Готовый перевод Быть Гладу и Хладу / There will be Hunger and Cold: 10. Неожиданно с Ильей случилось то, что он считал невозможным, что с ним даже в самом раннем детстве почти не происходило – он покраснел

10. Suddenly, something happened to Ilya that he considered impossible, something that almost never happened to him even in his earliest childhood – he blushed.

* * *

Ilya didn't like the pasta, despite the beautiful presentation and good service. The taste was too unusual. But Irina was simply delighted, and not because of the pasta. In her mood, she could have eaten at least another paste, a nutritional mixture in a tube, which serves as the main diet for welfare, but she would still have been delighted. Throughout their impromptu breakfast, Irina continuously shared her delight about a very successful and extremely profitable Cycle in financial terms. As a result of this Cycle, the girl received three drops of Essence at once and, at the same time, managed to partially get rid of the risk of persecution from the fans of the Elder Father. Well, not so much from persecution in general, as from specific persecutors, and she also gave a reason for new persecution, but the fact itself means a lot.

She managed to very successfully meet a whole wandering tribe of local Bedouins, who were considered heretics by the local settled inhabitants of the oases, because they believed in the Guiding Star, and not in the Elder Father, for whom they were mercilessly oppressed, who were the earthly Jews of the conventional Middle Ages. Moreover, she met them just at the moment when this tribe was attacked by fanatics who went on a "small holy campaign". Roughly speaking, one or two ruling leaders, who had their own oases and lands, decided to gather a detachment of armed morons from all over the world and send them into battle against the infidels or the damned. Going into battle against the damned creatures is a coward; such creatures themselves can kill a lot of people, and it is also difficult to find them. Here, you need to gather a whole brigade of hunters; there are many of them, and then it is boring to clear the territory of evil.

Well, or send such a holy campaign to the wild dunes, the deepest corners of the Dusty Desert, where the creatures literally roamed in crowds. Only in those places, entire armies of full-fledged holy campaigns perished, even Holy Campaigns, and not groups of morons with poles. Especially since these morons were gathered more in order to rob the surrounding Bedouins under a noble and plausible pretext. Nomads live poorly and in shit, yes. At the same time, they always have special reagents and "holy sand" in stock. Holy sand, as Irina quickly explained to his bewilderment, was called "dust saturated with energy and magical aspects", among earthlings usually called "spice" in honor of the classics of science fiction novels. There were countless varieties of it. They met everywhere. Even on Ridge, they mined something like that, Ilya found out.

In short, these holy warriors pressed the tribe. They fought back, and then Irina came out to the side of the fighters, going away from the city, where she killed several influential men. Dirty, tired, fed up, she was not going to harness for anyone's side, having had a taste of local hospitality, but then a detachment of archers sent to occupy a convenient height came out to her. The God-fearing sons of their Father did not bother to figure out who this woman was, without a hijab, trying to either kill, capture, or rape her on the spot, spitting on the task at hand. In the end, they did not succeed in anything: neither kill, nor capture, nor rape, nor get to the flank of the Bedouins and shoot them with bows from a convenient position. It turned out to burn, attracting the attention of comrades with flashes of flame and loud screams

The Diver, who had fallen into a frenzy, unleashed her talents to the fullest and simply burned the crowd of natives, and they burned, for what else could they do without proper protection? As a result of a protracted battle that turned into a swift phase, the Bedouins, the people of Dawn, as they called themselves, accepted the gifted woman into their initially temporary company. Fortunately, this faith has no particular problems with girls who do not resemble Muslim women in their degree of being wrapped in rags and intimidated by men. The ruling clergy and worshippers of Guiding Star have their quirks, sometimes even contradicting the Father, but at that moment, no one was in the mood for theological disputes. They had to bandage the wounded, gather their belongings, put the old people, women, and children on camels and carts, and get away before new bloodthirsty enemies arrived. It turned out that the vicious Bedouins had killed innocent preachers, the bastards.

Execute everyone, having first collected everything valuable, no mercy!

"Their leader is an old woman, ancient, like lamp technology." Slightly drunk with excitement, not from a light cocktail, Irina beamed with smiles as she recounted her adventures with a slurred tongue. "Not gifted, just, well, kind, marked by Dead. But smart, the bitch, and quick-witted too. She figured me out right away, saw through me in a couple of sentences, but she really needed me more than I needed them. So we agreed, at least at first..."

Having agreed not to kill each other and having collected their wounded, finishing off the wounded of others, and also having privatized the trophies after the battle, they moved straight into the desert, where they hoped to hide far away from the aggressive theocrats. They succeeded, but with nuances, because instead of the worshipers of the Elder Father, desert creatures came to the smell of blood, namely the withered undead, of which there were plenty in those dunes, and the most diverse and, as if selected, extremely dangerous. But here the fugitives were a little lucky, because it was in the confrontation with the undead that they had even more advantages than in the fight with people. Take, for example, the damned flame, Irina's main element, which worked reliably and deadly against ordinary Withered Ones. Well, if at all, it is possible to apply the epithet deadly to the undead. Plus, the earthling was not alone; she was covered by Bedouin fighters, some of them quite good, including the only gifted one of the tribe.

"A sullen guy, young and really brick-like, zero emotions at all." Ilya can't help but think that all these emotions, absent in the individual she describes, she compensates for with her own. "A Grave Robber, just typical, I don't know about the build, but I've definitely seen "Seal of the Undertaker" and "Word from the Grave", plus he swings a weapon normally, better than me, for example. He was tearing apart corpses like crazy, faster than the booze at a FaFo party runs out!"

Somehow smoothly and gradually, Irina's monologue gave way to a dialogue, and then to Ilya's monologue, who explained on his fingers how exactly the warlock, swinging into the damned flame, would have to destroy the Grave Robber, who had ceased to be an ally, in battle. Of course, no one guarantees that this battle will necessarily happen. Still, practice and statistics showed that such clan-religious formations are very similar to each other, both on the good old Earth and in the damned Broken. If there is a need or even just a profitable opportunity, they will not only sell the stranger who helped them and saved their asses, but they will also twist her themselves and bring her to the buyer on a platter. Or they will not twist her, but will burn in the fire of the enraged Warlock.

Of course, there were still options in which the benefit of her presence would outweigh the options with betrayal, or the risks of such would not pay off the benefits. There were even some tiny chances of a certain personal sympathy or nobility that came from somewhere, but this is a purely statistical error. It is much more likely that Irina will be offered to marry that very gifted guy, because such a bride is very profitable for the granny-leader. Someone else's, yes, but not tied to anyone by obligations, fresh blood and power. Power that will perfectly support the grandson, Grave Robber. Not the most popular, but a completely functional combination that lacks only a skilled specialist in controlling and weakening the enemy. But you never know, suddenly in the guy's build there are a couple of suitable talents? What is characteristic, so far, such hints have not been made, but the guy looked at the earthling not without slight interest; that's a fact.

At least because she, being not only gifted, but also well-groomed and beautiful by earthly standards, simply overtook the rest of the Bedouins of their tribe like standing ones, if you ask about appearance. In fact, it is a completely working tactic of integration into society through family status; many earthlings, regardless of gender, did not disdain such an approach if they played alone or simply the community was too weak and small. This method is not without certain problems and its own special difficulties, but it works. Many do not hesitate to use it, sometimes literally living in two families, one of which is earthly, and the other is a game. Another question is which of them is real, yes.

"No-o-o-o, that's too much, damn it," Irina responded to his comment with a carefree wave. "I'll get to the neighboring region, and then I'll leave without saying goodbye. The guy there is normal and covers the backs of all the Dead to glory, but no, I don't want to get married yet. Neither there nor here."

"Then put a protective circle before going to bed, sleep with one ear half-tucked in, keep a knife under your pillow, and try to cook your own food and drink." Standard precautions, to which it is also worth adding the presence of ways to check food and water for unnecessary additives, as well as separate amulets that work on principles opposite to the checking talent, so that one overlaps the other. "Once you develop the axial talent, if you choose "Warmth", you can fill the food with warmth. Then, if there are magical additives, they will sparkle in perception. You will not miss them. Well, or develop "Pacifying Flame" in sensorics, but I do not advise it. After all, a balancing talent, such should first of all enhance cognitive stability. At the third step, perhaps, then many builds allow this talent to be directed to the sensory branch.

"Do you think they'll try to poison me?" She asked, wincing at how stupid it sounded. "Although, yeah, what was I talking about? They'll definitely try, it's Broken, damn it."

"They might also add a love potion or something to suppress your will if they decide to go with a relatively gentle method," Ilya warned her honestly, knowing from a bunch of stories on the Forum how often such a result comes, regardless of gender. "Control your thoughts. If you suddenly start showing uncharacteristic reactions, then chew some decoction, and then run. Or fight. But I don’t advise shedding blood right away, not in your situation. Bedouins, and in the desert, they can find you later, set up an ambush at the respawn point, so put out the bastards only as a last resort, when you are absolutely sure that you will not leave quietly. The Guiding Star seriously boosts search talents. They can find you, especially if they are using a mark. However, if there is a mark there, washing with flame can easily burn it, and the Grave Robbers put their marks on the living with somewhat more difficulty than on objects. This is a direct hint to burn whatever the guy touched, if anything, and you can burn everything or leave it and take other people’s rags with you."

Irina, to her credit, listened attentively and almost wrote down, which involuntarily aroused sympathy. Ilya was generally pleased to talk to a knowledgeable person who could really appreciate his advice. It was doubly pleasant because she showed the best qualities that all normal divers should have. And he only needed to find himself in the role of a sheep in the middle of a community of earthly Luddites once! Of course, his relationship with her is far from pure and bright, more reminiscent of a search for mutual comfort and benefit, but this is an honest mutual benefit, not going beyond the very clear boundaries they themselves tacitly set. In general, the morning went well, gradually turning into lunch, which they had fun watching old TV series, still on the monitor, and not through the virt or holo. Then the evening came.

They both carefully avoided bringing up the topic of Oleg, who was currently sitting somewhere in the depths of the law enforcement system, awaiting the results of the investigation. Irina had just casually noted that with the drops she had received for the serious battle and the subsequent journey through the desert, coupled with regular fights against the undead, she would replace the locks on her home, and also install a signal transmission sensor, in case of other people's cameras under the ceiling. Otherwise, the day had gone wonderfully, even though Irina had almost made him howl in agony when they had moved on to the logical conclusion of a wonderfully spent day - his knee was healing in no way like Wendigo's, and his partner was not a feather.

The very next morning, returning to his apartment by taxi, not risking another walk in the park, Ilya allowed himself to relax and exhale. And also to think hard, so hard that he almost fell over when getting out of the shower. Irina's cycle was a success. It's stupid to argue with that. For an individual who is not a member of the community to earn three drops, and a clean three, not two, and a little more due to previous successes... this is a reason for celebration and natural pride. To pull this off, the cycle must be literally combative, as if it got into a meat grinder and miraculously did not twist in it.

The cycle was not easy for the girl, that's a fact.

But it wasn't overly complicated either. That's the problem! Having roughly estimated and schematized her exploits, Ilya counted one and a half, at most two drops of Essence, honestly earned by an ordinary diver. And this is given that she was very modest in his presence and, in fact, killed a much larger number of fanatics who attacked the Bedouins. Or she rushed at a lurker hiding in the crowd, for example, without even realizing that she had killed a gifted person. And the lurker had to be pretty pumped up! Or one of the undead creatures encountered on the way turned out to be very weakened, in fact, but at the same time, close to the second level. Or something else like that, fortunately, he could come up with as many options as he wanted.

But three drops of Essence are too much. It's too much for a cycle that was not spent in almost continuous battle with a relatively weak but quite dangerous opponent. For a girl who does not have the means to speed up pumping, such a result seems like a statistical anomaly, no doubt. Unless we assume, just for a second and not seriously, that her relationship with the greatest Waiter of the entire Earth had some effect on the speed of development of her Twin. In the end, earthlings know very little about the mechanics of Lotteries. They know practically nothing, to be honest. Ilya himself almost never encountered information about great traits and blessings of almost any kind. Could it be that the effect of such a blessing partially passes through the connection between worlds, even for a first-level freshman?

Having weakened greatly, almost completely dying out, but somehow acting on Earth. If this effect had been acting at full power, then Irina would have received not three drops, but almost a ten, or even a little more. But some effect, part of it, may well remain, if it did not seem to him. Or is he simply delirious, looking for answers where no one even asks a question? Questions, as they say, are worth a million, and the answers to such are absolutely priceless. For now, while there is no clear evidence or confirmation, it is easier not to think about such things at all and move on to more specific tasks and questions.

And no, the first thing Ilya did not do was check Krokodil's personal blog, preferring to deal with matters closer to his heart. First, he strained the language model, spending half a day messing around with the transfer of markers of the farm accent, and then set up a matrix for gradually getting rid of that accent and switching to a standardized city accent. He was pretty fed up, and he still had to learn all these boundaries and marks, when and what words to remove from the lexicon, and how rarely to use them before that. Boring, stupid, and quickly annoying work, which will also give literally a few percent to the overall efficiency. But being a professional diver is built on not being lazy and not being greedy to waste your precious time on such things.

Boring, stupid, annoying, but capable of saving the life and existence of a diligent diver.

Also, even Ilya already knew a lot about his talent, which he would raise immediately after waking up in the Broken, but now, since there was an opportunity, it was necessary to check everything again. Percentages, probabilities, aspect options - all this seemed to him to be a branched network of connections and meanings. Building builds in fact, resembles a very specific section of applied mathematics, however, not without a number of features of the humanities, such as the necessary connection to the Broken and deep knowledge of it. Ilya was calmed by this activity. He knew perfectly well how exactly he would develop the Eye, what aspect options he would be able to get, which of them were more desirable for him than others. But he still went through all these tables again, trying to understand what exactly he should do.

He needs to contact his fellow Earthling; there are no options here, and there can be none. If you have the opportunity to help avoid problems and possible death, without getting into trouble, then do so. This is banal logic, common sense, which all Earthlings use to the best of their ability. Not without individual griefers who deliberately try to drive their fellow divers into zugzwang, but in general, people of Earth help each other in the Broken. If it costs them nothing. Or if there is no opportunity to get a specific benefit from the help provided, putting any price on their help. In Ilya's case, helping this diver is beneficial to Ilya first and foremost. He does not need one of his fellows to alarm Ryuk and provoke him to some excessively cruel actions against the Wendigo, who did nothing to anyone.

The fact that his warning will also save his colleague from problems is just a nice bonus, nothing more. After looking at the monitor screen for a while, Ilya nevertheless opened the search by nicknames and began to look for the fellow earthling who had shown up during the ritual. Any earthling could choose three absolutely any nicknames on the Forum, and there is no ban on repetitions, because earthlings are distinguished by a unique identification code, and not a nickname. Among divers, it is generally accepted that one of the slots is spent on an official and confirmed account in case of official work for the government, so that it is linked to real IDs and a profile, the second on an also confirmed, but anonymous one, and the third on a completely anonymous one without any confirmation, purely for trolling and flooding. So that you, the troll, are not identified and do not stop letting into decent blogs, yes.

Needless to say, what passions sometimes happened when a careless anonymous person exposed the connection between the official and unofficial accounts. A great opponent of all perversions and a preacher of Christian Orthodox morality turned out to be a regular at particularly black blogs, full of murders and violence against very underage boys and girls from the aborigines of Broken. Moreover, he also generously, without hiding, paid for certain divers to put on a show according to his requests and scenarios. And all it took was one time, when drunk, to make a payment not through the Forum, but through a regular conditionally anonymous crypto-transfer, quickly tracked down by all sorts of hackers and anti-rape activists! There was a real fight back then, and that jerk, a week later, mysteriously went out the window... as they suspect on the Forum, solely because he could talk and tell about his colleagues at the charity fund, as well as his brothers in faith.

Yeah.

Adultery, corruption on a large scale, just plain asshole behavior – if you are careless and let the online Sherlocks compile your slips of the tongue into a clear link to a person, you can get into serious trouble. Ilya had never had such skeletons in his closet before, and used practically only one official slot of the Forum tied to his name and patronymic. Through this name, he received orders, confirmed his diploma and qualifications, and kept in touch with a bunch of colleagues in education. Obviously, he had no right to use this name for communication, but he did not want to use a second nickname, through which he ordered services himself, including those that were tied to his unusual build. There was a third slot left, which was for trolling, so Ilya chose it.

Finding the Crocodile was a bit more difficult. There were quite a few of them on the Forum, including nicknames written in different languages, with different layouts, and with different additions. Fortunately, there was only one ++KroKroKroKodЫЫl among them and he carefully marked a new topic in his blog, symbolically calling it "Lands of the Crown, Dead Man's Ridge, ritual marker, Upper Stone, Coal, Bird, Lazy, South Coal." The name is more than understandable to anyone who managed to collect at least minimal information about their location. Under the topic title, the OP described the main geographical details, the dangers of the wastelands, and even the most popular Dead Gods, an incomplete list of important personalities with names, surnames, and posted drawings of their coats of arms. The drawings were already made on Earth, not with a screenshot, but by hand and somewhat carelessly, but the author still knew how to draw. Intimate details like build, class, or current location were obviously not specified.

The author of the topic also took the trouble to throw in a pretty good summary of the wrestlers in general and the numbered regiments in particular, and also to attach a transcript of what he saw during someone else's ritual of conversion of old man Lyubozar Dolgoleikin, backing it all up with his conclusion that they had stumbled upon a fully-fledged, trained group of seven hostile divers. Moreover, the transcript was absolutely identical to the one Ilya had received from one of the top-tier linguists. He was probably happy to receive payment for two tasks, having spent his efforts only on one. However, the earthling is not offended, because this similarity in itself says a lot, for example, about the financial situation and the brain of the customer. Not being greedy in paying a professional and then generously sharing the information received is the right move, in all respects.

The information itself is worthless after you've learned it, but when it's made publicly available, it can save someone's life and cause gratitude. Roughly speaking, his generosity costs him nothing, since he made the order and paid for himself... but what a plus in karma in case of communication with colleagues!

This short description ended with an offer to communicate officially or unofficially, but better unofficially. Crocodile's account had a banner of a confirmed diver, but without class indications or references to a real person. There were no fresh comments, except for the classic "First!", no less classic "Firstcommenter is a LOSER!", and an equally classic "Have a good dive. Take care of yourself, brother" from another confirmed diver, official and registered. An advertisement for a company specializing in creating builds and ripping off illiterate fools, another advertisement, an offer to officially register with a list of all the advantages of such a solution, an invitation to a theme party only for divers... a little more than one and a half hundred messages in total, which is not enough for a freshly created topic with search and marker tags, sometimes they collect more.

However, among these garbage comments, many gems were really important for Ilya or at least made him smile a little. Some official diver with the Assassin class sympathized with the fact that he would have to deal with firebirds and wholeheartedly wished the topic starter to successfully hang the whole gang of Boretzars on the branches of the nearest forest. In response to this, another official diver with the Druid class and a plaque-mark of the same community as the Assassin politely and tactfully asked not to hang the corpses on the branches of his favorite grove. If he is so drawn to killing Boretzars, then let him bury them under the roots of growing battle oaks or decorate the fir trees with intestines and entrails.

A number of other commentators wrote about their encounters and conflicts with the Boretzars, as well as the results of those conflicts, mostly bloody and brutal. Most often brutal in favor of the earthlings, but not always, because knowledge is knowledge, builds are builds, but the Boretzars were still pretty good at fighting. One newly-minted diver, who had just finished his second cycle, mistakenly thought that he was their neighbor. Instead of the Dead Man's Ridge, he had the Dead Man's Spine. True, the Spine was not a rocky wasteland, but a huge mountain peak, next to which even the earthly Himalayas would seem like a pile of sand for road repair work. The author of the topic immediately pointed this out to him, thanking him for his attention and suggesting that he finish for today, because it was time for him to go to bed.

However, fun is fun, and the most valuable of all is the last of the comments, written late at night, after the "main typical set of standard jokes and giggles in the Forum editorial office" was exhausted. An anonymous account, through the mechanics of confirming the truth, reported that it recognized the location and some personalities, but could not help or hinder. Because it was thrown almost to the opposite part of the continent, to the very coast of the Island Satrapy, to the coastal colonies of the said Satrapy captured in the last century. From there, it is about one and a half thousand kilometers to the lands of the Crown, if you believe the far from accurate maps that he managed to spy. It is even longer to see to the very edge of the Ridge. This once again confirms the quality of the ritual marker, since it reached the diver even at such a distance, albeit barely, at the very edge.

Well, whether the person was lucky or unlucky with his location is a debatable question, but what can be said for sure is the fact that such a case is unlikely. Usually, divers are thrown into a circle of about three hundred to five hundred kilometers in diameter. The fact that this time the circle turned out to be so wide, more than anything else, indicates that the number of divers in their seeding is significantly higher than the norm. It will be complete crap if the Boretzars are thrown more or less evenly, in a relatively small radius ... and this is quite possible if the Gift used was not the bottom. Of course, this is not a full nine. In this case, they would not need any rituals, because they would appear in one clearing, figuratively speaking, but it is still not pleasant for earthlings.

Sighing and realizing that postponing it any longer was simply counterproductive, Ilya began fruitful communication via the monitor screen. The Internet is the best friend of any self-respecting anonymous person. In the saddest cases, the only one.

FullofRegrets [confirmed diver], [definitely not a shaman], [truth confirmed by the Mechanism]: saw the marker, handled the quick escape well. And, alas, it was not in vain that you were overcautious. I can't say much; everything is five-nine-alpha-three. I can get into trouble later. My subjective advice: don't set foot in Lazy. It might pass, or it might, like with me, become sad. To the point that the sadness will be permanent and without a restart. Continuing with the marker topic from the representative of the Boretzars, I am throwing out some of the information I have collected about them and the problems they bring us.

Having sent the message, he managed to order food delivery, have breakfast, and almost fall asleep, sitting at the table, but he held on. By willpower, which is comparable to the great trait bestowed upon him, no doubt, but he held on. And having held on, he began to check the responses; fortunately, the flood wave had died down, and Crocodile had successfully deleted most of the spammers and jokers from the thread, apparently having come to his senses a little in the morning.

++KroKroKroKodЫЫл [topic creator], [confirmed diver], [cold-blooded and charming]: ok, the argument is clear, and rest assured, dude, I'll take it into account. Thanks for the praise about the marker. If only you knew how tired I am of it. I can't stand it. I won't ask about what's going on in the city. I just looked through the Citadel protocol now, and I roughly understand your code. Like they took you for the balls and can interrogate you at any moment in such a way that they'll understand that you've leaked information to someone else. Accepted, bro. Just for the sake of professional standards, I'll ask - can you get out yourself, or at least die? Or should I call seven-nine-seven? Or eleven-eleven right away?

FullofRegrets [confirmed diver], [definitely not a shaman], [veracity confirmed by the Mechanism]: thanks for the offer, but I either don't need the help, or it's just useless, it's more likely to hurt than help. With that, I think I'll leave everyone here without my company, because after the Cycle I'd like to relax a little, and not all this.

KroKroKroKodЫЫл [topic creator], [confirmed diver], [cool and charming]: pon. Then bye, dude, maybe you'll manage to get out of it.

Ilya did not answer, preferring to leave the last word to the Crocodile, and went to take a nap, trying not to disturb his painful knee unnecessarily. The conversation left behind rather strange impressions, as did the unknown interlocutor. It seemed that his manner of writing was extremely informal, like that of a carefree lover of nightclubs and new types of synthetic drugs. On the other hand, he was very well-versed, had the right tactics of behavior, and either money or connections. Oh, and the commas in the addresses were placed correctly! Again, Ilya had only heard briefly about the linguist who translated the Boretzars correspondence for him, but he knew that this guy charged a lot and would not take it from everyone. Not because he was a crook, but because he always had a lot of orders and was used to keeping a queue unless the client overpaid outrageously.

Having failed to come to a conclusion about his interlocutor, the diver continued his simple and relaxed life - rare correspondence with Irina and colleagues, frequent warm-ups so that his leg wouldn't go numb and his muscles wouldn't atrophy, and lots and lots of time on the Forum. Masha, may she hiccup, had already managed to blab about how exactly Ilya got his sick leave, and those wishing to pry all sorts of details out of him or just congratulate him on the epic victory of a real Man, were filling up his personal messages faster than debts in the credit account of a citizen addicted to virtual casinos. He had never been much of an introvert, but at such moments, he wanted to turn off all means of communication and go live somewhere in the African desert that had become a dump of toxic waste, build himself a hut there, and live in harmony with nature.

Instead of hating people, he focused on watching the news for the last Cycle. Fortunately, there wasn't much of it. The Citadel was burning, clearing out territories of wild lands and recapturing territories lost from the previous wave of creatures. There was a turning point in the Chinese "fight of the three yokozun", but not in a positive direction, because the number of factions desperately fighting for the legacy of the Heavenly Path increased again, reaching five. Split after split, and the direct participants of the events writing on the Forum conclude that the main factions are no longer even trying to pretend that the Path will get back on its feet. Rather, they are trying to rake in more for themselves before they are forced to get away from the grateful locals.

Yeah, the natives are definitely stuffing themselves with popcorn now, figuratively speaking, because the hatred for the Chinese, which was never treated with ceremony by those natives, is off the charts there. And it would be fine if they just slaughtered the peasants on the altars, that wouldn't surprise the natives, they're still cooler. But no! As soon as the Path reached the peak of its power, they spat on all the oaths and mutual agreements, tearing them to hell at the expense of huge expenditures of Essence and one spare Heart, sacrificed. And then they began to clean out all the significant centers of power in the visible space. And they didn't even fight; they got by with murders and covert eliminations, not capturing territory, but only plunging it into complete anarchy, so that there would be no desire to fight the Heavenly Path. So that there would be a bunch of factions around and everyone would be busy slaughtering each other, without a break or chance of winning.

Now that their forces have been greatly reduced, and some of the fourth-level leaders have lost the lion's share of their spare lives, the locals probably can't wait to finish off the survivors. If things continue like this, they will definitely wait. They probably also help all sides by selling the rest of their resources and surviving relics. And the more distant factions, which the ++Celestials simply couldn't reach and didn't see the need for, as long as they don't interfere themselves, will definitely take advantage of the chance. They are already taking advantage, capturing some of the near and distant tributary provinces that cannot defend themselves without help. And who is there to protect, if all those gifted above the second level were either forcibly taken into the community-clan under a bunch of oaths, or forced to flee, or killed to hell?

He was surprised and pleased by the Mechanical Wonder, another very strong guild from the American-Canadian sector, probably the strongest among the national communities of this sector in general, and also undoubtedly the strongest of those specializing in Mechanists and all branches of their development. The Wonders not only managed to clear a very strong lacuna of the fifth level, in fact, a small country, the size of one and a half Moldova, before the European Union. They also did it with minimal losses and pulled out an extremely rich relic of the exalting type from the axial part of the lacuna. And this means that in the next couple of years, at least in four years, someone from the top of the Mechanics will sharpen this axial artifact for themselves and try to step up to the five level. Until now, their attempts to break through ended in failure and a long recovery; the last one was thrown out of the Broken for nine cycles.

But with such support, and with the presence of their City of Gears, which strengthened all the Mechanists beyond any legal limits, the chances are higher than ever. There is a new wave of bets among bookmakers, and the infamous and not-so-infamous Mev Echidna has fallen from first place in the ranking of candidates for the next five for the first time this year. An even bigger mess came from the fact that the final battle with the axial creature, which embodied huge shit, capable of causing decay and rotting of the body, aura, and soul, even in those who simply think about it within a radius of hundreds of kilometers, was not dragged by the Mechanists. Yes, yes, despite the predominantly craft and techie composition of the guild, the wonders had two fours with no mechanical classes. And, purely formally, according to the unwritten rules of cleansing, it is they who should get the "first choice" of loot. And no one in their right mind would want to refuse an almost guaranteed ticket to the top five, no matter what, ever.

In general, passions are running high there, albeit behind tightly curtained curtains. The entire command staff of the wonders remaining on Earth has been urgently summoned to their headquarters, officially to celebrate the greatest success in the last ten years of the guild's existence. Unofficially, to try to resolve the matter peacefully and without repeating the Chinese experience. It is obvious to everyone, and Ilya himself did not argue, that for a guild that owns the Gear, a five-technist is more profitable than a five-warrior. No matter how cool Count Throat-Cutter is, where "Throat-Cutter" is not a surname, but an indication of who exactly this Count rises above, but the Manager of Details or the Basis of Self-Assembly, who has taken the fifth step, will squeeze a thousand percent of the benefit out of the wonders' stronghold.

Surely Eric Gray, who developed a class of attack-enhancing focus derived from Marauder, had quite enough for an attempt at a breakthrough, especially with such a plus to the chances of success of that breakthrough, also understood this. But the chance to become the tenth official five in the whole world does not come every day. Personally, Ilya, as a top-level armchair expert, bet that Gray would let himself be persuaded, would not want to bring it to an attempt to take the award directly. Not in the case of a conflict with three mechanics-fours and on top of that two more loyal four-craftsmen, having with him only his partner and lover, also a four.

Again, under his command are rapid deployment raid groups, resource and tax collectors, and simply crowds of bandits, obeying the unofficial king of the criminal world of that part of the ecumene. These forces are enough for a raid war and terrorizing the enemy's logistics to the point of complete collapse, but not for confronting an army of mechanics, where there are enough wunderwaffe that can dig up mountains and turn them upside down.

Figuratively speaking.

Or not.

So he will definitely let himself be persuaded, but he will squeeze literally everything he can out of the mechanics who screwed up the final battle. Well, or Ilya was wrong, and soon a new Chinese Three Kingdoms will be added to the same new Civil War, who knows. Although he personally would like the opposite, the earthlings already have someone to hate and fight with in the Broken. And the Treaty will not let them fight on Earth, grabbing the overly aggressive bored fans of aggressive games in full immersion RTS by the cocks. And the cocks in this expression do not mean the attribute of the Twin, no-no.

Having finished with global events and surfed through the list of fallen divers and communities, which this time turned out to be surprisingly small, one and a half times smaller than the standard for the end of a cycle, he moved on to more local news. Well, he was simply present at the Forum, gave a couple of answers to questions, sent a couple of sly mugs demanding a paid service for free to collect bones in the cemetery, and also laughed quite a bit at some jokes. After all, earthlings are invincible, simply because no bastard can predict individual attacks of feeblemindedness and increased initiative in the performance of earthlings.

Seriously? Confused containers with alchemy. As a result, instead of trying to poison, feed a third-rank ape-like creature on the verge of breaking through to the fourth rank, capable of simply stepping over a small city wall, not with an extremely dangerous and unnoticeable toxin, but with three forty-liter barrels of concentrated alchemical analogue of Viagra, having managed to pump the potion into several bulls slaughtered for this purpose? The great happiness of all living in the middle of that piece of Broken, the creature went to look for a couple in the depths of the wild lands. Judging by the trail of "bread crumbs" from completely mutilated and very raped corpses of various creatures of very large sizes, the creature did not manage to find a couple. But he managed to find a little love.

The authors of this sabotage also slightly damaged the alchemical reagent market in the region, simply dismantling the very same "bread crumbs" left by the aggressively sexual monkey. Hunger did not torment him at all, or rather, it was not that kind of hunger that tormented him. Screenshots of the processed creatures were attached, including a couple of ordinary cows, one unfortunate bull, and a stone statue of one of the ancient kings, who had previously proudly towered over the ruins of a city long abandoned due to an ancient curse. The statue, it seems, suffered more than all the others put together, because the enchanted stone did not lose its convenient shape for the monkey for a very long time.

Broken is sometimes both so incredibly scary and hysterically funny!

* * *

The sick leave was over; it was time for work, which, contrary to the old saying from the times before the Seven, was in no hurry to move on to Fedot. Probably, this is because the only Fedot in their office desperately fought back and was categorically against such an attitude, at the same time, in every way recalling with a kind word the fantasy of the parents who gave him this name. The rest of the problems of the overly active and greedy for all sorts of rumors team did not move on to Fedot either. They pressed on him almost from the first minutes of his appearance at work, and even this work, of which a lot had accumulated during the forced sick leave, could not be talked out of.

Because Malenkov and Felinichev, the two main bosses who directly assigned tasks to their department, casually dropped in to congratulate their employee on his recovery. They brought oranges, real ones, grown on hydroponic farms in the southern agglomeration. And they gave him a large two-liter bottle of artistically decorated glass rum, also real, but it was unclear where it came from. It seemed like the boss had been collecting dust on this gift bottle for who knows how long, and he found a reason to give it away. But Ilya couldn't find a place for himself, trying to explain that he hadn't fought a squad of criminal mercenaries hired by a certain Oleg. That Oleg hadn't turned out to be an unregistered diver with access to superpowers on Earth. That they hadn't started a shootout in the middle of the park, fighting off the special forces who had come running to the gunfire for some time - what the fuck!? - and only after killing them all did they continue their duel for the lady’s heart.

As a result, the working day went down the drain, and the only positive moment was Kremnik's look full of envy and anger, which simply burned with its soul, melting the material of the office chair. However, if you remember what kind of crap this whole saga with Mom's Othello began with, then no, there is nothing positive in it. The last thing you need is for Maxim to attempt on Ilya's life instead of Oleg. No matter how much he dislikes his colleague, despite the complete reciprocity of this feeling, even through all the antipathy, it is clear that he is much smarter than Oleg. So instead of fighting face-to-face, he will simply push Ilya under the mobile or shoot him in the back with a homemade gun bought from the welfare folk for three credits or part of a collection of vintage porn magazines from the mid-twentieth century.

"Oh, Ilyusha, you're such a romantic, it turns out..." Maria smiles a heavenly pure and dreamy smile, sitting down next to his table, already closer to evening, when everyone began to leave. "A battle for the honor and dignity of an innocent maiden! Oh, my, what a story it turned out to be!"

"I'm starting to seriously think about doing something illegal." Smiling back at her, Ilya also sweetly and innocently, conspiratorially answers. "As I sit here, fighting off rumors spread by God knows who, I'm starting to want to find the source of these fables and have a very serious talk with them."

"Yes-s-s-s-s, I understand you perfectly, Ilyusha." The office's main gossip answered, her sparkling smile slightly dimming, involuntarily moving a little to the side. "But I am sure that this slightly confused person who did not wish you any harm will not happen again. Well, that's exactly how it will not happen."

"You didn't have to add the last phrase." He commented in a more normal tone, closing the saved document and shutting down the computer. "Just... why the fuck?"

Maria was silent for a few seconds, which made Ilya almost believe that she would pretend that she didn't understand anything again. But no, she understood and even answered, speaking seriously for once. She knew how, he knew it for sure, so he wasn't surprised; it was just that many in the office didn't remember it, because it had happened only a couple of times, a long time ago, and it wasn't true.

"Yes, it was an accident, Ilyusha, I swear." Shrugging her shoulders and pretending “it was all an accident, and you won’t be able to prove anything,” explains her colleague, bless her Dead, but not too much. "No, seriously, I just retold what I learned from Irka. It’s just that Vasya, you know, has a brother in the police, and he’s responsible for that particular area. He even patrols the park area sometimes. So he contacted him, his brother, and he got something mixed up and first told us about a completely different arrest and attack. There, the bandits actually started shooting at each other, only not in that park, but in the old one, which is adjacent to the unfavorable buildings. And then the avalanche couldn’t be stopped..."

So, does this mean that his superiors have come to perceive Ilya as some kind of bandit-gangster, who works in the office during the day, filling out tables and calculating expenses, and at night takes an illegal gun with the inscription "Calculator" engraved on the body and goes to make final calculations? Lord God, alive or Dead, this world can no longer be helped. Burn!

The Dead Gods and the Ancients did not heed his prayers, which was undoubtedly for the best. Well, you can't count a three-dimensional hologram with a philosophical and slightly anticipatory inscription "81?" that appeared on a billboard as a hint from God. Less than half a year remained until the ninth nine year from the moment the damn Game came to Earth and access to the Star of Dreams, and all the analysts unanimously said that something unusual would happen. Either a very large Lottery among earthlings, or some bonuses for divers, or something else very large-scale. He even read an article with revelations of some sectarians about the opening of the gates connecting the Earth with the Broken, and the creatures generated by the Nightmare Reality will pour into our world in an unstoppable stream, saturating themselves with the souls of those still alive and untainted by the Filth.

The comments under the article advised the prophets to stop reading old and not-so-old web novels about the coming of the system apocalypse and get to work, damn it. But the mass hysteria was more clearly indicated by the fact that this fruit of someone else's fantasy was being discussed in all seriousness, arguing about whether the earthly troops would be able to stop the creatures of the Broken. And would they turn on access to their Twins for the divers during the "breakthroughs"? And in general, why exactly the Filth? That there are a few types of other creatures, the same ghostly scum, like spectra, spirits, ghosts, and aberrations, can also quite well pass through such hypothetical breakthroughs? And why on Earth, despite the impossibility of wars because of the Treaty, have they stubbornly continued to finance and rearm the army all these years, and not disperse it to hell, leaving only the police forces? Maybe the authorities know something again and are hiding something, and we are all under surveillance and ready to be sacrificed to the Unrepresentable? In general, the sectarians' point of view was blown to smithereens; they themselves were told to go get treatment, but the squabble was not stopped.

The rest of the time before the start of the cycle passed much more calmly, the oranges were eaten, the rum was put in the pantry until better times, Irina's new suitors did not appear on the horizon, and Irina herself studied the materials about the Guiding Star and the Grave Robbers that had been sent to her, while Ilya shoveled through his notes about the Sages and the highest forms of their development. Especially the "ink" ones. He was sure that Ryuk was one of them, even if there were other options. But too many things pointed to the most obvious outcome possible. Understanding what such a dangerous person can do is literally vital for Ilya, but, alas, it is difficult to get this understanding. Under him, the old man used literally three talents, a bunch of them, but that's all.

Well, let's say he picks up a number of talents that can balance the damage to the psyche from such a combination, as well as a chain of talents that need to be taken in order to get this combination. But at the third level, there are still too many free talents, much more than the supposedly calculated ones. And in these unknown talents, Ilya sees a black sheet - complete uncertainty, nothing to rely on, and, as always, countless options. And what should he do, how to create an approximate build and a set of counter-picks to counter old Ryuk and his sinister candy mastery?

In the end, the only result of his thoughts and conclusions was an acute form of agitated feeling of his own inferiority - reading descriptions of what the third stage can do and accomplish, you involuntarily feel like not even the bottom, but, as his classmates in London said, "the bottom of the Marijuana Hollow". Even the Forum and the jokes section on that Forum did not save him, because laughter is laughter, but Ilya literally walks with a guillotine over his head, and he really does not like it!

All that was left was to overcome and stuff himself with freshly made memes, diving into the very depths of self-flagellation and self-pity. When, to be honest, he hadn't made any mistakes, but still found himself in a shitty situation from which there was no way out. It was sickening to the point of screaming that this wasn't even a unique situation! Didn't he know how a bunch of divers on Earth and elsewhere regularly die as Twin in exactly these situations? He did everything right, everything wisely, and the result was expressed by the deep and stinking ass of a giant.

And it happens the other way around, it does! Others are lucky, incredibly lucky, sometimes so incredibly lucky that you involuntarily doubt what FaFo indicator these guys have. Take the same Lucky Tommy, who was called Super Nerd in the Central European segment, for his very characteristic appearance of a complete nerd, who is proud of the fact that he is a nerd. Having fallen asleep in the Star of Dreams as a seventeen-year-old boy, he managed to find an entrance to an empty lacuna in his very first cycle, and a high-level one at that. It is worth noting that the Broken is by no means full of empty, completely danger-free, spatial folds that contain only neutral magical energy and the axis of the lacuna itself. Even fewer than three dozen lacunae of the first stage in a completely empty format were found, and Tommy got the fourth, an absolutely harmless lacuna.

The only one found during the entire time of earthlings' stay in Broken, damn it! And earlier, it was believed that even third levels in an empty format simply could not exist! What's more, the third level of the empty lacuna has never been found, unlike the only four!

The lucky bastard didn't even meet the simplest mutant killer hamster on the way to the axis, so he calmly reached the center, sat down on the altar-axis, and began to suck in a literal river of Essence. Completely neutral, minimally pressing on the brain, and also maximally useful for the Twin. During the entire first, second, and part of the third cycle, he emptied the altar-axis and poured it into himself. Since he had no competitors, he absorbed the entire flow with a minimum of parasitic losses, and the extreme neutrality of the flow did not allow him to die from overload. By the end of the third cycle, he moved to the second level, and also had received a very interesting hereditary blessing, a blessing of the highest kind dormant in the blood, one step away from the Great!

Thanks to this, he managed to almost immediately "sell" himself to the local hegemon in the person of the ruling empress, who, amazingly, did not oppress the alien diver, nor cut him on the altar in order to extract the Blessing, nor anything else typical of the Broken. Now Tommy lives quietly in a protected wing of the imperial palace in the company of a whole harem of beauties and three more official wives, the eldest of whom is the blood of that very Empress. Strengthens, so to speak, the ruling dynasty and its loyal vassals, tirelessly. And no mental correction in the spirit of the ever-memorable hamster in a cage, no slave shackles or contracts, which are not much different from slavery. Or rather, there are such contracts, but voluntary and clearly spelling out the benefits of the subordinate position of the earthling.

He was even given a unique relic from the Empress's personal treasury, which stabilizes his unit in the attribute of Fate and Fortune, preventing it from having too destructive an effect! Just for the record: only six such relics were found by earthlings, and there was confirmed information about another fifteen, but they could not lay their paws on them. Of course, there were attempts to kill such a useful asset for the Rose Empire, but a bunch of brave guards and sexy guards, protective spells, and a binding to the Heart of the imperial palace allowed Tommy to survive these attempts.

On the ordinary Earth, Tommy, who is no longer a boy, is still on a second level and in no hurry to perform the ritual of ascension, despite his talents and vessels being completely filled, lives happily, sells books with his own biography, and regularly appears in the company of talking heads on holovision. He advertises all the delights of Broken, saying that there are not only beatings and bloody nightmares there, but also a chance to get lucky with Fafo. Maybe even for you, viewer, for you alone. Just go and get the Essence for your home planet, save the universe from thermal entropy!

And now try to call Ilya even a little lucky, right?

* * *

The nineteenth day from the end of the last cycle, the new one will begin this night, Ilya is traditionally sitting in a chair, chewing a slice of the last orange that rolled into the far corner of the refrigerator, drinking rum poured into the bottom of a glass, some kind of crap, to be honest, but still hooks something, and scrolling through the Forum. The Forum, as always, pleases, despite the fact that Ilya opens random topics from the most discussed ones. By the way, the topic about the "toilet dive" that was started not so long ago has not lost its popularity at all, and has also been awarded its own subsection of the Forum, where now there are slightly less than fifty separate topics, and the number of comments is rapidly approaching a million.

But the Forum was not filled with shit alone, of course, although sometimes it seemed the opposite.

Fifth Elephant [OP], [confirmed diver], [Citadel seneschal], [second level: Toucher of the Hidden]: well, please love, favor and congratulate our guys on another very outstanding feat in their career. The lacuna, which received the operational name "Four Hills", was successfully (and quickly!) cleared by the forces of the group under the operational call sign "Vegetarians". Chief, have I used operational terms about efficiency often and quickly enough? Don't be silent, Chief, I'm scared!

Anyway, jokes aside – the result deserves praise, especially considering, ha-ha, the efficiency of the cleanup, which took exactly one cycle, not counting the basic preparation and information gathering. We all praise our Vegetarians, and we can also follow the [link] to a separate operational – are you hearing it, boss!? – report on the work done and the typification of the gap. In short, the Hill Dwarfs as the main enemy, and the tired Autumn Knights in the amount of two fused with each other pieces as the axial creature. This doubled Siamese twin from the world of creatures was also quickly killed. Quickly, boss!

In any case, I give the floor to our winners, but for now, I will not spread the word about what exactly they found in that gap and what awards they will receive from the command of our small and friendly community of operational, necessarily operational, woodpeckers.

Leek [confirmed diver], [Citadel], [second level: Corpse Ripper], [confirmed experienced commander]: thank you all, starting from our command - I won't call them "operational" - continuing with the guys from the analytical groups and ending with my dear combat group. Success would not have been possible without each of us, so it's up to me. We've already had our fun on Earth, but I'll congratulate you all in Broken on my own behalf, because last cycle we barely managed to crawl out of that ass, that is, forgive me, lacuna. Fortunately, the boss has already given us two weeks of vacation. They gave it to us promptly!

Swede: [confirmed diver], [Citadel], [second level: Face Cutter], [confirmed rich girl]: sup to all, girls and boys! To all who believed in us and helped. Or at least didn't kill. :)

Ce-lery [confirmed diver], [Citadel], [Occultist], [master of making hot rolls], [loves old games outside of VR sims]: I'll join (almost) silently. It was a hellish hell and the ass of the Dead, I thought we wouldn't take it out. But we took it out, damn it. And we'll continue to take it out. Let there be a Citadel!

Jerusalem artichoke [confirmed diver], [Citadel], [Marauder], [Wikipedia warrior], [six bans in the Citadel section for posting porn content outside of NSFW sections]: and I was killed! ...But I survived! Swede-chan, thanks for the resurect, I'll definitely help you cut new reserves, just don't be angry!

Eggplant [confirmed diver], [Citadel], [Assassin], [cultured guy], [resident of the African agglomeration]: I support the tale that we are strong together. Together we have won and will win. Together we are strong, brothers and sisters, no one will eat us together.

Comments: 1 of 673

Rygal DDorn [verified lore expert], [verified Warhammer lore expert], [repeatedly banned], [old rock fan]: the world froze in anticipation of terrible things...

Celery [verified diver], [Citadel], [Occultist], [master of making hot rolls], [loves old games outside of VR sims]: deadgods, bitch, no, no, get them out of here! Elephant, fuck, ban the morons, I'm sick of it, bitch!

Corporal_Ololoev [memes instead of blood], [never been banned], [once went to Omsk-2]: I HEAR THE VOICE OF VEGETABLES!!!

Eggplant [confirmed diver], [Citadel], [Assassin], [cultured guy], [resident of the African agglomeration]: my grandfather is younger than this, forgive all the living and Dead gods, jokes. Literally younger. Bitch, if I knew how much they would pester us with this joke, I would have voted for a different version of the team names...

Ilya couldn't help but be interested in the joke that everyone seemed to understand except him, having dug up the origins of the joke without the slightest effort. As it turned out, in one long-ago cycle, when this group had just been formed and was giving a general interview at some charity event, one of the reasons why Ilya didn't want to become a registered diver, they were given a good dressing down for calling their curator from the analytical department simply a boss, and not an operational commander. The one who had just received this title, and also rose to the second level, didn't hesitate to write a report-complaint on hazing. A military man, what can I say. Such people sometimes fit into the Star of Dreams, even though the soldier's profession is steadily dying out, taking into account the Treaty.

Many cycles have passed since then, much water has flowed under the bridge, and much blood has been spilled. The Sage-curator has become more sophisticated, toning down his show-off and showcasing his best features, while becoming quite friendly with his "Vegetarians." However, the joke has remained a constant reminder for those who recall it. It's even strange that Ilya, listening to a song of an ancient rock band found by keywords from the comments, has never come across this story before. And he has heard about the "combat vegans", the guys are well-known, showing quite good results - all the first levels have already come very close to a breakthrough, so soon the Citadel will have a new squad of newly elevated twos.

However, they are not very well known, no. Rather, Ilya is a geek from the world of Broken, who knows by name all the more or less experienced connections of at least the Citadel and the Euro-sector. Including these, yes. Graduates of one of the training institutions purely for registered divers or planning to become such, by the way. They were initially gathered in one group and prepared to be sent to the Citadel, because specific builds were needed for specific tasks and types of lacunas. To complete them not on pacemakers, with huge losses and expenses, but cleanly, quickly, and efficiently. Although the diver still considered it a significant omission on the part of the PR department that a group with such a name did not have at least one Druid in its composition.

"And why are they so mad about this song, as if their asses were on fire?" He thought out loud, accompanied by the howling of the soloist. "Or did the PR department really not tell them how and why they selected these names for the Twins? Although it is more likely that they initially selected a team with “vegetable” nicknames so that they could use these names without harming their development potential."

Ilya's gaze slid over the lines and pictures of the Forum, checking one or another story worthy of his attention. He suddenly realized that for the first time since deciding to become a diver, he was seriously afraid of diving into a new cycle. What awaited him? How would it all end? How would Ryuk behave? These questions had no answers, and he could not influence the answer, which was why a latent panic was awakening, an uncontrollable regret about having gotten into this shit at all, instead of sitting at home, on Earth, not worrying about all sorts of Ryuks and other bitches. The realization of this fact did not add to his good mood, but Ilya diligently suppressed his cowardice. They would not be able to drive him crazy with torture, and they would not kill him more than four times anyway. In the worst case, he had already accumulated enough essence to live peacefully until old age and not deny himself small comforts.

The titmouse is already in the hands; moreover, he carefully transferred this titmouse to the cage. He can calmly and without worry think about how to catch the crane more deftly. Or, given the current circumstances, do not let this crane gobble up the impudent toad in the person of Ilya.

As if to cap off his evening of sitting at the monitor, another search on the Forum for key tags for his very rare class led him to an article by none other than Mesmericks himself! The article, despite the author's identity, actually matched the search parameters and was called: "My next processed and hungry for affection bimbo-aboriginal obsessed with me, only this time literally Obsessed and Hungry, or how I learned the meaning of the term WENDUSSY." Ilya carefully read the title and assessed the number of comments under the spoilers, as well as the secondary erotic tags of the article, and decisively turned off the computer, closing the Forum. Let this story forever remain a secret for him, because there are truths that even Ilya's super-stable mind cannot withstand.

Closing his eyes, covered with a warm blanket, he fell asleep, not happy, but peaceful.

He woke up, alas, not in the warmth, but among the snow and ice, in exactly the same position and second from which he was thrown home, immediately starting to look around and stretch. Some part of him wanted to run away as quickly as possible, some other part wanted to rush towards the place where the marker ritual was being held, but his mind took control of both of these parts. And instead of hectic, hasty, and simply dangerous actions, Ilya began to get acquainted with the gifts that the Mechanism had donated to him for his outstanding results in the last cycle.

Minor One-Time Gift of the Great Mechanism: A drop of Essence has fallen into your Vessel of Eternity.

A small one-time Gift from the Great Mechanism: a random material absorbable gift acceptable to the Lot in form and content.

The earthling raised his eyes in surprise and smiled contentedly when he realized that the gifts he had received were not the most valuable, but at the same time not useless, utilitarian, one might say. However, a drop of Essence, which would not be superfluous, would be enough for him right now (although a drop of Essence is never superfluous), and the second gift is just a nice addition. Moreover, quite rare, like any other material, minor benefits. In theory, you can even get a full-fledged relic, ideally suited to your build, but this is just a theory. Less than four dozen cases of confirmed receipt of such gifts in general, during the entire time of active connection of Earthlings to the Broken.

It is clear Ilya was not among these lucky ones. His personal luck was exhausted at the moment of winning the Lottery, and FaFo does not influence the work of distributing the Gifts of the Mechanism or influences it much less than the usual limits of that influence. Closing his eyes, he listens to himself, taking on the image of an icy lake, listening to the sound of scarlet gold falling on the bottom of the bowl.

Tap.

Next, he checked the backpack lying nearby, quickly finding something he hadn't put there. A small gift like this usually bestows some kind of potion or breathing powder, one of those that are really valuable and useful for the first level, and no one would sell it to a newbie at all if he were a loner. But, given the gift's adjustment to the class and build of the recipient, the Diver expected to see either a child's heart preserved in alcohol or a piece of still-warm, bleeding liver. To be fair, Wendigos aren't the only ones who can eat such crap, and the same potion that, say, an Occultist got could well have been brewed using the standard recipe for Alchemists, that is, from human ingredients, and not just herbs and parts of creatures.

That's why Ilya was so pleasantly surprised to find in the bag a bone that was clearly inhuman and very old, literally bleached by time. Even just touching that bone, he felt the beating of magic in it, as if part of that magic still lived, as if an invisible heart was beating inside the bone. The reagent, yes, was suitable for the class, even if you gnawed it or cut it out - the Mechanism had gifted him well. Good compensation for that misunderstanding with the protection from love magic, which they had mocked him with, there's no other way to say it.

Among the earthlings, and among all the other divers too, there was a constant fierce squabble about where those gifts of material nature come from. Who cooks them, processes them, pours them into bottles? Or are they born from the Void, by the will of the Mechanism alone? The fact that neither the clairvoyants nor the Sages are able to trace the path and history of the creation of such gifts suggests that the truth is closer to the latter option. Ilya doesn't care; he just happily squeezes in his hands a wide, palm-sized, thin vertebra, half the thickness of that same palm. A solid bone, completely unlike ordinary bones, it simply beckoned him with its physically absent, but perceptible on a subtle level, aroma of magic.

He had to take control of himself. Yes, by eating this crap, any Wendigo could very well get one or two drops of Essence and even some temporary enhancement of unknown nature. Most likely, something related to strengthening the bones, obtained through a banal sympathetic connection. A classic of the genre, from bone to bone and all that. Taking into account the increased influx of Essence, these one or two drops will grow considerably in quantity; he will definitely have enough for a second talent. But Ilya was in no hurry to eat the gift, and not only because his mother forbade him to put all sorts of crap in his mouth. It was just that this bone was an ideal blank for not even an amulet, but almost an artifact, and especially for a carver with his talent.

Yes, at the first step, he can only spoil the workpiece, but at the second, and better yet, the third... Let's say it's a tit and a crane again, a classic fork, so to speak. Either eat it now or save it for a better time, when you can use the workpiece to the fullest. Then the Essence for making the artifact will come along with the work of the carver, and the artifact will remain in Ilya's possession. But starting carving without new steps in the talent of the Carver is simply stupid, and it will not be so quick to increase that talent. First, the Eye, of course, but even if he gains a new ten drops, then it will not be the Carver who will be increasing. It is in last place in terms of the need for development.

So it turns out that it is unclear which option will be smarter, but greed will be pressing in any case. And if you eat the bone, and if you decide to save it for a rainy day. Actually, this is the option Ilya chose - just wait, because he can chew the bone at any moment, but he will not be able to return what he has chewed. He is now, damn it, a princess from the Disney world, and with a truly bottomless stomach.

Having finished with the Mechanism's gifts, he stood up, looked around, buried himself in the snow again, and began to increase his sensory talent. A long-awaited improvement, which, thanks to the toad and the evil bitch, he managed to get much faster than expected. Closed eyes, snow covering his face and making Ilya look like a corpse, and also the cup so familiar and dear to his heart. The blood at the bottom boils scarlet, boils gold, flows up the walls of the cup, spills over them, spills onto patterns and ribbons, onto necklaces of stones and bones, onto images of eyes carved into that rock. These images are primitive, but no less real, no less sinister, as if something true is hidden in the schematic drawn eyes.

Not drawn.

Not made up.

Knowing no peace.

Blood hides in the pupils, the painted eyes acquire depth, the drawings on the rock depict human figures that do not notice these eyes, hungry and greedy for flesh eyes, that choose their prey, look for a way to it, look for its weakness and vulnerability. Blood is absorbed into the necklaces, irrigates the pebbles and river pearls, and sparkles on them. These pearls and colored pebbles seem to begin to double. A copy of such becomes viscous and fluid, flowing into the pupils of the painted eyes together with the scarlet gold. And the pupils carved in the stone, the carved eyes become deep, go deeper and deeper into the rock, while remaining a part of it.

Not eyes.

But doors.

Doors leading somewhere else.

Ilya, having caught such a psychedelic vision, involuntarily understands why, in the right build, most often, there will be no more than one talent with five steps, and even one such talent is often considered too much. And if they do not consider it, then they spend two or even three talents of a balancing type to compensate for it. The difference between three steps and four is great, but between four and five it is even greater, even more expressive. And Ilya was experiencing this expressive difference right now. To be honest, thanks to the ability to protect himself from the psychic damage of his own Twin, the spectacle was more exciting than scary. But Ilya still felt a latent fear of this strange force hidden in the depths of the talent that was still only just becoming known.

Hungry Eye: 2/5 (Essence invested: 0/20)

The eyes of the Wendigo see the world in a different way than ordinary mortals are accustomed to perceiving it; they notice details more easily, and the hiding prey will not hide behind strong walls or under an invisible canopy, because the Wendigo can notice the still beating heart of its victim even at a considerable distance, in complete darkness or behind a reliable barrier.

The overall effectiveness of the talent is significantly increased, attention to detail is enhanced, and the tendency to notice the mystical and mundane is increased. The eyes of the Wendigo see in pitch darkness and are not blinded by the light, and the ability to overcome disguise is noticeably enhanced.

Piercing: When at the peak of malice and thirst for flesh, Wendigo is able to enhance the properties of his eyes by an order of magnitude, opening them to the eternal Cald, beginning to notice much more, albeit at the cost of the Hungor rolling in with extreme force. His eyes are like ice crystals, needles of pure Evil, they pierce through a reliable cover, an enchanted wall, a camouflage veil, or a protective amulet. The eyes look, see, and understand what they see to the very core, distinguishing the strengths and weaknesses of what they did see.

Among all the listed aspects, this one is considered not the most successful; it is chosen only when there are simply no better options, and if there are, they ruin further plans for the build. The dual structure of the aspect itself is not just good, it is even moderately good, as for increases the talent with five steps. The ability to break through standard disguises, especially the hard sorcerer type, deprives the Eye of one of the main weaknesses of the initial talent, which is still too easy to deceive if you take the matter seriously. At the same time, the analysis of strengths and weaknesses allows, with luck, due to only one observation, preferably of an actively fighting victim, to partially calculate and understand its build, even if some talents were not used at all or did not have external signs of active manifestation.

Everything is fine, if not for two "buts". First: other aspects of the talents with five steps are no worse, and often even noticeably better. Second: Piercing becomes truly strong, capable of being not just average, slightly below average among competitors, but a truly dominating aspect, only if you invest in it with all your heart. And having invested, any normal Wendigo, even with an extremely stable build, will automatically degrade into a hungry and uncontrollable creature until it is satiated, or until it calms down. Therefore, no one seriously chooses this aspect, and when choosing, they do not use its full potential. Is it worth saying that for Ilya, such a disadvantage became not a disadvantage at all, but only an advantage?

Because he can, can, and will use the talent to the limit of what this talent, as a part of the Mechanism connected to the Twin, is able to pass through itself. Well, and as much as the physical body and its energy projection can withstand, otherwise the eyes can freeze and burst right in the sockets. But still, out of the blue, he received an ability comparable to an extremely pumped-up talent of the fifth step or even a poorly pumped-up talent of two or three divisions, but applied not by the first level, but by the second. Yes, with reservations, yes, very limited, yes, without the proper conceptual depth that a higher level gives. But still, he could now. Ilya himself did not yet understand what exactly he could do, but he intended to check it in the near future.

It is worth remembering that, except for him, no one else at the first step would be able to use all the advantages of such a "mental cast" without ruining their brains. Even if you move away, you will return to your mind, having gotten by with minimal consequences due to the correct help of benefits, potions, and rituals, you will not remember a damn thing. The brains themselves will not want to remember such things. They themselves will take care of creating a protective short-term amnesia for the carrier of these not particularly smart brains. Actually, Ilya here is the most striking example of optimization of individual aspects for a non-standard build, even if from the outside, his choice looks like downright idiocy, especially against the background of what he refused. Piercing, as an aspect of a sensory talent of a property subtype, is practically not taken; it is much more effective as an aspect of a combat talent-skill, like the same tricks of the Executioners, with which they already tried to cut him into pieces.

Well, Ilya has his own way, yes. And he doesn't give a damn about the pug inside the sealed bunker, who has grown again and become even fatter, so fat and wide that a little more and he will no longer be a pug, but some kind of dwarf Pekingese. He also doesn't give a damn about those aspects that he was forced to refuse, despite the fact that he really wanted to take them too. Rumor has it that one of those Lotteries, the winner of which is still unknown, allowed you to choose two aspects at once for one one-step increase. They are most likely lying, because no one has canceled the pressure on the psyche, and with such a "gift" from the Mechanism, it is easier not to pump at all than to go out of sync later. Well, or, the stabilizer talents would have to be pumped first, and forget about combat development.

For the sake of Piercing, Ilya did not take the rarest, bitch, one and a half percent probability of falling out in the base, but he brought it up to two due to the aspect of the ++Veil in disguise, the aspect that fell out so suddenly that he almost grabbed it purely on reflex. This is rare, which means you have to take it! Still, the aspect "Truth" fell out, considered the younger brother of the completely imbalanced "Ultimate Truth", extremely rarely and only on the second or third step, exclusively for talents with at least five steps of development. A very strong thing, allowing you to scan the surrounding world almost like an analogue of the ritual of assessment, only without the hassle of the ritual. Add here a furious resistance to any illusions that will not hide the truth from view, sprinkle on top a very good overcoming of disguise, albeit not as high-quality as scanning-assessment, and the fight against illusions ... and we get the result.

According to this very result, the owners of eye talents of any kind are generally ready to kill, sell, or orally please for the "Truth" in their build. And here Ilya refused it, despite such luck! And he did not strengthen his build with the same "Knowledge of Loyalty" about three steps or "Understanding of Truthfulness" about two. No, he did not strive to increase the chances of getting this aspect, and then here you go! It is better not to tell any Seekers, Sages, or other eye-talents about this detail. Otherwise, they will kick him. And they will beat their legs on Ilya's frozen body. And does he need to injure people, upset them, humiliate their dignity? True, he does not need to; that is why he will remain silent. And this "Truth" is not quite according to his build, it would block some of the purely icy aspects of the Eye, sometimes partially, and sometimes completely.

The other three aspects did not cause such a strong desire to choose them. Yes, there was "Breath", allowing you to notice not only hearts, but also the movement of air flows in the lungs, tracking someone else's exhalation, and at the same time, added the effect of a thermal imager activated at will to your vision. Very good, especially since the sense of hearts, heat vision, and sense of breath act in the opposite way, so the methods of blocking one method of perception will not help against the others. Among earthlings, a set of such aspects is called the "garland method", where the spectra of perception symbolize the lights on that garland.

Pick up five aspects with different methods of insight into the hidden, and then watch and hope that one of them will become a counter to the camouflage chosen by the enemy. In extreme development, and on five steps, it turns out very powerful, like a walking optical filtration unit. Earthlings do not disdain such a layout and often choose, regardless of class.

Ilya also ignored the more specific "Imprint", which allows emulating the talents of Pathfinders, seeing the traces left behind by all sorts of assholes and passers-by. Regardless of whether these traces were left by the person passing by or were simply there. The trace is not physical, of course, and not even manifested by magic. There is more of a spiritual imprint of the universe. On the one hand, the standard "erasing" with purely magical talents will not work here; it will leave those traces untouched. On the other hand, any methods hidden through aspects of the subtype "Unity", "Affinity", "Mergence", or the same ++"Veil" in an active, not passive, form will simply ignore such sensorics. In general, as always, any imba will meet its counter; the main thing is to carefully and vigilantly ensure that it is you who is both imba and counter, and not your opponents.

The last aspect was a relatively useless one for Ilya, but also a very rare type of such, called "Sphere". The key advantage of the aspect was the ability to transfer the volumetric-spherical perception of other people's hearts to normal vision as well. You begin to see the world from a third person, as if the character of an old-fashioned computer game with a monitor or holoprojector, and not in VR. In principle, there are a number of builds that would benefit greatly from such an approach, but Ilya was not satisfied with such an approach primarily because it overloaded perception and was not suitable for combat.

Spherical vision can be used, especially if ++Pena is developed at the proper level, but not in direct conflict. This type of perception is great for all kinds of craftsmen and ritualists, allowing them to see their actions in volume, every detail, feature of the ritual, and all that. Errors and shortcomings are immediately visible, which is why their correction takes incomparably less effort than in a normal situation. But fighters of any kind, as well as support specialists, take the "Sphere" only for a specific build, most often either the Sage, who can filter other perceptions, or the Martyr, who has suitable talent trees, where spherical perception will play into the hands, and not against.

Ilya was neither a Martyr, nor a Sage, nor an idiot, so he took exactly what was useful to him now. Although, of course, from the outside, his choice did not look smart at all. He did not sigh about it, rose to his feet, and moved at a leisurely run towards the city walls. He had played the lonely hunter enough. It was time to hand in the ordered herbs; otherwise, another five days, and even the correct method of collection and storage would not help against the inevitable withering and spoilage of one of the orders. The second one can still wait quite a long time; the herbs there are not perishable. What has Ilya stooped to! Consider him a drug dealer! And the fact that all these are legal drugs does not change anything by and large.

As he walked towards the walls of Lazy, he gradually got used to his new eyes, seeing everything around him. Clarity of vision, the ability to notice every single snowflake, a kind of eyepiece effect, thanks to which it is easy to focus the gaze on very close and very far points - this is only the basis, without using the forced method. It was when he allowed Wendigo to lose his temper a little, let his will, his Hunger and Cold into his eyes, that's when the real gingerbread began! Such gingerbread that even Ryuk does not sell ... because he has his own, much better and safer, but still, there are definitely no such ones.

It was as if someone had generously sprinkled ice chips mixed with broken glass and crushed diamonds into his eyes, but at first, this pain seemed like a trifle compared to the essence of Wendigo. Ilya, of course, was trained in the method of testing new talents and aspects, and therefore, he began without haste, only slightly loosening the leash on the shackled pug-Pekingese. His problem is that he is, of course, smart, but, damn, he is an idiot. Yes, he only slightly loosened that control, but only this "slightly" precisely by his standards, by how Ilya himself judges his sanity. He could have assumed that his perception was somewhat distorted by the cheating trait, yes. Or rather, he assumed, that is why he began so gradually, but he very, very, very, VERY, fucking, underestimated the degree of that distortion.

Yes, the Wendigo, chained up in the bunker, had grown stronger, which, translated into understandable units of measurement, was expressed by the fact that the Pekingese pug had suddenly mutated into a rabid Mastiff or Alabai. Yes, the creature was twitching at the chain and reaching for the locked door, but there was not even a shadow of a load on the chains, and the creature did not reach the door at all. In general, Ilya's psyche was not in danger, absolutely not in danger. Another matter was energy and vision, which received a boost corresponding to how much Ilya had loosened the reins of the sealed hungry madness. A normal diver would have already lost his human appearance and would have run towards the nearest source of meat, but Ilya whined quietly, tightly closed his eyelids, and began to massage his temples, which seemed to have been pierced with an industrial chisel.

Well, the good news is that he didn't go blind, didn't injure his energy, and didn't lose his first life in a completely idiotic way. Two hours of howling in the snow, and that's it, he's healthy again, only covered in tears and snot, like a young girl after finishing a virtual simulation of the Titanic. Or a young man. A real tear-jerker there, regardless of gender. His eyes didn't even hurt much, his body was also in perfect order, and the pug in the depths of the self-control bunker had returned to its previous dimensions and seemed to have even shrunk by a couple of nanometers. Ilya thought in passing that Ryuk, who was simply obliged to establish surveillance on him, had definitely seen all of this. And if the surveillance was not only optical, but also aura-based, then he also understood what exactly he had seen.

Suddenly, something happened to Ilya that he considered impossible, something that almost never happened to him even in his earliest childhood – he blushed.

He blushed with burning shame!

So hot that it burns!

The new attempt to activate the talent went much more normally; now he had something to compare it with, so he stopped exactly at the border where the pressure on the energy ceases to be comfortable or at least bearable. The enraged bulldog of the inner Wendigo suffered in his chains and demanded to go eat anything, even snow, and the diver was delightedly shocked by how well his idea worked. His vision became like a full-fledged optical aiming module; he easily discerned the heart of a chipmunk hidden under the snow five kilometers away from him. He discerned each of the hearts within a certain radius, which made his head hurt, and with each second, the threat of the blood vessels in his brain starting to burst one after another approached. But he was too amazed by what he saw. Under the snow cover of the Ridge, life did not freeze at all, just as it did not freeze in the deepest crevices.

Ilya and several creatures noticed a couple. One of them was hidden by some very high-quality camouflage, but it was worth only concentrating on the area of ​​space that caused a slight feeling of wrongness, as it pierced it. The creature turned out to be old, powerful, and motionless, some kind of plant-meat scum, but not the Hatred Flesh, but just a creature. At a depth of fifty meters under the stone, it curled up into a ball and did not wake up even from the gaze of Ilya, who quickly weakened that gaze. He could kill the creature, but it could also be the opposite. There is a powerful bastard there, and, with some probability, not even the first stage, although it is difficult to judge here, he only saw its seven hearts along the worm-like body, saturated with an extremely alarming amount of power.

He suddenly lost the desire to fight the creature, which was most likely capable of crawling underground by "swimming" in stone, as well as to look at it at all. Many higher-order entities can sense a directed glance or a broken disguise, and sometimes even sense those who notice them. He quickly walked away, noticing, however, a place where he could return later or sell information to hunters. The creature had clearly been lying there for more than a year, and would lie there for a little while longer. The Earthling left, almost ran, but a triumphant smile of a satisfied moron kept trying to appear on his impassive face. Yes, his plan worked one hundred, three hundred, seven hundred, and ninety-seven out of a hundred!

Even if he is at the first level, even if this vision does not have additional aspects and a bunch of modes, but in terms of power, distance, and ability to break through standard camouflage with blunt brute force, his new eye is comparable to the top of the first level or the extremely flawed stage of the second. If he knew that he would come across "Piercing" in aspects, he would have increased the Eye first of all, and not the Hide. With such a boost, he simply would not have met those woodpeckers, bypassing them like the plague. Of course, overcoming camouflage by force due to "piercing sharpness" cannot be compared with a fully pumped-up sensory type talent of all five steps. Where he breaks through camouflage due to "sacrificed" psyche, the eye pumped up to all five steps simply will not notice that camouflage. And the owner of the camouflage will not understand that he was exposed either. And such a talent will have a bunch of other auxiliary little things.

But still.

But still.

These additional aspects will be revealed to Ilya as well. He will pump up the talent by a full five divisions and each of the aspects can be strengthened by investing "sanity points"! The main thing here is that the energy can withstand it. The transfer of Glad and Khlad to strengthening the talent is still limited not only by the psyche, but also by the container of this talent itself. It's just that an ordinary diver will never run into this limitation, because he will bake his brains much earlier than he will reach the limit of his physical and energy body.

Ilya had no idea how this aspect was perceived in sensory-ocular form by the owners of other classes, but he knew what he had experienced himself. In the pupils, in the eye itself, it was as if a door had opened into the size of a needle, but there, behind that door, there was only ice, only cold, only the roaring wind and the silence of the cold, in which cities and kingdoms fall asleep forever. And there, in the midst of that cold, the doors were open, so that the eyes of the beholder could look into them in the same way that the cold looks through the eyes of the beholder. It was a nightmare, and the earthling objectively understood that the very perception of such a thing should turn him into a whining stutterer, who would have to recover from his experiments for weeks and months. In fact, the Wendigo unleashed here played the role of a fuse, with its hungry cries preventing one from perceiving what had opened up on the back of the eyes.

Once, Ilya read a report of a rather pumped-up black magician-shadowmancer, who did not want to take the third level and lived a rather comfortable life as a royal guard and adviser on the Mechanism in the retinue of some king. He, too, once, still at the first stage, reached the limit of the physical, and not just mental, using the "Pupils of Darkness" precisely under "Piercing". Only in his case, a full-fledged ritual complex helped, which was supposed to take on a couple of seconds of stress, as well as banal care. The diver, who had temporarily gone crazy and gone completely out of sync, was carefully tied up, given expensive potions to drink, tied up well, and kept in recreational chambers under the supervision of a couple of Charmancer and Priest with healing builds for eight cycles.

Then he finally came to his senses and restored synchronization, but he didn't experiment anymore and generally pretty much forgot about pumping and development. Well, and wrote a report. So, according to him, when a passage to the Darkness dimension opened up behind the back of his eye socket, it was the voices of the crazy shadows, thirsting to break out of his heart, that forbade his mind to look too deeply there. In principle, it's not even surprising. Of all the types of creatures and energies, the shadow one is considered one of the safest. Shadows are evil and cruel, but at the same time, their cruelty has a more playful and cheerful nature, unpredictably dangerous, but not always a priori harmful. They resemble bored tricksters, who often do not realize what their games are fraught with for meat sacks with sweet souls inside. Or they realize, but do not care about it, which is even more common.

If it weren't for the extremely unpredictable nature, due to which such creatures can both give out a thousand percent of power and help, and simply go about their business in the middle of a battle, because they got bored, then all summoners would call them en masse. No, there are effective builds of all sorts of shadowmancers-summoners, as well as shadow creatures that show outstanding calm and a serious attitude to contracts. But on average, they still call more to the Abyss, because there the creatures standardly want to devour you, kill and torture you in different orders, but they always behave more or less predictably.

"Oh, what won't a person think about, just to avoid remembering what a moron he is." A fair remark allows him to push aside thoughts about how he almost died out of nowhere. "It would have been such a stupid death that I could have applied for a nomination to the Darwin Committee among divers. I would hardly have won, but I would have definitely been able to get into the top hundred."

Not much of a reason to be proud.

* * *

By the time he arrived at the gate of Lazy, the mouth-arch seemed to have begun to look even more evil and sinister than before. The Diver had already managed to train his new gaze, learn to use it to the maximum in different load modes, and had stopped wanting to kill himself against the wall. In general, even the presence of detector birds does not irritate him much, unlike the guard, who quickly picked out an unremarkable farmer. Of average height, plump, not fat, but dense. The calluses on his fingers are very characteristic; he only waved his chin to a younger colleague, and he, grabbing his partner, went towards Ilya-Svyatik, gesturing to get out of the general queue. He went out, not bothering at all and showing everyone not even bewilderment, but simply boredom.

"In the name of the city, the crown, and the guard, the bag for inspection." And such a look, anticipatory and at the same time mocking, as if to say, try, come on, refuse. "Are there any prohibited or restricted goods, herbs, potions?"

Some part of him wanted to crack a joke, but Ilya's brain hadn't melted; despite active training, he knew perfectly well what such jokes were fraught with at customs. Well, on Earth, for sure. Here, of course, they might laugh, but the locals weren't exactly idiots who wrote the protocols, and they could very well put the prankster under pressure, either according to instructions or simply so that he wouldn't joke too much in the future. In general, he limited himself to just a negative nod and an open bag. The guards didn't show, but it was still obvious that they were disappointed. One of them even took out a wide leaf of the ordered plant from the bundles of herbs wrapped in separate rags to compare it with the dirty picture of a completely different inflorescence. The one that was forbidden to be sold anywhere except on a separate list of shops and buyers, and for a fixed price.

By the way, if there had been those herbs in that bag, he would have already gotten into trouble, because he would have been obliged to tell about them right away, answering the guard's question. The one about the restricted goods, yeah. The conversation didn't stop there; the guard even demanded that he take off his sheepskin coat, saying that Svyatik was suddenly carrying something forbidden under it. Svyatik took it off, not even shivering too much from the cold, and silently looked at the bridge of the nervous individual's nose. The guard, of course, is protected by law, but if he overdoes it, it will hardly be any easier for him when the frostbitten farmer, who goes to the Ridge in proud solitude, ends up hanging for the murder of that guard. In general, he didn't mess around for long, carefully ignoring hints of a big bribe, paying only the standard fee. They also unrolled some more rags for the herbs, such ghouls! The stocky guard-corporal looked at him thoughtfully, but did not create any other obstacles; he clearly had his own business.

"Hmm, good." Срша did not evaluate the herbs himself, but first listened to a boy apprentice of one of the city herbalists, who had first examined the herbs.

"So I accept and count this. Good, very good." Chif even rubbed his palms, obviously anticipating the high price he would shake out of the customer due to the quality of the goods, which were clearly in better condition than what ordinary collectors usually bring. "Coins now or later? You remember what exactly I said about the price."

"I'll wait." Ilya nods, trying hard to pretend that he pronounces individual words with some effort, reducing the presence of a farm accent, exactly as the language model he had created with great difficulty suggested. "And about the second herbs. I collected them, but left them in a noticeable place. They are under the snow in a rag. They will lie for another nine to eighteen days. It was not in vain that I left them. They examined me at the gate."

"We-e-e-lll..." Chif's gaze became sharp, acute, and unpleasant, but, surprisingly, this aggression was not directed at Ilya-Svyatik. –Tell me about this, Svyatik, if you would be so kind. About the gate, not about the place. About the place later."

Ilya, with some surprise, began to understand that he had made a slight mistake in positioning, or the dwarf was a fucking awesome actor. Because the earthling was waiting for attempts to put pressure on him, like, they hadn’t agreed yet to do the pickup of goods from outside the walls. Well, obviously, a test for a fool and a fresh one - to contract him for conditionally illegal activity, and then calmly hand him over to the guards so that they would accept the farmer at the entrance, and take everything away. And if you don’t give it yourself, then take it and answer to the city administration for your criminal intent. Only Ilya was wrong. It seems it wasn’t Chif who sold him over - not those reactions, visible, and not just put on display.

The short guy didn't get tired of asking the same questions over and over, and Ilya, despite the difficulty of playing the role, took sincere pleasure in mocking the dwarf who was trying to listen to him. The dwarf, by the way, ignored the questions, only hurried with his answers and cursed through his teeth at the most stupid moments of Ilya's slang. To his credit, he cursed indiscriminately, not seeking to directly insult Svyatyk.

"They spoiled my mood towards evening, the end of the nine." In the end, he spoke almost calmly, but his fingers, his fingers were shaking from suppressed anger, and his little heart was beating faster. "Someone is so talkative? Who chatters so much? I take the herbs from you, tell me the place, my little man runs away. I take it for full price. I can even pour some coins right now."

"No. No need. It will be easier for me." So that it doesn’t turn out that by some miracle the herbs “weren’t found,” and now Ilya owes a lot. "I’ll wait. I still have money, I’ll wait for a day or two, or even longer."

"Smart. It brings me joy." The dwarf nodded, finishing his herbal infusion in one gulp. "I believe that the grass is there. And I tell you that I don’t play games with those who pay for the work. I’ll take a look, I’ll take a look to see where and who was so talkative. I’ll take a look. And one more thing, Svyatik..."

Ilya didn't exactly believe that someone had tried to screw the farmer without the intermediary's permission, using insider information, but he certainly didn't rule out that option. Little Chif had a reputation, after all, and if he had decided to ruin it, he would have certainly done it smarter than he had already done. He wouldn't have played the game of setting up a runner with illegal goods under arrest in order to avoid paying for the work, and also toss the guards a bonus. He would have rather tried to squint Ilya on the way to this establishment or soon after leaving, but he wouldn't have messed with the guards. He was obliged to have garters with such, but they were not public and were not used for such trifles, and Ilya and his goods were precisely trifles for Chif.

In general, the dwarf had a credit of trust. It grew even more when Vozh spoke, without expressing gratitude, no. According to him, an honest and reputable herb buyer named Mutuziy complained to some good people of a not particularly law-abiding disposition that some farm asshole, a fucking rabble, shit that hadn't dried off the plow, had brutally killed two of his men, one of whom happened to be Mutuziy's beloved nephew. It was clear that the real situation quickly became apparent. It wasn't the first time there had been suspicions that the greedy merchant was taking too many liberties. In a different situation, if Ilya had killed one of the good people or those who walked among them, no one would have considered it self-defense. At best, they would have put him on the counter, and at worst, they would not only have killed him, but broken his legs, tongue, and eyes, castrated him, and left him on the steps in front of the temple, begging for alms as a “mourner” or “beggar.”

However, Mutuzy demanded the latter, and good people rarely reward such a fate for nothing. Especially those who, as it were, were in their right and their only fault was that no one said a word for them. Mutuzy was shown his place, without solving his screw-ups with the help of good people, because is he out of his mind? In the sense that he was too brazenly squeezing profits and was in no hurry to pay "gifts" to good people for protection. In general, let him figure it out himself, with his own efforts and personally hiring thugs, and not wait for something ready-made. Personally, he was not robbed. His shop was not burned down, nor was he threatened with racketeering. So good people are doing their job and protecting Mutuzy as they should. There is a separate price list for additional services, and that price list is shoved up the ass of especially cunning clients.

"Mutuzy is, of course, shit, but he is his own shit, sleek and native. Those who want his coins will be found, yes. So either find someone to walk the streets with, or, well, don’t go. That’s my advice. Only this time it’s not free. This time you’ve already paid for it." Having assessed the attentive and intelligent look of his interlocutor, the dwarf only became more convinced that he was understood correctly. "I’ll say a word for you, so that they don’t touch you, but that’s only my word. The streets of Lezy are full of hired blades, as well as those who won’t even frown at my word, so walk and look around, Svyatik. In about three days, when nine is over, come for coins from those herbs that you hid. And come for the new work too. I have a feeling that those who gave the work will really appreciate your herbs. They will ask for more. It will be a good income."

"Okay, Chif." Ilya bowed his head without servility, but sincerely, appreciating the dwarf's maneuver, which, from an actual problem for himself and an equally actual blunder, talkativeness somewhere among his people, managed to make Ilya not a debtor, but grateful to him. Moreover, the fact of the shorty's screw-up has already been forgotten, and it is somehow awkward to even talk about it. "I'll watch myself, then. I'll be here at the end of the nine."

"Good, good, Svyatik. And for watching your language, I thank you especially!" Here, Ilya has no doubts about the sincerity of his interlocutor's words, for the dwarf speaks from the bottom of his heart. "It still hurts to listen, my ears bleed like a carcass hanging on hooks, but at least they don't bleed as much as last time."

And so they parted, mutually pleased with each other. Chif remained at his table in the teahouse, and Ilya went to collect things from the compromised guest house. Fortunately, he knew a couple of places where a guy like him could stay and get fed. Some were suggested by his drinking buddies, and some were recommended by Chif. It was where these two types of recommendations intersected that he decided to try his luck. Alas, but the reserves of luck in his body were depleted, and he was unable to leave quietly and peacefully. On the other hand, at least it became clear what exactly Mutuzy's plan was and what this asshole was counting on.

At first, Ilya didn't understand anything. He went into the hall, ordered smoked ham with a side dish, hot soup with a mug of beer, and the obligatory "lucky" glass, hoping that this time he would do without unnecessary seasonings. A typical "festive" lunch for a snow worker who returned from the wasteland with excellent loot and wanted to try normal food.

He paid attention to the company around him, did not yawn, but misjudged the indifferent look of the tall, even long man at the far table. There was neither malice nor anticipation in that look, only a lazy assessment, which is why Ilya let it pass him by. As it turned out, the asshole did not have any particular hostility towards him; Ilya-Svyatik was just another work moment for him. A farmer does not deign to be angry at the cow he is slaughtering today; at most, he will think about the fresh piece of well-roasted meat that he will be able to cut out of it.

"Hey, farm guy!" Ilya silently and without aggression, but with obvious readiness to show it, turned to the questioner, who, having already begun the dialogue, began it in such a way that you could get your face beaten. "And is it true that on your farms every young and old man fucks cows and goats instead of women?"

In general, the question is one of those that do not provide for an answer or dialogue at all, only drawn blades and a quick duel, the most ordinary and thoroughly secular, not a temple ordeal. The accelerated consciousness of the Diver assessed the questioner and understood more and more clearly what was happening now. Tall, moderately neat, and smartly dressed in rather tight clothes, the asshole with a neat, thin moustache was a classic brether. Not the variety romanticized by literature and virtual sims, but an earthly, historical one. The kind of asshole who kills people under a plausible pretext, seeking a reason to conduct a duel, and finishing off the unfortunate for the sake of a reward from their ill-wishers or the opportunity to take away property for his own benefit.

This one is clearly not from the highest cohort of his kind. The Twin can judge, because he has seen different representatives of this caste. You can't even say that he is a pure brether, there are also features of a hired blade of the classical type, but still a brether, a full-fledged and trained one, even if he is one of those that are cheaper. Exactly so cheap that the same Mutuzy could hire him, at the same time promising that this guy would have a reward for the completed contract with Chif. That's why they stopped him almost immediately, so that he did not have time to put the money in the bags, so that they could freely remove it from the dead body.

There have been debates on Earth for years about whether there is a pure Brether class in the Broken, perhaps even called the Brether. Alas, there is no evidence of this class's existence. There are dueling builds, a whole range of them, the same Gladiator can in many ways be considered a pure dueling class, focused on combat with predominantly humanoid opponents-gifted one-on-one, but a subspecies of the Gladiator called the Matador also exists.

But there is no Brether. Despite the fact that such are quite present in the Broken and even have some prayer traditions. Someone prays to the Flesh Cutter in the attribute of the Coin Follower, someone even to the Night Miller in one of the two attributes of the Moon Reaper known to Earth. They pray, receive in response very specific blessings suitable for the profession, but do not have their own path within the Mechanism. There are theories, which are easier to call squabbles, that the Brether class is about as difficult to acquire as the same Cuckoo Chengling or Warlock with a class bias in Incinerating Heat. In theory, it is possible, but in reality almost never happens, or there are only a few cases in the entire history of earthlings in the Broken.

In general, the asshole standing in front of him, grinning insolently, but at the same time collected and calm, was not gifted, but simply a well-trained simpleton. Perhaps he has some kind of Dead God's blessing, but he is clearly not a secret Marauder, Hitman, or Gladiator; that's a fact. All these thoughts flashed through Ilya's head in a matter of moments, so he answered without a pause at all - for this alone, many adore the Twin mechanics. It is possible to voice witty answers right away, and not come up with them at two in the morning, five years after losing a verbal conflict with a crushing score and the crackle of a burning butt!

"Well, yeah, we fuck, but not just cows, but also goats and sheep, but rarely sheep, they die quickly on the Ridge." The faces of those around stretch, someone starts to suppress laughter, and someone is almost ready to burst out laughing, looking at the moron farmer and the hired killer, who is frankly confused by such a good-natured answer, but then Ilya finishes off with a punchline. - "And don't be angry. Who knew that that cow was your mother, and the goat your sister? I didn't mean any harm."

Here, the people around burst out laughing, and they started laughing seriously. The brether's face turned scarlet, but barely. He is, of course, furious and now wants to kill Ilya painfully, and not just provoke him to attack and slaughter him beautifully, within the laws and customs. But he still got his way. It's just that now he has the right to challenge him to a duel, for an insult, and not even from a city dweller, but from a shit-stained villager, which will immediately put the city court on his side. In fact, the diver only slightly knocked the bastard's arrogance down and slightly complicated the process of appropriating the property of his corpse, nothing more. He was initially satisfied with the option of a response insult, simply having a well-hung tongue and an almost rhetorical speech, he expected a maximum of direct obscenities. And here the bully was verbally humiliated by a real fucking farm hunter, and publicly, and everyone around understood who exactly won this verbal battle.

"You are good, farm guy." The opponent spoke evenly and slightly confusedly, deceptively slowly taking hold of the scabbard and moving the belt with it a little closer to the left hip. "And tell me, is your sword as sharp as your tongue?"

At that moment, it all began. Ilya started. For him was enough the fact that his opponent had taken up arms. He provoked Ilya to attack, because he was going to draw his sword, a good "lord's" blade with a thin, straight blade and an elegant dueling guard, second. The Earthman could well try to out-fence him, purely due to his greater speed and more modern techniques of working with a blade, honed by algorithms and a bunch of professional fencers. Experience and many years of practicing techniques will not compensate, but the gap will be greatly reduced. But the trouble is that a farmer-hunter had no right to be able to fence at the level of a professional swordsman; otherwise, he is not a farmer at all.

Fortunately, it was Figa himself who taught the methods of confronting professional fencers who wielded a sword like hands and were simply much more experienced than newbie earthlings, even if their technique was objectively more advanced. Well, or rather, Figuerdo Vanzetti, a native of the Italian Boot, albeit one who had moved to London, and also a great specialist in fencing practice of all the peoples of the earthly and Broken worlds. Nicknamed, in addition to Figa, Scheme or Schematos, for his love of marking circles for practicing fencing movements and steps. The man could make a good throat-cutter even from a log. He taught in depth only those who were initially going to be close combat divers, and taught everyone else methods of confronting masters of the blade so that they could not show their skills.

And so Ilya, leaning forward, achieved that the enemy began to bare his blade, almost demonstrating Japanese iaido, attacking with an instantaneous extension of the blade, using the sheath to strengthen and accelerate the blow. No, to be honest, it was not a bad tactic. An ordinary man, no matter how cool a hunter he was, would have been knocked down immediately by this trick. But Ilya, without even reaching for the blade, stepped forward, grabbed the jug of beer with his palm, and, with one movement of the body, putting all his body weight, threw the jug directly at the enemy. The enemy reflexively stepped back and bent down, blocking his super-blow, but bare-handed the blade... only to have a smoked ham hit him right in the temple with a rock-hard bone. The blade's blow passed very close to Ilya's groin and belly, but at the last moment, he spun on his toes, letting the dying blow pass him by, and immediately pushed off the already dead body, dropping the instantly relaxed body under the feet of onlookers sitting at one of the tables.

"I don't have a sword." He shrugged as if nothing had happened, immediately biting off a piece of ham from the side where it wasn't smeared with the blood and brain fluid of the dead man. "And why would I need it? I don't even know how to use it."

Yeah, that's still certainly within the bounds of what an ordinary man from the most badass farm folk can do. About as much within the bounds as his victory over a mad fighting bull, yeah. But if he had counted on not standing out too much, then his plans had once again suffered a legendary fiasco. And even the next one drop, almost-almost gained while eating the entrails of the ice toad, was no consolation...

Tap.

It didn't console him at all, not even a little bit.

Okay, he's lying.

It did provide a little bit of comfort.

* * *

The move was handled without incident. A rather elderly man from the beekeepers' shop introduced him to his second cousin, the same widow who had taken him in for feeding. No, beekeepers for real, Ilya had not gone crazy. Yes, they really do breed a special kind of frost-loving bees here, feeding them sweets so that they collect "snow dust" instead of pollen, a special magical reagent of the middle price segment. Unobtrusively threatening with a hive put on his head in the event that his relative was offended. The widow herself was about thirty years old, battered by life, and she was really exactly the age she looked. Not very beautiful even by local standards, silent and distant, she simply said what time breakfast and dinner were, asking, if she came after sunset, not to make noise, at the same time explaining how to properly pry a strong door bolt-lock with a primitive key.

Despite the abundance of truthful and not-so-truthful stories on the Forum, no particular hints of an intimate nature were expressed to him, even in the slightest. Neither from the widow, nor from her two maids, nor from the lame servant and part-time guard. Although no, the latter looked at Ilya with considerable interest and clearly intended to find his soul mate in him, someone who would help his hardened and vulnerable heart not to drink alone. The aunt was a wealthy townswoman, for beekeepers were a very rich guild, and Siva was the wife of one of the masters of that guild. Hence, the servants and the good, sturdy house, which now stands empty, and his simple folk are trying to redeem it, at the same time adding the widow to it.

Well, it's hard to argue with the fact that a beekeeper is a much more technologically complex profession than a honey gatherer, because they work with wild bees, mainly, even if magical ones. Here, in the middle of Ridge, it is necessary to have both technical solutions and certain amulets with alchemy, so that the bees, no matter how accustomed to the cold they are, are kept out of anabiosis and allowed to collect the magical energy of the cold concentrated into a physical form. That same pollen, yes.

He checked in without incident and visited Chif without incident, having finally received his pay, as well as two severed parts of a human body - an index finger and a whole hand. The latter, however, were only shown to him, and not given to him for use, which greatly disappointed the sadly howling Wendigo, but who cares about his howl? The fragments, one a girl's, if about the finger, and the other a boy's, if about the hand, belonged to those smart guys who had put the Chif in such a good position with their small personal business. The girl was a distant relative of the owner of the establishment, where the intermediary sat all day long and socialized there. The young man turned out to be her admirer and the brother of one of those guards who stopped him, not the foreman, but simply one of them.

The girl had a good ear and no brains. She did not hesitate to tell the sly boy about her daily work routine. The boy remembered everything, but, being a self-confident moron, decided to earn some money this way. And, characteristically, he did earn some money, having benefited a couple of times through his brother from insider information about who exactly and what exactly would be transporting through the gates of something not quite legal. They blamed it on the intuition of the foreman, a very famous man named Vorchik Fat, where "Fat" is not a nickname, but his father's nickname, practically his last name. And then it came to light. If it weren't for Ilya, then sooner or later they would have noticed something was wrong, Chif would have figured out the gradually insolent youth.

Ilya accelerated this process.

The girl was lucky, because her family stood up for her, and Chif did not want to change the location, so it was limited to very serious financial apologies. She became a penniless woman and lost a finger. The smart guy who became a cripple lost both his arm and both knees, which were smashed with a hammer, and the brother-guard managed without self-mutilation only because he stayed with the cripple-brother. It is very difficult to shake money out of the guard, so Chif did not even ask and immediately sent the bone-breakers. The dwarf could seem as calm as he wanted, but he categorically did not know how to forgive and took his own, either in money, work, or pain. Up to, for example, twisting in a meat grinder, starting from the legs, a small child, whose father tried to cheat the dwarf out of a serious sum, and the blood of people loyal to the dwarf. My father was also thrown into that spin, starting with his hands, but only the last one from his family.

Luckily, in short, these guys didn't cause too much damage, so Chif showed a certain amount of "mercy". The story about the menced Ilya heard from that same drunk servant, who had long forgotten his own name, answering to Khromysh. Of course, the guy could have embellished it, but the story fits in too well with the morality of the world. An intermediary has no right to let any losses slide, and someone like Chif, whom everyone already calls a runt behind his back (and in a whisper, yeah), has even less right. You just can't help but think that if this character is considered by local standards the pinnacle of adequacy and normal human relations among people of his profession, then there's clearly something wrong with the world.

It's broken, this World.

With such thoughts, Ilya began to get ready for a new raid, successfully taking several more tasks for herbs from Chif. This time for free, as a trusted individual. For himself, he again chose two herbs, only this time not narcotic, but partially prohibited for distribution. By the way, both uncompleted tasks from the last time were still hanging, figuratively speaking, among the active quests. The deer, nicknamed Elusive Joe, even though Ilya gave him this nickname only in his head, still could not be caught. They saw him here and there, and often with injuries to those who saw him. And the disappearances in the city continued, even though the gifted in the service of the ruling house of Lazy were involved. Ilya even began to think a little paranoidly about Ryuk, but still discarded this thought.

He also discarded the desire to ask the old man for a hint on the killer creature, since with his abilities, he could scan an entire city in half an hour. It was strange. He had never had suicidal thoughts before, especially about such a radical suicide. Surely this endless winter with snowfalls, which takes up three-quarters of the year, was to blame! Even a Diver with mental protection from the Great Trait began to experience depression from these landscapes. And depression is best treated with good work, so the earthling was going to work, while also buying a new set of clothes and a number of interesting consumables for hunting. Yes, Chif's gratitude for his help in the investigation and the very high-quality "not-quite-legal" leaves he left in a conspicuous hiding place was expressed by the fact that he introduced him to traders of things not for everyone.

Technically, Chif rewarded Ilya by allowing him to spend all his money at very merciless prices, but otherwise, a simple farmer would not have received real working amulets. They would not have sold them, or they would have definitely tried to scam him. And so they tried to sell him a not very high-quality product; he had to wriggle out of it to bargain for a normal one and not show that he understood too much about this product. Ilya was especially proud of his “I want that piece of crap, it has a scarlet headband, and this one has a blue one, and I, well, don’t like the blue one.”

So, returning to his rented room from another trip to the merchant, who brought what Ilya asked for last time, since the merchant did not have the necessary amulet to maintain air humidity, Ilya was torn from his thoughts in the most impudent way. He walked through the alleys, naturally not fearing bandits and robbers, if only because he could hear them in advance and avoid them in advance. And therefore, he immediately suspected something was wrong, as soon as he heard behind his back a ringing boyish voice, breaking and belonging to a barely a teenager. A teenager who managed to remain unnoticed by all the senses of a very sensitive, even among gifted Wendigo.

"Uncle, uncle!" Uncle turned on his toes and smoothly grabbed his belt with a knife, peering at the boy standing in the far burrow between two houses. "Give me a sweet treat, uncle!"

Ilya just silently looked at this boy, dressed in many times patched pants and a quilted jacket, wearing worn-out, but high-quality shoes with soft soles. He looked at his clean and innocent face, covered with bright freckles, at his light-gray eyes and reddish-brown hair. His gaze especially lingered on the traces of those boots, deep and clear, which could have remained in that mixture of snow, dirt, and mud, which in the burrow tore up the entire surface of the earth, only if a boy weighing five times more than this puny brat had stepped on it. He looked, assessed, and activated the piercing vision mode, stopping at the very edge of the moment when his frozen eyes would start to ache.

Eyes that, not without difficulty, nevertheless saw part of what was hidden from them, allowing Ilya to assess what he saw.

And he assessed it.

And having assessed it, he finally said out loud a short, full of emotions and deep feelings coming from the very heart, from the depths of his frozen soul:

"Fuck..."

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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP