link to a relevant article or manual, indicate the pace of developing extracurricular talent in three steps, and so on. Simple questions that took a couple of minutes to answer, most of which boiled down to searching for the necessary materials on flash cards. But when someone came to him, innocently batting their eyelashes, with a request to ‘help a little’ with a complete plan for cleaning in a certain type of lacuna according to the specific specifications of the cleaning team, it was immediately clear what they wanted. Such a plan, especially from a specialist of his calibre, is often not even developed for money, but for a percentage of the extracted Essence. The one that will pass into the real world, of course.

Ilya just smiled sweetly at the pretty brown-haired girl of about eighteen, who had carefully left the top two buttons of her shirt undone, and then asked her why she was so interested in this specific question. It turned out that she wasn't interested in him, but in her distant relative, a good man who desperately needed this information, and no one else could help him except Ilya. Preferably for free. The boy was part of a well-trained group of divers led by a second-level commander, and it was hard to believe that such guys didn't have the money for a good specialist. Rather, the really good specialists were asking for a percentage for planning the raid, and they were too stingy to pay, while they themselves were either lazy or had no experience working in a specific lacuna with an emphasis on Rats and Rot.

The girl, genuinely touched by his sincere response to her antics, seemed genuinely offended, calling him an old goat behind his back. It hurt, right in the heart! Ilya wasn't old at all, so why was she calling him names and saying such nasty things? He wanted to do something mean himself, like go back, agree, and write them a plan so that the group would quietly and unnoticeably go to the central part of the lacuna with empty reserves and no shields, right under the attack of the guardian boss, to whom Ilya would indicate a slightly different radius of the sensor fields. The only thing that stopped him was that such pranks could really get him into trouble, since they would know where he worked, and therefore it would not be difficult to figure out where he lived.

He limited himself to leaving in proud, victorious silence.

He did not ignore his chance encounter with Irina, who actively corresponded with him, shared her thoughts, and asked quite interesting questions. Although dangerous, yes, because she asked about what he himself had not tried to dive into with his knowledge? Was he really unlucky and unable to connect to the Mechanism? And if so, why did he devote so much effort to studying the Broken? She clearly did not ask these questions with any malicious intent; it did not seem like an attempt to elicit candour, but it was involuntarily stressful. Fortunately, she had the tact not to ask any further questions when Ilya dryly quoted the Forum's headline article. The one said that only one of the few had a chance to touch the Mechanism. He didn't lie directly, he just kept quiet about the fact that he had touched it, yes.

For Irina, he voluntarily wrote out several options for levelling up her Twin completely free of charge, especially since the last two drops of essence would allow her to level up one of her talents. He also gave her several lists of instructions marked ‘RFtA,’ which stands for ‘Risen from the Ass.’ Roughly speaking, these were instructions for a Diver who had gone through their first rebirth, telling them what to do, what not to do, how to quickly leave the danger zone, and so on. They also went to another nice café. This time, Ilya paid for both of them, because Irina didn't seem to understand that he earned good money and didn't need a ‘sugar mummy.’. Then he had a wonderful night, showing the girl his apartment, and for the first time in five years, he was late for work.

For a whole eight seconds, but the fact remains!

Maria smiled in a surprisingly tender and somewhat conspiratorial manner, but Ilya stoically ignored her smile and knowing look. He spent the last few days before the end of the break between cycles in a kind of lazy rest, visiting the park area, which for the second year in a row they are trying to reduce in size in order to make more room for skyscrapers and shopping centres, and even read a book. Of course, a digital file, but a book, a regular one, not about Broken, not a textbook or expert guide, just a book. A detective story, apparently the recipient of some awards, by a renowned author. The book turned out to be surprisingly bad, but still better than the film based on it, which he watched later just to confirm his opinion.

It felt as if he had voluntarily and free of charge eaten shit.

Well, at least he pirated that book out of old ideological habit, instead of buying it, so at least he didn’t have to pay extra in hard-earned micrcred for that piece of crap.

In general, after finishing the book, he opened his favorite Forum and began browsing random topics, including those originally created for the purpose of making people laugh. The collection of anecdotes and tales from Broken, confirmed by the Forum, is regularly updated with fresh stories, some of which are hilariously funny, while others are almost always darkly humorous. Just take, for example, “The Story of the Dead Grandmother,” a very old aristocrat who died at a very inopportune moment, whom a corpse guide hired by the natives was supposed to keep mobile and “alive.” Until they could determine the correct version of the will, of which the old woman had written eight, and it was unclear which was earlier and which was later.

It's just a crazy story, so funny it hurts your stomach, but the ending, which has only just been published, is absolutely killer. The Diver, who understands perfectly well that he will be wiped out at the end of the three-cycle story, manages to write his holy ninth and final will, and then solemnly die in the jaws of a tame chimera horse that had escaped from its cage and already eaten five stable boys, because apart from the grandmother's late husband, no one else could control this beast and bring it to submission. Text messages and screenshots, confirmed by the Forum, conveyed the expressions on the faces of the employers when they realised that the deceased worker-fool had screw them and taken everything from them, and had even left the inheritance as a donation to a bunch of shelters, temple hospitals, and several individuals...

Facial expressions can be very expressive, especially on the face of a thoroughbred aristocrat who is used to keeping a straight face and suddenly realises the depth of the hole he has dug for himself. They did everything possible to ensure that the remotely controlled corpse of the turbo-grandmother passed all possible tests of sanity and memory. The only thing funnier than these faces was the diver's own expressive statements about how he used the usual entertainment of a granny. The old woman turned out to be physically active and at the same time a great lover of young pages, keeping a whole staff of all kinds of voluntary gigolos and involuntary wretches. He browsed through other fresh topics in the humour section, sometimes amazed at my fellow inhabitants of the planet, sometimes proud to live with them on the same stone ball-shaped geoid in space, and sometimes ashamed of it.

Some pearls of wisdom were delivered just by reading the main topic of the entire discussion thread:

Akzhor Kurozhog [creator of the topic], [certified diver], [not a user of deadly magic]: What would happen if you went in Dive while sitting on the toilet, so to speak, at the decisive moment of the process? Consequences, effects, risks, observations? Share your secrets, don't keep them to yourselves, boys and girls.

It was funny not because of the question itself and the seriousness with which it was asked, but because of the more than 300,000 responses under the topic, which covered everything. Personal examples, collected statistics, expert opinions from hundreds of people with professional degrees, and, of course, personal attacks. Two inhabitants of the Citadel even almost came to mutual murder, and then their combat teams joined in, so a small act of mutual destruction almost happened. The only thing that stopped them was the appearance of one of the fours of the Citadel, who at first did not understand the reason for the dispute at all, but when he did, they say he yelled so loud that the reinforced glass shook. A magic class with an emphasis on acoustic effects is not like blowing a whistle.

On the last day, or rather, the evening before the Cycle began, Ilya returned from work. It was Thursday, and he began preparing for his dive into the Broken One. His preparation consisted of consuming a triple serving of perfectly decent ice cream and making his bed with fresh sheets. This time, he definitely wouldn't be lying down in the Star of Dreams; he'd had enough of that. Especially considering the minor fact that it would have to be redrawn. Inviting a diver to visit would be a very stupid decision if he didn't remove such a compromising detail. But in general, he was still lucky with his place of residence. The cycle always begins at midnight Greenwich Mean Time, and for him it is always a dark night. Divers who try not to reveal themselves to the outside world, living in unsuitable latitudes, have to resort to sick leave, remote work, or some other form of deception. Their antics are usually viewed with a slight irony in the eyes and a lingering sardonic smile.

He managed to fall asleep again, and again, in his dream, he felt as if he had been caught on a giant immaterial fishhook, which pulled him out of his body and dragged him through Nothingness, inserting him directly into the Twin. But not immediately, not quite immediately. Between here and there, having almost completed the transition, the standard transfer algorithm pauses, as if freezing. The mechanism rewards its user, giving him the two small Gifts it promised to give before the start of the next Cycle.

Minor One-Time Gift of the Great Mechanism: A guiding thread that leads to the nearest closed unknown Lacuna opening its door.

Minor One-Time Gift of the Great Mechanism: A random, temporary minor Blessing that lasts until the end of the current Cycle.

Well, it could have been worse, so it's not bad. Although he was really hoping for a gift drop of Essence. It's given out pretty often, like in almost a third of cases, but to be honest, he got some real crap. A pointer to the nearest lacuna, and a sealed one at that, not open to the world, which would otherwise be worth a lot. In that case, if Ilya had a community behind him, or at least the patronage of the local residents, who would help gather a group of natives for the clean-up. Alone, he wouldn't even stick his nose into an open and well-studied lacuna, let alone a sealed one. He's not a degenerate.

At least, he sincerely hoped so.

Although sometimes I doubted it, that cannot be taken away.

In adventure stories written, as they say, ‘based on’ real events in Broken, the main character single-handedly fills this lacuna by personally killing the central creature. Normal divers go into lacunae in groups, and those with a more morbid sense of morality also push local ungifted people or sacrificial captives in front of them to reduce risks and uncover some of the traps or the type of enemy. Going there alone is suicide, and he has no reliable allies among the natives, nor will he have any in the near future. So the maximum benefit here is the opportunity to learn the coordinates of the locked lacuna and the concept of its lock, then, if the opportunity arises, to sell the information or keep it for yourself. For the future, he will have his own group of trusted and gifted individuals.

A random minor blessing for one step and lasting for one cycle is better, because they can be completely different and, at times, useful. On the other hand, there is no chance of getting one that is harmful to your class and build, which is comforting. Otherwise, it would be a shame to receive an Icy Blessing when operating with fire, or vice versa. Fortunately, at least here, the Mechanism does not give a shit, and its Gifts work like a quantum clock.

The moment when he completely comprehended that his gifts had passed, and now Ilya was once again watching the snowflakes begin to fall, lying on a completely bare cloak spread out beneath him, surrounded by winter and blizzard, and three corpses of varying degrees of dismemberment, which he had personally turned into corpses. With his own hands, so to speak. Exhaling wearily and slightly hoarsely, still feeling the echo of agony in his body left over from the Martyr's curse that had been lifted at the beginning of the cycle, and feeling the pain in his pierced chest much more clearly, Ilya got to his feet and set about his business — he could look at the snowfall while lying on his back another time, even if he was not in danger of simply freezing to death.

* * *

There is nothing more pleasant for a diver's heart than counting his loot, which includes not only the priceless drops of the almighty Essence, but also material gains. The three agents of an unknown organisation he had killed turned out to be excellently equipped, and Ilya spent several hours sorting, collecting, and analysing the trophies. There are a number of rituals that help to evaluate a particular amulet, artifact, or even relic through the prism of the Mechanism's work. These rituals do not require any specific talents, as they are supported by the Broken World itself, which is why any gifted person, local or foreign, can apply them. In the very first days of the Mechanism's arrival, several of the simplest and most primitive versions of such a ritual had already been discovered on the Forum.

As it was called back then, and as it continues to be called now, ironically referring to an old reference, it was analogous to a system help file. Such rituals, not only analytical but also of a different nature, relying not on talent but exclusively on connection with the Mechanism, were precisely the Secret Knowledge that Ilya possessed at an outstanding level even before the creation of the Twin. There were countless ways to summon a reference-image-understanding of one thing or another; some worked better, some worse, some required special consumables, some required time, some responded better in certain weather, to certain classes, or in certain areas. To tell the truth, this reference is not the most reliable thing; they are easily deceived, very often miss curses, beacons, and other crap, but we have what we have

If you wish to notice the cunning contractual curse on the handle of the bone axe obtained in the lacuna, then be so kind as to spend money on suitable analytical artefacts, a scanning talent, a ritualistic skill, or all of the above. And if you don't have any of the above, then at least be happy with what you have, especially if you have much more than other local kings and other high aristocrats. On average, such ‘general’ rituals were considered cumbersome, too unreliable, and inferior in every way to more specialised ones based on one talent or another. However, with them, it was possible to greatly expand the functionality of one's Gemini. Not in battle, of course, but in peaceful life or in preparation for battle, albeit always with limitations.

Ilya used a relatively simple ritual, referred to on the Forum as ‘Cold-blood’ because the main reagent was the cooled blood of a local he had killed himself, ideally one who was gifted. Needless to say, with three such corpses at hand, this ritual yielded results not much worse than using a full-fledged scanning talent. Alas, there were only three charges because each activation required blood from a separate body. However, there were also three truly valuable relics found on the enemy, which were just enough. The mask and sword fragment from the Executioner and the Martyr's bracelets, spiked on both sides. The Assassin was also well equipped, but he did not have any treasures worth at least several large villages in his possession.

Ilya scanned the rest of the amulets and other crap with his perception and simpler rituals, spending only a few minutes. Protective weather amulets, snowshoes for easier walking, night vision, repelling curses, repelling diseases, general strengthening, breathing protection, poison detection, a pathfinder working on the principles of a compass, but only taking into account the twisted physics of the Broken only on an insignificant piece of the Ecumene with a radius of about a thousand kilometres.

Everyone had a full set of appropriate talismans and a number of trinkets purely for themselves, such as slightly worn religious paraphernalia. There were also a few unused ‘firecrackers’ that made a loud noise and flash, but there were no combat amulets left at all, nor any reserves of magical thread that had been used up. Fighting for his life, the Executioner threw absolutely everything he had into the balance, leaving nothing in reserve, the bastard.

Knives and short blades made of high-quality alchemically reinforced steel, a set of poisons along with poisonous needles, a blowpipe, throwing knives, and a very good noose. To be honest, it's easier to cut off someone's head with a sharp and magically durable thread than to strangle them. Stimulating, healing, and anti-toxic alchemy, properly labelled and signed. High-quality ritual scanners that evaluate not material objects, such as relics with a clear ‘trace and form,’ but potions and other mixtures — there are only a few of them, and almost all of them require special conditions for use. Ilya left all the alchemy he had obtained from the Warlock, simply unable to understand what it was made of and what the contraindications were. Wendigo already reacts strangely to alchemy, which requires separate dosages and often specific compositions, especially when it comes to a Diver who has become so attuned to his curse.

A magnificent crossbow with enchanted bolts, which Ilya openly drooled over, a set of clothes and shoes, none of which fit him, except for the Assassin's oversized cloaks and boots. The poor fellow's boots turned out to be so cool and comfortable that Ilya almost forgave him for trying to kill him and for the long days of running through the snowy wastelands. There was also a supply of excellent camping rations, some of which were magical, clearly made using either alchemy or talents. There were whole branches of them, allowing you to cook all sorts of things, like the tricks of the Alchemist or the Diviner, for whom a pot is as important a tool as an axe or sword is for the Executioner.

And, of course, all three relics, real treasures worth their weight in gold... well, the sword definitely is. And the mask too, but only because it doesn't take up much space, especially if you fold it up nicely. The bracelets, alas, are too specific an item, like the Martyr class, so it's not certain that he will be able to sell them. This isn't the Citadel, where there would definitely be someone willing to buy a good item; here, they don't know the Martyr build schematics that well. However, even in the Citadel, people might not be overly enthusiastic about the item, because the Citadel has enough of its own craftsmen, as well as all kinds of valuable trophies of various kinds. But there are still a few Martyrs compared to other classes, because the path is very difficult and requires a lot of patience.

Execution Sword (Relic)

Step: first

Condition: Only the Executioner can accept the full power of this relic.

History: This blade was used to execute those who broke the law or fell out of favour by order of royalty, even if there is no memory left of that kingdom. Many Executioners held it in their hands, ending the lives of those who usually ruled over the lives of others. At some point, the blade forged from black bronze in scarlet flames cut short too many lives. Having taken the last descendant of the ancient Kings, the last bearer of the blood of those who ordered this sword to be forged, the blade could not bear the weight of its glory and its shame. The blade cracked and crumbled into dust, but even the remaining fragment preserves part of the memory of all the victims of the blade and all its executioners. The kingdom disappeared, vanished in the endless flow of time, fell into oblivion along with its lands, until those who received the Blessing of the Mechanism entered that oblivion, pulling from the ruins of the fallen kingdom a fragment of memory about it.

Property: Countless curses were hurled at the Executioner who executed with this blade, but none of them affected him, having been consumed by the blade. While in the Executioner's hand, it gradually draws harmful effects and curses onto itself, accelerating and simplifying the purification of its owner from them.

Property: This blade remembers every execution, every blow, and every drop of blood spilled, drawing strength from that memory as if to assist its owner in their bloody work. While in the hands of the Executioner, it significantly reduces the magic cost of all active weapon skills.

Property: The blade was broken, but the hilt remained... or is that a lie? Perhaps the blade is still here, even if only as a ghostly shadow of its sinister bronze? While in the hands of the Executioner, the weapon skills ‘Hand of Execution,’ ‘Painful Blade,’ ‘Beheading,’ and a number of others related to those mentioned above work with a power exceeding the current talent rank by one step, adding the aspect ‘Levelling’ to each of them. If the main talent is developed to its limit, the effect is only enhanced by a third of its power, but the aspect is still added with each strike.

Even within the ranks of the Citadel, there would be many willing to purchase this item for any reasonable price. It is not simply an artefact that provides some magical effect similar to the talents used, no. His copper and bone knife is an artefact that creates a temperature blade similar to the second level of the Fire Line, but it is not a relic, not even in the slightest. After all, a relic is always tied to a specific class or even a certain talent or trait, but at the same time, it is not alien to the very basis of the Mechanism's giftedness. The description clearly states that this type of item provides a comprehensive boost, affecting the class and status list itself, as well as allowing the use of an additional aspect of a key combat skill. Consider that instead of four or three steps, you have one more! Moreover, the aspect improvement itself is very useful, effectively piercing magical defence and accelerating the already enormous damage of class talents.

Okay, when fully closed, the boost isn't so impressive, just one additional unlocked property. A talent in three steps with such an addition will be stronger than some triples, but it can't compare to a quadruple on its own. However, a competent set of relics that complement each other can significantly enhance the user's performance, especially in the first two steps. This is likely to be the case in higher steps as well, but finding any relics of the appropriate levels in these higher steps is, to put it mildly, very challenging. And to assemble a set from them with an emphasis on synergy, suitable specifically for your class, there are very few such examples even on Earth.

A relic cannot be created, or rather, it can, but you need to be at least a triple craftsman yourself, and even then, it probably won't work. Relics are certain items, artefacts, amulets, talismans, or even just objects that were originally non-magical but have acquired a history. A dagger used to kill an outstanding righteous man, a rope used to hang a defeated rebellious prince, a table at which generations and generations of rulers sat. Or, for example, the Executioner's blade, with which so many were executed, so many that these executions resonated with the Mechanism of all that is Broken, imprinting themselves on the universe.

Such items are almost always obtained exclusively in lacunae; it is unrealistic to create a relic yourself without having a specific build from the three and above. More precisely, it is realistic, but you have to wait, not years, but centuries, until the history of the relic is formed. Needless to say, it hurts to lose them — some relics are more expensive than the cost of resurrection, and it is not always possible to find them, especially if the lacuna is unstable or if the battle took place beyond the border of the opened rift. Of the three relics, the Executioner's sword was the most serious, closer to the second stage than the first, but the other two did not disappoint either. Well, one of them certainly did not disappoint, yes.

Executioner's Cap (Relic)

Step: first

Condition: Only the Executioner can accept the full power of this relic.

The story: In a kingdom long ago and far away, there lived an Executioner who carried out the orders of his lord and master, who executed people at his own discretion. The people believed that it was always the same Executioner, but their belief was a lie from the start. Only the mask was the same, but the Executioners changed, at the will of the suzerain and their own mistakes. The mask absorbed their mistakes, their cruelty, and their ill repute, and one day simply disappeared into thin air along with the last of the executioners. His body was found nine days later in his chambers, but there was no face on that body, only naked flesh. But the cap was found by completely different people, who had received the blessing of the Mechanism, stepping between reality and non-existence, removing the relic from the clutches of unreality.

Property: Although this cap is thin and light, it is as difficult to damage the head it covers as if it were protected by the strongest helmet made of the finest steel. While in the hands of the Executioner, its strength and protection allow the cap to be used instead of full armour to protect the head.

Property: Any Executioner must remain unrecognised, for such is the law and such is the nature of his Fate, and this hood will help in that. While in the Executioner's power, it conceals the owner's energy and spiritual trail, and also enhances any camouflage skill by one full rank of camouflage talent, adding the ‘Rejection’ aspect to the chosen talent. If the Executioner's chosen camouflage talent is developed to its limit, the effect enhancement does not work, but the aspect will still be added.

Well, Ilya assessed the strength of the protection, no doubt about it, it turned out to be easier to tear off the head along the neck than to break the skull with a powerful blow, it's good that he didn't even try, immediately starting to break the opponent's spine. The properties seem not to be much weaker, only there are two of them instead of one, but in reality, their value is significantly lower. Camouflage is, of course, very important for the Executioner, but it is not absolutely necessary, and the chosen aspect-improvement is not the most optimal, adding a kind of aura of terror that seems to say, ‘Don't come near me, or you'll be in trouble.’ It's purely an executioner's trick, not applicable in combat, and the executioners' camouflage is more often than not about secrecy; it is designed to remain unrecognisable under the mask. This is quite logical, given the role of executioners in society and the likely desire to get even with them, but Ilya is sure that the thug he killed used the relic exclusively as a helmet.

In the case of the blade, the main property, according to Ilya, was not even the enhancement of talents, but the significant reduction in the cost of all active striking skills. The earthling was still quite shocked by how often the Executioner struck with his blades, blaming it all on the excellent stimulating alchemy. But he hardly used his reserves at all, only straining the memory of the relic. The mask, on the other hand... well, it's not the most suitable relic for the class; Earth Executioners mostly try to either boost the damage, add defence, or, of course, manoeuvrability. Only a relic for an Executioner, sharpened for manoeuvrability, would cost so much that they are not even sold in the Citadel — there, a decree from above decides who will get that relic, unless the person who obtained it is an Executioner himself. An Executioner capable of, for example, active blink-teleportation transforms into such an imba that it becomes scary, especially for those who stand against him.

The third relic did not particularly surprise him; he had already understood its nature during the battle. It was not weak in itself, but rather very dependent not only on class, but also on a number of existing talents. Martyrs are generally difficult to level up, especially if you don't want to engage in self-harm. So they often try to speed up the collection of Essence in some way without turning into a masochist forever chained to the cross. Obviously, not everyone succeeds, and desynchronisation is always happy to embrace such individuals. The whole problem lies in the deceptive ease of extracting Essence from one's own suffering, when it seems that just a little more and there it is, another drop, another easy money in the real world, and no one has cancelled the talents for levelling pain or turning it into pleasure.

And such a dashing maestro of applied economics simply does not notice how with every drop he receives, there is less and less of the Diver himself in his Twin, and more and more suffering, thirst for it, a desire not to earn credits, but simply to cause himself pain, to become even more resilient, but only in order to endure more pain. Quite often, such people are not even killed out of self-preservation, but simply locked up in deep, walled cells and left there to torment and torment themselves for eternity, continuing the flow of Essence to Earth. They are only killed when they become savage and begin to try to inflict their torment on everyone around them. Or if they somehow begin to rise through the ranks and risk getting a fourth Step.

Ironically, it is often the Executioners who execute such individuals, because their class is the first and easiest of all standard classes to gain the ability to kill not only the current incarnation, but to kill in general, forcibly emptying the Vessels of Rebirth of their victims. This is another reason not to show your face, even among your fellow divers, because many of them would prefer not to tolerate such an individual nearby. A good, versatile Executioner can get the opportunity to perform one form of absolute execution or another somewhere around the third level, even if they do not intentionally develop in this direction. Meanwhile, most other classes will only be given the chance to unlock such abilities at the third level, requiring a special build and narrow specialisation. If the Executioner specialises and hones their skills themselves, they will be able to destroy a Twin even at the second level — a feature unprecedented for other classes.

There is one young lady of the third rank in the Citadel, not even an earthling, but a foreigner who moved to Broken after accidentally winning the lottery in her native world and being brutally tortured by her native ruling elite for it, because what does the rabble here think it can get away with? What a dump, in the best traditions not even of the Middle Ages, but of some mixture of antiquity and Aztec blood cults. Ilka, also known as Kilka, also known as Klt-Iltaka, received from the Lottery the ability to kill permanently from the very first level. And not just an ordinary diver who has no additional protection from devouring, executing, or devastating talents, but anyone at all. Even the protection of the Heart of the Citadel, which attracts, though not always, the fallen from the mouths and stomachs of the higher creatures of the fifth level, could not resist her execution.

According to reports on the Forum, the lady is pure gold and very cautious, trying not to hurt even a fly, but of course, everyone treats her with the utmost courtesy. And they always take her with them if one of the local princes starts acting overly cunning again. Just her name on the “list of guests wishing to have an audience” makes the host side downright silky, meek, and very, very, very, VERY accommodating. Especially if she only has to deliver the final blow, while the accused will be twisted by a strike team of Fours with the support of one of the Citadel's Fives. For obvious reasons, they try not to reveal her build, purely out of a desire to keep their strategic advantage secret, but Forum users would not be Forum users if they were unable to piece together that build from indirect clues and fleeting bits of information. They honed the foreigner's defense and survivability, making her perhaps the most resilient and tenacious Executioner among those who have reached the third level.

Ilya shook his head, dispelling unwelcome thoughts – he had been thinking about the Martyrs who had gone into self-flagellation, and had ended up reflecting on the otherworldly Executioner in the service of humanity on Earth. Refocusing his mind on the image of the ritual reference, Ilya sighed heavily because he really didn't want to carry the bracelets with him. But greed prevented him from leaving.

Bracers of Agony (Relic)

Step: first

Condition: Only the Martyr can accept the full power of this relic.

Story: Once upon a time, a wise man was put in chains and left chained to an unbreakable rock in the middle of the desert. The wise man could have left, but decided to stay; he could have broken the chains, but chose to wear them with pride; he could have died, but chose to live. The chains became overgrown with thorns, his pain became blades, his determination became steel, and he himself became part of his own chains. Centuries passed, and those chains absorbed much suffering, both their own and that of others, until their traces were lost, only to be found in oblivion, where those blessed by the Great Mechanism dared to venture.

Property: Only the Martyr can understand the beauty and destructiveness of the shackles forged into handcuffs, for the relic always transfers the suffering of others to everyone nearby. As long as it is not in the possession of the Martyr, it spreads an aura of pain and agony at a certain distance from itself. The agony becomes stronger when anyone who is not a Martyr attempts to take the relic into their hands.

Property: The bloody steel blackened from torment, absorbed it, and over time began to accumulate within itself. While under the Martyr's control, it creates and maintains the “Reservoir of Suffering,” or duplicates an existing one, if there is one.

Property: Each blow to anyone who dares to wear these shackles will cause three times more pain than it should, but does a Martyr fear pain? While in the power of the Martyr, it significantly increases the painfulness of any effects on the physical body, and also enhances the owner's talents related to self-torment and agony.

For some time, Ilya tried to figure out how to carry this thing. He even figured out how to make sleds out of the materials he had, on which he could carry part of the luggage and such a wayward artifact. Of course, he could have ignored the agonizing aura altogether, simply relying on his super-Trait. He could, but that didn't mean he enjoyed enduring pain that would kill a normal person in a couple of hours. In the end, after rearranging his luggage three times in different proportions, he simply gave up and threw the shackles far away into the snow. If anyone found them, they would be a vicious masochist, and Ilya would have nothing to do with it.

Loaded down with the rest of his luggage, he jumped up and down on the spot to check the fastenings, hissed softly from the pain in his rapidly healing lung, coughed properly, chewed away his pain with an excellent ration, and set off toward Upperstone. A visit for two or three days, just to cover his tracks and quickly move on to some other city, far away from the one that a strange carver had already shown an interest in. The city was waiting for him, but here, in the cold wasteland, the diver had already run around and fought enough. He'd had enough of active adventures; it would be better to devote the second cycle to trying to get away from the vicissitudes of the first. The main thing was that FaFo didn't screw up again by arranging another Great Adventure for the earthling.

* * *

The journey through the snow-covered wasteland was both easier and more difficult this time. Easier because no one was chasing him anymore, and more difficult because of the nagging wound, which would take at least five more days to heal — incredibly fast by the laws of biology, but still damn slow for those accustomed to full-immersion virtual reality games in capsules. It was good that he didn't immerse himself in this crap too much and preferred only extremely realistic simulators tailored to acquiring one or another useful skill in Broken. And yet, his punctured lung bothered him, as did the constant hoarse cough and pain. In addition, the continuous journey, albeit unhurried, prevented the wound from healing normally, slowing down recovery somewhat. Ilya did not rush and did not overload his body, but rest would still have been the preferred way to spend his time.

Fortunately, there was an even more promising option. A herd of horned animals, somewhat resembling Earth yaks, only with slightly thinner horns and stocky, with short legs, like ponies. The animals were animals, not creatures, so the Earthling broke the neck of a large animal that had fallen slightly behind the herd without unnecessary sentiment. The remaining crowd of twenty horned and hoofed creatures tried to turn around and play football with the earthling as a united front. Or rather, to play with the earthling, not against him, but a half-hearted Howl quickly convinced them otherwise, forcing them to flee in panic.

What is characteristic is that they quite demonstratively ignored the aura of the Wendigo's presence, which he did not hide. And in general, they showed quite active resistance to mentally frightening tricks. His scream would have stopped the hearts of simpler animals or paralyzed them, but these were fine; they just ran cheerfully and briskly. It is even possible that they naturally inherited as a species trait what Ilya temporarily received as a gift from the Great Mechanism. This, incidentally, provoked hysterical laughter, albeit suppressed by natural restraint and a touch of malice.

The carcass turned out to be quite meaty, and the meat was delicious, not tough at all and not smelly, as he had feared. Using a special household amulet, he lit a fire on the bare rocks, threw in as much fuel as he could gather from around him, and roasted the meat on the hot stones, writing off a little more of his moral debt to the slain liquidators. At this rate, he would forgive them all and even bring flowers to their graves, well, if they had graves or at least some kind of cenotaph. The meat turned out delicious, and not tasteless, because the earthling generously used up his supply of foreign spices, stuffing his cheeks with tenderloin and feeling his wound hurt a little less.

The inner Wendigo again demanded to eat everything raw, rather than spoil it with this awful and disgusting heat, but to Ilya, this inner grumbling only served as an additional spice. Licking the ground pepper off his fingers, he took another piece of meat off the grill and looked inside himself, involuntarily shaking his head. Still, his second Gift from the Mechanism had let him down, giving him a random boost that was laughable or pitiful, depending on the point of view.

Blessings and Curses:

Heart Feelings Fortitude (Expiring): 1/1

There are countless ways to charm, bewitch, or enchant a desired target, whether for love, profit, or to get someone to talk. However, some individuals are naturally more resistant to spells and incantations of this kind, controlling their emotions and feelings more clearly. Such sudden interest or love, submission, or desire for someone will not plunge them into a storm of passions, but only make them wary. This Blessing grants a similar resistance, even if only temporarily, but during this time, any Witch, Seductress, or Storyteller will experience some difficulty in influencing their target.

Validity period: until the end of the Cycle.

Well, yes, it's just wonderful, magnificent even. It's like giving a decorative papier-mâché helmet to a child to someone sitting in the cockpit of a super-heavy tank, which is located on the lower floor of a nuclear bunker, and who already has a normal helmet for wearing inside a spacesuit. In other words, to put it mildly, the blessing received is simply irrelevant; it is lost against the backdrop of the Great Trait that already exists. The most useless Gift he could have received, or so it seems to him in the heat of the moment. He fell asleep terribly angry, and was buried in the snow in the middle of a very suitable crevice, which was narrow enough to be uncomfortable even for a Wendigo's body.

In the morning, the journey continued, even accelerating, because the wound that had been tormenting him had almost completely healed, only causing a slight twinge of pain during the most sudden movements. Snowy hills, rocks, gorges and crevices, often hidden under snow, rare trees or even small groves, stripped of leaves and covered with snow, often up to the very tops of their crowns — the landscape was certainly breathtaking, but only for the first couple of days. By now, Ilya was sick of this colourful landscape, and a kind of aggression welled up from the depths of his soul, and his teeth were grinding. He diligently took out his bad mood on every creature he encountered along the way.

He killed another herbivore, a standard deer, caught up with and tore apart a wolf fleeing from him, which had begun to transform into a creature, and even knocked down a bat with a four-metre wingspan with a thrown stone. This one had definitely transformed into a creature, successfully acquiring several rather unpleasant abilities — hypnotic sleep, especially on an already sleeping target, a deafening squeak, and something to do with blood, in the form of non-healing and bleeding scratches that never stop bleeding. In fact, if it weren't for its sleep-inducing attack, he would have had every chance of waking up from the sensation of his Hide being torn off, and then, if he had been slow to react, he might have encountered rebirth altogether. But Bruce Wayne's distant relative, a stern man who also runs a high-quality blog for young and not-so-young shape-shifters, behaved according to its usual tactics.

Ilya woke up because someone persistently tried make his sleep ethernal, after which he skillfully knocked down the scum that had interrupted his two-hour sleep. Damn it, he hardly ever sleeps in the Twin's body, taking full advantage of its endurance! And yet he still gets woken up regularly! What the hell, one wonders? In short, he killed the beast and even ate its entrails, alas, without receiving the long-awaited drop, although he was sure that there was just a little bit left. Lightly scratching the pad of his finger against the beast's fang, he was quite surprised to find that even his body, frozen by Cald and strengthened by Hunger, could not immediately close the scratch. Dark, almost black blood fell on the snow just like that of an ordinary person, even a little faster, as if this person suffered from hereditary poor clotting. Not to say that it was a strong effect, no, rather something like tricks that work at full power against Wendigos, without being blocked by the protection of the curse.

Every day, Upperstone, which he had so diligently avoided just a short time ago, was getting a little closer. And this “little” was added to the very long list of “things that annoy Ilya.” It turned out that between him and the city lay the most uneven and difficult section of the Ridge he had ever encountered. Continuous crevices and pits, fractures in the stone surface, as well as frequent and dense groves, small but bursting with power, sometimes having their own masters, to whom even Wendigo did not want to go as a guest. There was a feeling, very similar to the truth, that miniature faults that had not completely collapsed were hidden in the depths of those sinkholes. They were too narrow, no wider than the eye of a needle, which is why creatures could not pass through them, but the power, wild and unbridled magic, flowed through these needle eyes into the Broken One, filling the Ridge with extremely evil beasts.

He saw a snow leopard lazily basking in the sun, not particularly large, barely bigger than that memorable armadillo. But this beast had so much sheer power that its heart blinded the diver's vision, clearly visible from a distance of almost a kilometer, although he usually could hardly see hearts from a hundred meters away. Assessing the prospects, Ilya silently turned around and walked in a wide arc, taking the trouble to cover his tracks with trophy alchemy to remove the scent and burn the footprints. For such a beast, you could get a couple, or even three drops, without his blessing, if you knocked it down in one blow. But it was much more likely that you would be knocked down in one blow, not the cat. Not the second stage, not yet, but very, very close to it, the Wendigo's instincts literally screamed that the prey was delicious-delicious-satisfying-delicious, but at the same time dangerous, and perhaps it was worth looking for something more accessible and easier to kill.

Wendigo's reflexes and tricks.

That essence, which did not recognize half-measures and fears before the victim.

Needless to say, Ilya had no desire to test his skills against such an awkward beast. Leopards almost always develop themselves to the point of extreme agility, mobility, and the ability to deliver one or more terrifyingly powerful attacks without being hit in return. Roughly speaking, the build is similar to Ilya's, only with much, much greater physical power. However, while bypassing the alpha cat's territory, the earthling still found a creature that could be used to obtain the missing drop without much risk. Well, as far as it is possible to obtain essence in Broken without exposing oneself to risk.

He noticed this abomination through his Eye, simply seeing a scattering of hearts under the snow. Mutilated, misshapen, scattered in a chaotic order, and even changing slightly with each beat of the hearts. The rest was not difficult; analyzing what he saw took less than a couple of seconds, giving him the logical and only correct answer. Before him was a living pool of Hateful Flesh, too chaotic to form a fighting body, too weak to even move, but deadly to anyone who stepped into it. Judging by all appearances, the site of the not-too-large crater that had become the “cage” for this puddle had once been a spontaneously formed rift.

The creature, or rather its spores, escaped from there, but the rift itself almost closed over time; they always close if the world still suppresses and pushes them out. The Ridge is not Distorted Land, where there are so many rifts that they simply do not have time to close, as new ones appear in place of the old ones. In short, the door closed, but the spores of flesh remained, gradually sprouting and drawing strength from the crack left by the rift. No longer a pinhole, but at least a donut hole! A rift is, in essence, a simple thing — instability in reality, a crack in space, a door knocked out and torn from its hinges, leading somewhere. Most often, it leads to a place where there are many creatures and a lot of power filling the space.

The creatures don't even particularly rush through those rifts, especially at first, when the background on the other side is even weaker than in their native habitat. Well, most of the creatures, that is, while there are abominations such as Rot, Crystal Plague, or, say, Hateful Flesh, for them, any new territory is a blessing, just keep up with accepting and burning them. And also close the rifts, which even an untrained gifted person can easily slam shut. Trivially pouring out reserves and pressing down on the instability of space with your attributes, forcibly bringing it into chaos and forcing the fabric of the Broken to harden. You can also hammer away at areas with active skills, but this is too wasteful and should only be used if there are a bunch of creatures nearby and you want to destroy several mutated hares in a row.

In general, it is not that difficult to close rifts, especially small ones. Even the ungifted can manage it if they have the right talent. One of the few skills that even the ungifted can choose is to exert pressure with their own attributes and essence, their soul, if you will. It's another matter that they don't often choose it, because... ...well, why bother? The lion's share of commoners, peasants, townspeople, and other inhabitants of the relatively stable territories of the Broken live and die without ever seeing even small rifts. Even here, in the middle of the wild lands of the Ridge, there are, in fact, no rifts at all, only holes like this and pinholes.

Not all parts of the Ecumene have areas where rifts are not just a regular occurrence but a serious problem requiring immediate resolution. This was the case, for example, with the Citadel, which was originally created under the protection of the aborigines, creating a line of outposts controlled by foreign divers. They were supposed to die for the beautiful promises of acceptance into high society, protecting that high society, and drawing the creatures to themselves. No, the locals got what they wanted, but they were very, very upset that the line of outposts eventually grew into the Citadel, a full-fledged state capable of destroying all the remaining kingdoms and duchies, which did not expect such agility from the stupid newcomers.

"They say that men can always reduce any topic to three things," Ilya mutters to himself, moving closer to the edge of the crater-like hollow, at the bottom of which a pool of flesh bubbles and beats with twenty-three hearts. “The Roman Empire, Warhammer's LORE, and discussions about the Citadel. You can't help but believe it, yes...”

Putting aside thoughts of the strongest human faction in all of Broken, Ilya took up a striking position and, taking a deep breath, struck with an Ice Breath at full power. The snowy rug covering the puddle for camouflage instantly turned into a solid ice shell, and the flesh, which was very vulnerable to direct magic, began to shrivel and die. The puddle did not give up, spewing clouds of spores and poisonous vapour, but what was the point if Cold was taking it all away? Ilya moved clockwise, freezing the ground again and again, freezing the cracking ice from which mouths and tentacles were emerging, freezing everything and everyone.

It's funny, but the creature, which was practically invulnerable to local animals, was completely powerless against Ilya, who possessed a powerful ranged skill. Having spent two-thirds of his strength reserves safely, the earthling moved back a hundred metres, took out another block of pemmican and began to chew lazily, recovering. He stayed there for almost a full day, emptying his reserves twice, but he finished off the creature. He could have done it much faster if he had risked breaking through the crust of ice and frozen flesh to reach the bottom, where the creature's last hearts remained around the shrivelled ‘donut’. Well, or he could have increased his Ice Breath to the second division, but there was no point in doing so right now.

And then, just as Ilya was beginning to get a little annoyed, the breath finally penetrated the ice and frozen flesh that had been unable to protect it, reaching the creature's core, closing the micro-fracture and instantly killing the rest of the pool of flesh. The last heart ceased to be visible to his special vision, and then the Great Mechanism came to life, granting Ilya another fleeting vision of scarlet-gold drops falling on white bones. At the bottom of the stone bowl, there was already a great deal of that scarlet gold, about a fifth of the total. Or even a little more than a fifth, because after the first drop, a second one fell.

Tap.

Tap.

Exhaling wearily, suppressing some vague urge to gnaw on the frozen mince of hateful flesh, Ilya returned to his temporary camp and lay down on the snow, gazing at the sky. He never thought that Hunger's curse had any instincts, if not for self-preservation, then for disgust. To eat frozen, but still Hateful Flesh, one would have to be very brave. Even if it could digest such chthonic and toxic food, it would be stained by its aftermath, flashing on all possible scanners. It would be enough to put a dog or a cat at the gate to immediately raise questions, but they wouldn't put them there.

Or rather, they place not dogs or cats..

From the memory of the Twin, the earthling knew that dogs or cats were used more in small villages or even farmsteads to check on guests or distant relatives who had come to visit. Strangers could simply be killed on the spot, without even being checked. But in large cities, a special breed of canaries is placed at the gates, clearly a local endemic species, possibly bred by masters of chimerical mutations or druidism. Similar birds can be found throughout Broken, but Ilya could not immediately recall any with this particular coloring, identical in all of them, and specifically in canaries. In any case, these birds are very sensitive and silent, singing only when looking for a female or sensing the dangerous presence of an evil force. Obviously, the males sit in their breeding grounds, fertilizing the females, while the female birds are placed on the gates.

The intensity of the trill determines the strength of the source of disturbance, and the melody determines the type of enemy. You can't hide your taint from such a scanner, and once they realize that he has eaten infected meat but is still walking around, talking, trying to convince everyone of his innocence with reasonableness, and looking like a human being rather than a lump of tentacles and maws... They'll start shooting at him right away with some kind of ballista, no less.

Ilya did not raise his talent rank on the battlefield, preferring to get out of there as quickly as possible. Who knows what might come to the surface of this battle, its echoes and magical disturbances. Most ordinary beasts would prefer to get away from such “noise” as quickly as possible, but Ilya was rightly afraid of the few who would experience predatory curiosity rather than fear. In general, the Diver hid in a deep crevice between the rocks, as if between two stone loaves in the very center of truth, so to speak. For a second, he imagined that these rocks were really the ass of an ancient stone giant who had fallen asleep and gradually become part of the landscape. He had to suppress a completely inappropriate giggle, like a young schoolboy who had heard about the Cank-Dickenson theorem.

According to earthly meme traditions, he still had to find an angry bear in this crevice-burrow and fight it for the right to possess the living space, driving the beast out into the cold, but Ilya was not Eastern European enough to follow this practice. Closing his eyes, he turned inward and saw, as if in reality, a frozen lake and an ominous bowl. A bleached skull bares its sharp teeth, and drops of golden blood flow up the walls, spill over the edge, and concentrate on an already familiar section of the rock, covered with primitive but damn sinister drawings. A strange, frightening, and completely different figure, even if it is only a couple of scratches on the stone, walks among the human figures. It walks without hiding, but remains undisclosed, walking and choosing a victim to take for itself, whole and complete.

The stone primitive comic grows and expands, occupying the same area, sprouting within itself, filling the space allotted to it, and when the twentieth drop falls on these drawings, it sinks deep inside. It acquires completeness, ultimate perfection, which literally defines the essence of the drawing, an essence that gradually becomes part of Ilya, again, as last time, offering him a choice of a certain step in one direction or another. As before, there are three options, but now all three proposed aspects of development give a much more desirable result. And, as before, only one can be chosen, leaving the other two options in the past, with no right to change one's mind.

More precisely, in theory, it is possible to nullify talent, but outside of a large community that can afford to maintain a couple of carriers with very narrowly focused and completely non-combat builds, such opportunities are virtually non-existent. Fortunately, Ilya knew what he wanted from his talent and did not think too much about what to choose. Although he was surprised, very surprised, that the three suggestions included “Pacifying,” which reduced Hunger and suppressed the instincts of the Wendigo while the camouflage of the lurking evil was active. In fact, the lion's share of Earthlings playing this subtype of the Possessed chose “Lurking Evil” precisely for this finale, suppressing damage to the psyche and receiving a universal switch from a mode of adequacy to a mode of animal aggression.

And without any alcohol or drugs, as is often the case on Earth with gangs and hooligans!

Ilya was surprised because he believed that with his build and lack of mind-stabilizing talents, this aspect would simply not be offered to him at all. But apparently, the fact that he had never tasted the flesh of a sentient being, except for the armored creature, which was not really sentient, played a role. And the flesh that did end up in his mouth, he spat out every time, contrary to all instincts. It turns out that it was precisely because of these feats, without any sarcasm, that this option for final talent improvement was opened up to him, if we are talking about a standard Wendigo without a super-Trait in his status. Well, it's lucky for him that this replacement at least didn't remove the option he needed most of all from the three options.

Ilya practically without hesitation discarded “Dive,” which allows one to temporarily dive into the Cald itself with one's aura, completely hiding from any scanning. In the sense that weak and not-so-weak sensory talents will see not an ordinary person, but nothing at all, emptiness. Visual visibility, by the way, is preserved, unlike when illuminated by scanning abilities or artifacts. No doubt, it's a useful thing, even in combat, because with it you can strike from a surprise angle. Yes, it's not a full-fledged combat stealth talent for battles, but it's still a very good substitute for one.

Having made his choice, Ilya closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into a kind of meditative trance, feeling a restructuring of his very essence. Only when it was over did the diver allow himself a satisfied smile and glance at the status list, which delighted him with his first talent closed to the limit, and immediately three full steps! Not just two!

Lurking Evil: 3/3 (max level reached)

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 contain, 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 recognize the Wendigo, does not notice anything wrong or sinister. And even those who can see a little more are quite capable of missing the lurking Evil, especially if they do not wait or search for it intentionally.

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

Depth: Learning how to hide its eternal Hunger 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 who are accustomed to noticing the incomprehensible and dangerous. The depth of the masking 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 overall effectiveness of the skill has been significantly increased, counteracting even advanced forms of scanning. Support for camouflage requires virtually no concentration or additional effort.

Veil: Hiding its evil from the outside world, Wendigo transforms the camouflage veil around its essence into a full-fledged veil that obscures even the most attentive gaze. From now on, the lurking Glad and Cold hides itself, not only from direct search, but also from lofty divinations, cursing rituals, or fervent prayers. Covered by a veil, the Wendigo is able to enter the vault of an active temple or the palace of a ruler, wrapped in a powerful protective barrier, able to enter there, remaining in the eyes of the hosts as just a human being. Allowing those who let it in, who checked it, who assured themselves of its harmlessness, to make a terrible and fatal mistake.

Here it is, here it is, the power of his dreams!

Okay, not exactly dreams, but yes, power. Because the Veil is not without reason considered the top aspect for virtually any talent of social disguise and secrecy, which has three steps, sometimes even surpassing those talents that have four steps. However, it only overlaps when these four steps were pumped up at random and with suboptimal aspect choices, or if the four were originally pumped into hybridity, expanding the concept of masking with the same active invisibility or closure from direct sensory perception. Such an aspect can not only reveal hidden evil, but almost always loners with unpleasant classes try to get the Veil, although it does not always appear at the final upgrade, even if the first improvement is chosen correctly.

Ilya immediately began testing his new acquisition and was extremely pleased with the results. The Veil itself did not change anything, but now he felt as if he was enveloped even more deeply in the natural currents of the surrounding world, and he immediately appreciated the ease of activating and maintaining the skill. It didn't simplify everything by an order of magnitude, but it came very close, showing once again that there is a small gap between each subsequent step of talent. An irrational and impatient desire broke through to quickly pump up to five those talents that had the required number of steps.

No, no, no, now that camouflage has been maximized, he will develop more smoothly, first of all achieving key survival talents up to twos. The main thing is to live long enough to at least get those twos, and then full completion of all talents will be just around the corner. With his bonuses to drop gains, it would be criminally foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity to fill yourself with essence to the maximum. Ordinary divers with the Wendigo class don't max out all their talents, preferring to quickly try to break through to the next level, but he's not ordinary, is he? It's nice to feel like the Chosen One.

The main thing to remember is that he could die at any moment, with all his incredible talents, unique gifts, and great qualities.

Because those who forget really do die.

* * *

The Mechanism's gift worked reliably and constantly, allowing Ilya to easily sense a straight line, like an arrow, pointing to the location of the key element for entering the closed lacuna. At first, he wasn't particularly alarmed by this, even though he had to move in roughly the same direction as this pointer. Broken and large, it could easily fail to reach the lacuna or bypass it, moving further towards the city. But the closer Ilya got to Upperstone, or rather, its approximate coordinates based on the map taken from the liquidators, the stronger he felt a certain unpleasant sensation, as if it were becoming chilly and uncomfortable, and not because of the constant cold.

A closed lacuna can be a very insidious thing and may well begin to sprout right under a populated area, which is a fairly common occurrence. It is not frequent, but one in approximately thirty closed lacunae sprouts in cities. There are ways to instantly detect such a lacuna or simply prevent it from taking root, but these methods involve the use of Hearts, and Ilya somehow doubts that there is a high-class Heart in Upperstone. At most, there is a miniature, one-time altar of rebirth for the city's ruler and his family, and even that is not a fact. According to Razz's interrogation, there are no trios there, only a couple of second-level ones. But the source of information, of course, is also not trustworthy.

In general, if a lacuna is brewing under the city, it's not good, but it's not terrible either. In a closed state, it can brew for decades, not just years. After all, he has a FaFo unit, not a full trio, so the lacuna will burst and unfold strictly at the moment of his arrival in the damn city. But his nerves are playing tricks on him, of course, because in recent days he has been witnessing a parade of unfortunate and awkward coincidences, strictly around him. And so he involuntarily recalled everything he could remember from his studies of spatial anomalies, or, as the subject was called at London Anomalous, “dangeology,” behind the teacher's ears.

Comparing lacunae to dungeons, i.e., the game dungeons of classic immersive virtual games, is, of course, not entirely accurate. Especially when it comes to standard open and expanded lacunae, which are spatial anomalies, broad and all-encompassing. You are simply walking through a normal forest, but suddenly you realize that the forest is changing, becoming swampy, the fog has hidden the sky and the Sun, and the Sun itself seems to have become completely different, alien, and unfamiliar. And around you is not the familiar forest near your native village, which you have explored hundreds of times, but some ancient grove, in the center of which are equally ancient ruins.

Or a temple.

Or circle of stones.

Or the mansion of some nobleman.

Or something else.

Something imbued with power, magic, history, and the memory of the Broken, so imbued that it became the core of the lacuna, its foundation, that which grants power to the creatures inhabiting the lacuna, sustains anomalies and traps, that which elevates the guardian of that lacuna, creating their natural “dungeon boss,” in the gaming sense of the term. In theory, it is possible to encounter a completely safe lacuna, one that is not inhabited at all and has no traps, but this is, to put it mildly, just a theory. In practice, the central part of the fold releases too much power into reality, attracting everything like moths to a flame. This light burns and shines, scorching reality, growing into it, causing the lacuna to become wider and larger over time, taking pieces of reality for itself.

Moreover, the creatures that inhabit it, driven and changed by the axis and the force that shapes it, very often retain or acquire a semblance of reason, a semblance of tactical wisdom. If, even in the worst case, a crowd of creatures rushes forward through the cracks, coordinated raid squads often crawl out of the lacunae, killing everything alive, working as a team, covering each other, and then returning to their home, diving into it like into a devil's whirlpool. In fact, the locals often refer to the gap as a whirlpool, while earthlings call it a fold or a pocket. Or a dungeon. But such a name immediately reveals that the person is not the most experienced individual or a thick-skinned troll, because for the word “dungeon” in London, they would kick you out of the exam, possibly even through the window.

Of course, the axial creature is not always intelligent, and even if it is intelligent, it does not always know how to command and direct its minions, using the axis as a relay for its will. But too often, to leave lacunae unattended. So they try to completely clean them out and shake them up, or even destroy the axis, so that the lacuna either falls back into oblivion or falls into the real world, but then the axis will have to be subjugated and control over it seized. The latter is typical in cases where the axial ruins or other places of power are very, very useful, for example, they have their own Heart or valuable magical properties. Many of the strongholds of the Broken dynasties were built on the foundation of what was pulled out of the lacuna. Take the Citadel, for example. Who doesn't remember it? But most of its fortresses and outposts were pulled out of lacunae.

However, the lacunae are not always closed, especially if it has been localized and surrounded, and the enemy inside is easy to clear out and yields a lot of drops as a result of that clearing. In many places, the natives deliberately keep such lacunae partially active, often even throwing slaves or simply random rabble into them so that they gradually mutate into creatures under the influence of the axis. Sometimes even those gifted in this way were executed if they wanted to create a new “boss,” but here the risks are too great, especially if you “boil” a gifted person who understands the mechanics of the lacuna, who will then feed shit to those who come to clean it up.

If they did throw in gifted people, they were wild, from the peasants and other uneducated people who knew nothing and couldn't do anything, often remaining on the verge of psychosis as a result of a poorly assembled build. They cannot get out of the trap themselves. Without specific knowledge, there is nowhere to go. It is easy to fall into the gap, just keep going forward, but getting out is many times more difficult and costly. Most often, some kind of analogue of a “pure” ritual is required, a divine prayer to someone from the Dead, the sacrifice of one of their own or a specially taken walking expendable, or even all of this together, and on top of that, a drop of blood essence to release at least one person. The older and deeper the lacuna, the more difficult it is to leave it — an axiom, damn it.

Ilya's problem is that his thread leads not just to a lacuna that is completely fresh and, most likely, truly undiscovered, but to a lacuna that is sealed. Not to a whirlpool that overlays the fabric of the world, appearing in reality all at once and in its entirety, making that reality unstable and collapsing. A closed lacuna has a clear entrance or several, as if it were truly a dungeon from the virtual world, with the only difference being that even such an entrance is difficult to use. It is necessary to walk down a deserted street at a crossroads with your eyes closed only at midnight. Or, conversely, to get lost in the middle of a crowded street on market day. A door to an old torture chamber, which, if you pour blood on it, will open not where it should, but straight into the lacuna. An ancient fresco in one of the temples, which will become a gateway to the lacuna if you perform a very special liturgy at exactly the right time.

Such secrets and keys gradually reveal themselves. In nightmares, in the visions of madmen, in whispers in the middle of the night, the axis of the lacuna calls to those who will feed it. However, earthlings have long since calculated a number of builds designed to identify any type of closed lacuna and unlock the keys to them. Right after receiving his diploma, Ilya received an offer from a very large community to choose the Sage class and create such a build for himself. Not from the Citadel, of course, but not at the bottom of the rankings either, with three hundred active members and almost forty years of history, even though for most of that time the Noctis were just a small community of fifteen divers, a circle of interests.

His little gift from the Mechanism will give him the key story as soon as he reaches this gap, the place where it sprouts. And there, he can simply ignore its existence, because to venture in would be suicide, and to sell knowledge about the lacuna and the key would, to put it mildly, lead to problems he could not possibly handle. All that remained was to hope that his Fate and Fortune would not be so inhuman as to break through the closed lacuna in just a few days of his city visit.

The observation towers of Upperstone were already visible on the horizon. If you climbed higher up the rock, all the most valuable pieces of equipment, unworthy of a simple vagrant, woodcarver, and hunter, had long since disappeared into a hiding place at the bottom of another cosy crevice, and the earthling simply gazed at the distant city. He wanted to believe that this time his visit would go smoothly, but he was used to being prepared for the exact opposite. And as he approached the gates with these thoughts, he was pierced by a very persistent feeling of déjà vu. No, surely his strange luck in adventures, his one point in the most treacherous attribute, must have a limit to the amount of trouble that one point could cause.

Ilya believes in this fervently, as he did not believe in earthly gods or Dead Gods, either individually or collectively.

All that remained was to hope that his belief was not in vain; otherwise, it would be a shame to waste so much faith.

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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP