Готовый перевод Быть Гладу и Хладу / There will be Hunger and Cold: 12.

12. The earthling immediately understood the simple and obvious truth: they weren’t just trying to deceive him; they had already deceived him.

* * *

The third tier of the "ink" classes, descended from the Sage, features a curious and often-chosen talent called "Memory of Doors." Unlocking it requires the appropriate talents acquired at tier two, as well as the right compensatory mechanisms. Well, unless you want to one day walk through a painted door to the wrong place and then wake up, relatively lucid, a couple of thousand kilometers from your previous coordinates, naked, in a pool of ice with the dismembered corpse of the ruling duchess at your side. A true story from the turbulent life of an overexerted earthling who fell into a temporary desynchronization, if anything.

However, returning to the talent. This is a very powerful and extremely useful thing, in demand among both the natives and the earthlings. Even though the talent is passive, it is a subtype of traits-skills, akin to the same combat mastery talents, similar to Ilya's "Hunting Beast." This talent, first and foremost, greatly facilitates working with portals, passages, secret doors, and spatial manipulation. A very useful talent in a world where public transportation is nonexistent, only a very good Mechanist could assemble a personal car for you, and the subway, even if it were invented, would quickly be completely overrun by chthonic creatures born in the Darkness and emerging from underground.

A high-level Sage has plenty of ways to play with space, as do many other classes, if they're focused on developing it. Ryuk, for example, focused. He also clearly had a "door" in his arsenal, for he was able to draw a simple chalk door on the surface of a rock and then manifest it, all too quickly. It was the same ritualistic inscription the old man had used before, when he chained Ilya in his house. Now the talent was the same, but it was used to create a spatial passage from one point to another. In principle, it was the familiar combination of "The Last Precept" and "The Chalice of Balance," only now with the door as the focus, rather than the contemplation standard in ritual inscriptions.

In the end, the door, drawn without any external extras or lengthy casting, suddenly became real. The world believed the door was truly there. Ryuk might have been preparing this activation for a long time, but the ease and speed with which he executed it convinced Ilya that he had figured out another part of the old man's build. A part of him wanted to exhale a chill right as the old man walked through this passage, on the other side of which the familiar interior details of his candy house were visible. Perhaps he could destabilize the space and smear the poor guy between here, there, yesterday, tomorrow, and the Assembly's representative office.

Of course, he didn't do anything so rash. He was eighty percent sure the old man had deliberately exposed himself to give Ilya a reason to strike first. He was even walking so leisurely, dragging his feet, as if he'd expended a great deal of energy inviting Ilya to kill himself against the wall. No, if this were a setup, relying on the talent-memory, then even Ilya's entire reserve wouldn't be enough to destabilize this passageway quickly. And if it wasn't quick, the old man would react and rip the head off Ilya's treacherous attacker. And it's important to note that he needed to act quickly by Ryuk's standards, not Ilya's, who wouldn't be able to achieve such speed even in his Form.

And so, without arguing, Ilya followed Ryuk, who had invited him in, experiencing the incomparable bouquet of emotions that the human mind and body experience when passing through a spatial anomaly of a stable, connected type. To his credit, he didn't vomit or even trip over the threshold, falling face-first onto the floor. No, he limited himself to a face wrinkled with sudden nausea and a purely mental verbal construct directed at a certain unsociable old man. Clearly, he wouldn't be able to say such a thing out loud anytime soon, and only if he didn't finish his story of conquering the Broken One very soon.

"I'm moving," Ryuk said, his first words as he walked through the door, nearly tripping Ilya in the process. "It's become too noisy here. You. The others. All of you are marked by Fate and Fortune. You all will be here. Your essence, your nature, will not allow you to remain silent and maintain the silence I so love. And so I will leave of my own accord, before it's too late."

"I can literally sense the unspoken 'but' here, sir," Ilya states politely, his gaze sweeping over the floor covered with symbols, noticing several circles that form a ritual figure, seeing and recognizing its parts, which made him grow gloomier the more he saw. "And I also intuitively understand that you, alas, will not believe my honest words to remain silent and forget you as if you were a nightmare."

Ryuk's gaze briefly became truly deadly, but the more closely Ilya examined the drawing of the as-yet-uncharged ritual, the less reason he saw to observe either politeness or even caution. Everything must be decided today and now. It was crucial for Ilya to make a choice, to adopt the right approach to this conversation. So much depended on it. If he bent too far, he could find himself in the same position for a very long time. In another situation, this would have been the only option, because there was no other option when dealing with the Third Step. But that was different. In Ryuk's case, some options wouldn't require him to bend too far, but there was a downside. If the Earthling showed too much arrogance and even hinted that he knew someone else's secret and was prepared to use it against Ryuk, he wouldn't even have life on a chain.

He himself will no longer be in Broken.

"I don't believe it, Outsider," the Sage said calmly, even with a certain malicious pleasure. "And if I had the chance to confirm that you've truly forgotten about our meeting, I'd take it. But I don't have that chance, do I? Heh-heh-heh, any advantage, no matter what it may be, can sometimes so suddenly turn into a fatal flaw, eh, Outsider? Isn't this the mockery of Those-Who-Lost at us, worms swarming in their corpses?"

Ilya suppressed a grimace with considerable difficulty. It wasn't even irritation, but something else he didn't fully understand. The words the native had spoken to him held something deeply personal, profound, and clearly not meant for anyone else's ears. He also casually noted that Ryuk was a follower, or at least a knower, of a rather unpleasant philosophical movement. Not religious, though connected to religion and faith, yes. The Deadworlders, as they are called here, and as this name has migrated to Earth. Those who believe that the Dead Gods were the World, not yet Broken at that point. That all of reality, all its layers, all the endless expanses of the Broken World are their rotting corpse, consumed by filth, rot, abomination, and everything that prevents people from surviving here.

"I don't see the point in arguing." I still need to answer. I need to find an answer. The Sage masterfully began the conversation in such a way that the prepared templates quickly became completely unusable. "One who has become infused with the Cald must stay away from any manifestations of the Flame, for example. By accepting strength, one also gains vulnerability. The main thing is to maintain balance, as far as I'm concerned. And, let's be honest, I simply couldn't count on getting into a situation where my resilience would become a detriment rather than a benefit. I couldn't foresee it."

He also doesn't doubt, or at least has no faith, that if Ryuk had the ability to override Ilya's consciousness and memory protection, he would have limited himself to simply erasing his memories. Not to mention that he would have erased only Twin's memory, not Ilya's. A visit to the Forum, contact with other Earthlings, and now every dog ​​in the area knows about Ryuk. Which, by the way, would also work for death. If Twin dies, the Earthling would leak everything he understood about Ryuk, and Ryuk, if he truly understands the Outsider divers, would understand this too. He understands, yes, but he might significantly underestimate the extent of the Forum's integration into Earthling society and completely fail to appreciate the extent of cooperation between the inhabitants of the third world from the Sun.

"You couldn't foresee it... so young you still are, even if you seem smart?" Now, when the Sage's voice and tone sounded not malice or mockery, but a kind of cheerful and sad pity at the same time, it became truly scary. "The most hated, the most dangerous, the most blessed of attributes does not forgive disbelief, does not forgive laxity or unpreparedness. Forgives no one... Do the other Outsiders know about me already?"

The abrupt transition from this "not forgives," so laced with pain that one couldn't help but suspect skillful acting, to more pointed and dangerous questions didn't unsettle the earthling. He'd been waiting for just that question, figuring from the start that they were trying to throw him off balance to facilitate interrogation. Well, some of the ritual lines drawn across the entire interior walls of the candy house were clearly configured as lie detectors, especially for omissions.

"They know that Lazy is dangerous and should be avoided. They know that their lives, both current and future, are in danger here, and they know that I myself can't say more due to fear of such questions." If he were hoping to unsettle him with an abrupt transition or a dangerous question, something no ordinary diver from the world of a remote, near-medieval dump would expect, he miscalculated. "I'm not a fool; I understand perfectly well that I could find myself in a situation like this at any moment. Given the unlikelihood of our meeting, my fellow must have assumed I'd been locked up in the dungeons of the local city government."

"You wouldn't have liked it there," Ryuk said grimly, thoughtfully pouring himself some tea or some other brew. He didn't offer Ilya a seat, a drink, or even the chance to join the ritual circle, much less squeeze the duck, the old fart. "And I wouldn't either. Okay. Okay! I see your gaze sliding over my work. A gaze too understanding for someone who wouldn't understand what you've drawn. Who are you anyway? You have no talent for reading and drawing such rituals through the grace of the Mechanism. So this knowledge is yours, your own, gleaned from the real you, not a body woven from nothing. What are you, a disgraced king's son? The lover of the Supreme Keeper of Secrets?"

Ilya nearly choked on the witty remark that was threatening to escape. He'd make a joke in response to the mockery, and then scrape himself off the walls... although no, given the number of signs defining Hunger, these walls and signs would devour his scraps themselves. And yet, he had the nerve to at least glance indignantly at the old man staring imperturbably into his soul. He began to explain, with utmost honesty and clarity, how Earth's society operates in terms of dives. Well, and he was also advertising himself, so to speak. He was submitting a résumé, as is the local tradition, showing off all the ways he could be useful and yet not dangerous. Incidentally, this type of "advertising" is conducted through lectures, specifically for contact with local authorities at various levels. And with a multitude of variations, depending on your position and the person you're talking to.

"Interesting." The parsimony in the other man's tone is matched only by his own ominousness. "And clever. Logical, even. If I were a hundred years younger, I might not have understood how diligently you hide from me what you don't wish to voice. After all, I've seen you, Outsider, seen you in battle and beyond, always, albeit out of the corner of my eye, watching your path."

"I'm downright embarrassed." The respectful servility in the earthling's voice was waning, while the gradually creeping sense of doom was growing. "Even when I was changing?"

"You're being cheeky, aren't you?" The old man's smile is almost a snarl, evoking a deep-seated dread, a feeling akin to that of a man standing next to an orbital shuttle taking off, its engines about to unleash fiery flares. "And yet, I even believe you. Not everything you've told me, but the fact that you, on your own, don't have an entire faction behind you, embodying their hopes in you. You're just lucky, huh? Fortune kissed you, and Fate chose you not here, but there, in your home? You hide it, you don't voice it or offer it, but I see it. The Drop of Perfection, granted to us by the grace of the Almighty Mechanism, is being acquired by you with excessive speed, so fast it could never be acquired by anyone, anywhere, ever. You are the essence of a goose, an egg like a pure diamond, a cup that can draw from the source of all existence as much as you can carry. And you are now mine, entirely and completely, Outsider. And since your secret is no longer yours alone, since you understand your value and my power, I expect, first and foremost, obedience. For starters."

So, the words have been spoken, and the choice before Ilya is taking shape, and what Ryuk is offering isn't as hopeless and ass-wrenching as it might seem. He's essentially recruiting him, and while the dialogue may be based on a threat, there'll be plenty of honey added to this barrel, too, just later. First, he needs to make him understand the hopelessness of the situation, make him realize the depth of his delusions, and ultimately punish him for his deliberate insolence. The old man would probably have acted more gently if he hadn't seen that Ilya didn't believe him and had no intention of trusting him. If he hadn't realized that Ilya had roughly deciphered the outline of the ritual, and realized where this whole conversation was heading.

In any other situation, the diver would have bowed his head and accepted the terms, perhaps haggling within them, securing himself a collar made of non-allergenic materials and a larger cage. But that would have been in a different situation, one where he would be speaking with Third Step in full force and power, surrounded by his retinue and people. Or if he were speaking to a hiding loner, ruthless, inhumane, yet healthy and uninhibited. But there was a limitation; the drops of Essence gained for this secret had long since been absorbed into Ilya's altar, becoming part of his power. And so, standing on the razor's edge, choosing between "guaranteed bad," "highly likely total disaster," and "some chance of staying in line," Ilya doesn't act as he should.

Overly provocative, overly risky, overly stupid, and completely out of line with the style he had been taught by good, proven professionals.

But let's be honest, all these experts, no matter how proven and correct they were in their lessons, simply could not have imagined the same situation in which Ilya found himself.

No one, ever, not a single expert or eminent scientist, will be able to predict the Broken One and how the said Broken One will turn out under the power of your FaFo.

And this is also taught, only not in cheap courses or “successful diving training” from online fraud gurus, but in the truly best institutions on Earth.

They teach that in a completely unconventional situation, an Earthling should rely not on memorized tables and numerous methodological manuals, but only on themselves. Because none of the true legends had these tables and manuals with them, they wrote their own stories, relying on intuition, the situation, and a simple desire to live. You can become a decent diver by relying entirely on borrowed knowledge; that's what made Earth so strong, so powerful, and so successful in the Broken. But you can only become a truly good diver by learning to think for yourself, relying on your own knowledge, taking risks, and dying not in simulations or test problems, but in your own dive.

"I think I'll decline, venerable Ryuk," Ilya said calmly and politely, without mockery or disdain, but with a firmness he'd never fully felt, looking into the pupils that had dilated ever so slightly at such a rebuff. "Yes, you're right. I rightfully won the Challenge. I possess what my status doesn't allow me, and for which hundreds of other masters would have been found. Just as those hundreds of masters would have been found for me, should they only learn of my gifts. But I'm not the only one here who holds secrets that could cost lives, freedom, and everything else, am I?"

The drawings on the walls flared up all at once, instantly, cutting off the candy house from the rest of the world, cutting Ilya off from his talents, from the eternal hunger and cold, cutting him off from even the very possibility of using his abilities. His body became human again, warm and vulnerable, but his mind remained the same, cold and hard, like tempered steel.

"Explain yourself." This is no longer even an order, but a command that can only be contradicted once in a lifetime, the last and the first at once.

"I'm still alive, venerable Ryuk." A simple answer to a complex question isn't easy; it's difficult to maintain a balance between politeness and insolence, lest you provoke an attack, even despite the other person's injuries. "And I shouldn't have been, even after our last meeting. You're a fine actor, but that alone won't change a simple fact. I know how someone with your power, hiding in your position, would react. You didn't destroy me before, and you still haven't, despite my words. I don't know the exact contours of your limitations, but I see them. And I'm prepared to do everything in my power to ensure you don't develop a truly compelling reason to kill me."

It wasn't that Ilya was scared, certainly not to the point of hysterical terror, no. It was just that this entire conversation had been incredibly tense and could end in his death at any moment. It was like walking through a minefield left over from the siege of some prominent Mechanist's fortress, and any mistake would be his last. While any success merely postponed death, allowing him to make a mistake later. There was no fear in voicing the fact that Ilya guessed the reason for old Ryuk's complacency and nobility; the fear remained somewhere out there, far away, still near the carcass of the slaughtered copper bull. Now he was simply finishing another arc of this strange, half-dialogue, half-confrontation.

So what if this arc could end with his death, final and irreversible, ending his journey through the Broken? As if he hadn't studied every diving manual, as if he didn't realize such an outcome could overtake him at absolutely any moment, from the very start? He knew everything, and so he didn't give in to fear, merely accepting it and making it his weapon, his instrument, if you will. He looked into Ryuk's eyes — gray, plain, calm, concealing a storm of humiliation, hatred, a thirst for revenge, and animal cruelty— without flinching. Primarily because all that hatred wasn't directed at him at all; it only touched Ilya, a touch of the brush.

"Smart one." Again, the words weren't praise, but a statement of fact, the kind that could easily become an epitaph on a grave, if there were one at all. "Well, then I won't hide it. Your nonexistence will cost me dearly, but I'm ready to pay for it, always have been, for everyone. But you really are smart and also cautious. We'll make a deal—your silence, silence even under torture or ritual breaking. You will not point to me by word, deed, thought, or hint, or you will die the moment you dare to break that line. And I... I'll let you seek your nonexistence on your own, without me."

In fact, this was the kind of conversation Ilya could only have imagined. It was not perfect, of course, but far better than he could have hoped for. Realizing that his victim wasn't falling for overt provocations, knew all about his weaknesses, and was mortally afraid to even try to exploit them, Ryuk simply decided to get rid of the annoying element in the most logical way. To slam a large, thick bolt from a siege ballista onto it, leaving it to tremble in fear somewhere far away from Ryuk. In the end, all parties were mutually satisfied. The old man was confident his secret was protected, and Ilya had the chance to live, rather than die over and over again until the bitter end.

Perfect.

So perfect that the earthling immediately grasped the simple and obvious truth: they weren't just trying to deceive him, they had already deceived him, because Ryuk had been leading the conversation toward this conclusion from the start, having calculated his interlocutor's reactions. When? How? Ilya frantically tried to process and understand the moment at which he had failed, and it wasn't surprising that he had found it. He had failed back when he'd received the drops for solving someone else's mystery, and from then on, he'd merely confirmed their suspicions. Some part of his mind desperately wanted to slap the diver on the back of the head, to tell him, come to your senses, man. You're up against the Sage Three. A fucking Sage! A class whose very essence is to understand and know, to find causes and connect them with consequences!

He likely couldn't easily read his status log from a great distance as well as up close, but he couldn't help but notice the drops of essence that had arrived. It was too characteristic. Not in the aura, but in the behavior, in the way the gifted one peers within themselves for a moment, aware of these drops, their fall into their Vessel. The slightest changes in bodily movement for a Sage of his stage are like an open book or even a billboard. Even then, Ryuk guessed what had happened, realized he could have been discovered, and simply decided to wait rather than react immediately. He probably hoped that Ilya, having learned the secret, would rush to use it to his advantage. This would have freed Ryuk's arms, legs, and indeed all parts of his body and aura. But the earthling didn't get excited, and the old man continued to wait, even until the end of the cycle, to allow Ilya to reveal the secret on the other side of the universe.

However, he no longer counted on it, not seriously. Otherwise, he wouldn't have given him that chance. The old man believed Ilya would remain silent on Earth as well, even though every limb was probably itching to immediately slay the insolent Wendigo. He understood everything; otherwise, he wouldn't have invested so much effort in drawing up the ritual, wouldn't have invested even more effort in making it understandable to Ilya. After all, he knew Ilya had figured out his secret, which meant he assumed his erudition was sufficient to understand it. And all his veiled compliments about Ilya being the disgraced son of some king were merely an attempt to reassure the little man, who was being lured into the trap of self-confidence. Or rather, Ryuk might have believed Ilya to be such in reality, but he was deliberately playing on his interlocutor's pride and ego, without directly investing in flattery — quite the contrary. All this was done so that Ilya would risk revealing his thoughts and knowledge and fall into the trap that had been set.

Hence, there was a deliberate attempt to put a chain around his neck. A bit clumsy and hasty, even, greedy and therefore especially truthful. Ryuk would never have refused the opportunity to gain the unquestionable loyalty of the bearer of the Great Trait, but he, right now, in this particular situation, doesn't need such a tool. Most likely, he's physically incapable of using the Essence and evolving in any way; at most, he can only restrain his degradation. For him, a dead Ilya is far more useful than a living Ilya with a collar, no matter the Great Trait. He wouldn't have refused if the earthling had allowed him to enslave him in every possible way, to swear an oath, and bind him with unbreakable obligations. But the old asshole deliberately constructed the situation so that Ilya would believe he could extricate himself from this bondage.

And so the old man overdid it. He'd simply underestimated Ilya's intimate knowledge of the local aristocracy in general, and the Sages in particular. They looked into each other's eyes and both realized that the other understood, too; both realized their cards were on the table. The Earthman swallowed with a dry throat, took a deep breath, and smiled his most charming smile, addressing his interlocutor with the sincere and utmost respect he was capable of at that moment. It was at that moment that he finally believed he had a chance of getting out of here alive and relatively capable, simply because even such a sophisticated jerk couldn't wait for him to act.

"I fully agree with your proposal, esteemed Ryuk." He looked at him with what seemed to be the slightest bewilderment, though for some reason it was believed that this emotion was genuine. "But, if it is your will, may I take a look at the details of the deal you outlined? And, with your permission, make a few amendments, of course, that will not in the slightest alter the main thread of the said ritual contract?"

As the saying goes, he found the wrong person to scare and confuse with contract magic. Of all people, it was the earthlings, for obvious reasons, who understood these matters better than anyone else. Ilya wasn't a pure "lawyer," as individuals who thoroughly study the mysteries of contract law in the Broken World are called, but he attended the required electives, and afterward, he significantly developed his erudition with optional courses and manuals. And if there was a level of knowledge in which he stood a chance of matching even a third-level Sage, it was the technique of concluding ritual contracts. Because Ryuk couldn't use overtly oppressive methods of directly distorting contracts due to his injury, they were too sensitive to the telltale signs of damage to his subtle bodies.

And in any more or less “honest” moments of work with the ritual features of mutual obligations, Ilya understands enough to hope for survival.

"Heh, well, surprise me, Outsider." If the old man sensed a shadow of doubt, he didn't show it, not even in the slightest.

Ilya only made his smile a little wider and then turned himself inside out in order not to disappoint the old, sick man in his innocent request.

* * *

Almost a full day had passed, precisely the local ones, which in this part of the Broken differ only slightly from those on Earth, and neither side of the negotiations had rested for a second. Ilya hadn't eaten or drunk anything Ryuk offered him. He wasn't sure whether his body, constrained and deprived of most of his class abilities, could cope with some intoxicating or simply allergy-inducing, concentration-impairing alchemy. Ryuk had allowed himself nothing more than a few jugs of pure water, either out of mockery, or out of reluctance to admit his own weakness before someone else's gaze, or simply out of a highly perverted form of politeness.

Not once did they raise their voices, not did the old man threaten violence, not even a single insult was hidden in their words. Ilya was afraid to offer even the slightest hint of mockery, and Ryuk seemed too focused to be distracted by the exchange. From the outside, their dialogue must have looked extremely polite and calm, like two employees of different companies, when in reality, one side was fighting for the right to live, and the other was trying to take that right away, one way or another. It was the hardest battle any earthling had ever experienced in this world, but also the calmest, and also the most enjoyable. It wasn't even a battle of minds; otherwise, Ilya would have lost almost immediately, but of erudition, of two educational systems.

Earthly and local.

And, as often happens, the Earth's education system once again proves its superiority with exemplary cynicism. For the first time in a long time, Ryuk's eyes flash with emotions so sincere, yet so perplexed. He simply hadn't expected, couldn't have expected, that the stranger would prove such a capable opponent. If he hadn't been hampered by his injury, if he had been at full strength, nothing would have changed for Ilya. With the third stage, Ryuk could literally change the terms of an already-made deal from "I promise never to eat peaches after sunset" to something like "I promise to cease to exist after sunset," and there was nothing he could do about it. Yes, he wasn't a pure contract mage, but a Sage, and Sages are considered to be the most powerful individuals in all kinds of contracts.

Oh, as expected, the contract Ilya was asked to read was full of pitfalls! Or rather, not the written contract, but the ritual lines on the walls and ceiling of the candy house. The template, drawn on numerous sheets of good paper, was merely a short script to make it easier to make edits and assess the overall structure of the ritual of mutual commitment. A very, very tricky ritual, indeed.

One could begin by noting that it was embodied not only in lines but also in the symbols of the theurgic language in the stigma of the Purifying Deed, and in a highly complex form, with a multitude of possibilities for reading each symbol slightly differently, depending on the context, the presence of individual inserted constructions, and so on. Ryuk even kindly offered him a copy of the explanation, written in the common tongue, and from a certain point of view, that translation could even be considered correct. But only from a certain point of view, yes. Never before had Ilya been so grateful for his habit of studying Dead Theurgy and its corresponding linguistics! And then things got even more fun, from the very first lines to the very end!

Take, for example, the fact that Ryuk was listed there as "the creator of this line, whose name is known to the other party as the one nicknamed Ryuk," while Ilya was required to provide his full name, both his Earthly and local. Clearly, sharing such intimate information with a Sage, let alone an inker, is not recommended, to put it mildly. Among this type of class, talent pairing for acquiring the "Record of Doom," also known as the "Death Note" among earthlings, is quite common; there's no need to make anyone's life even easier. But playing with names and obligated parties to the deal was only the beginning of the traps.

From the outside, everything seemed civilized and even honest, but only from the outside, or if you didn't master the theurgic idioms Ilya had been memorizing, especially the stigma of the Purifying with Deed, the most popular Dead One in this Broken cluster. Take, for example, Ryuk's written obligation to leave Lazy by the end of the sunset cycle, that is, before winter ends. But if you shift the emphasis slightly, you could read it literally "before sunset," as in, today. And the penalty for breaking the agreement would go not to him, but to Ilya. Ultimately, the old man could simply wait until morning, then dispose of Ilya's cold corpse, and then repeat the procedure three more times. While Ryuk was in the city, the reborn Ilya would simply die immediately upon rebirth, due to a line in their contractual ritual.

Ilya found exactly nine such traps, and upon closer inspection, twenty-seven, simply because the very structure of the Mechanism and its connection to ritual traits was so heavily weighted toward that damned nine. The Earthling suspected it was a slightly modified version of a standard contract for "cheating some arrogant idiot." Ryuk's bet with this deception was that the lower levels of gifted simply didn't need them and weren't familiar with them. And with not an Earthling, his tactics would have worked almost without a doubt. The "Dealmaster" class itself is quite rare, encountered very rarely, rarer not only than the Possessed, but even less so than the Storytellers. It's believed that one of the Seven responsible for the Contract was a Dealmaster in the original build. Without the appropriate class, seriously pursuing ritual contracts is difficult, time-consuming, and tedious, which is why few will study such knowledge, and few even have it.

Well, outside of the Earth.

That Earth, where the subject of the Treaty has been thoroughly studied, where entire institutes exist dedicated to studying both the Treaty in general and the specific manifestations of contract magic. At one time, especially at the beginning, when the Seven had just left for the Broken, many of the bastards in power were dreaming of how to deceive this Treaty, undermine it, or even subjugate it entirely. When the first series of coffins was successfully buried, when it became clear that simply ignoring the Treaty and appointing scapegoats wouldn't work, they took it seriously. They studied it, so to speak, from beginning to end, simultaneously earning Earthlings the reputation of being the craziest contract knower in the observable universe.

Things reached the point of being both funny and terrifying. Sometimes, even to the point of bloodshed. At one time, the Chinese VIPs, those who remained, managed to be among the first, if not the first, to upgrade their own contract mage to the fourth level, who was, according to rumors, the first winner of the Lottery ever. Back then, those who remembered the previous Earth and their power over it had not yet fully recovered, and so they strove to restore everything as it had been. Data leaked online after a hacker attack and subsequently confirmed on the Forum claimed that these guys seriously considered the option of "accidentally" breaking several dams, which would power a sacrificial ritual for the Four, allowing them to touch the structure of the Treaty and shake it up a bit. Or rather, for the Five, who needed at least the second level on Earth, but they began preparing for the hecatomb well in advance.

Of course, at that point, these were only "theoretical thoughts," without the slightest practical application, lest one die from cardiac arrest and rupture of all the blood vessels in the brain a minute after the order was given. But the very fact provoked a genuine outrage among the masses, who were by no means prepared to simply pretend nothing had happened and were completely unwilling to believe official assurances that it was all a fake, a forgery, and that nothing had actually happened in the square. The Forum was already very popular at that point, and the mechanics of its use were clear to everyone—the fact that none of the accused were willing to confirm the absence of such plans at the Forum spoke for itself.

It all ended with the Four being murdered, and even the first step on Earth, not particularly combat-oriented, couldn't save him. The carnage was truly epic; several video fragments extracted from the body cameras of the attackers and guards are still being studied by experts and sofa analysts to determine what happened and how. The outcome remains unchanged — the first Four killed on Earth, all with access to the Mechanism in the real world. Responsibility was claimed by fanatics of the Seven, who were officially designated as terrorists that same year, but there was no show trial. Those who survived managed to escape to the Broken, abandoning their earthly bodies.

And so Liu Chen perished, who could have become the second or even the first Earthly Five. All the preconditions for this were there, just as the hopes of the remaining old cohort of Chinese party members to break the Treaty vanished. Later, it became obvious that the Asians wouldn't have succeeded at all; the Treaty was too strong and its self-support mechanisms too sophisticated; at least several specialized Trios on Earth were needed. But it was then that the global community became quite frightened, and the remnants of those in power, still hoping for revenge against the legacy of the Seven, finally faded into history. And, well, into decay. Humanity on Earth gradually became the very experts in the Treaty that they are today.

"In a circle," Ryuk said briefly and calmly, altering the ritual center of the line with a few hand movements and a bead of sweat appearing on his temple, according to the changes made, as far as an earthling could even appreciate such matters. "Approve it."

Yes, Ilya still risks being deceived, but if Ryuk finds ways to screw the Earthman even now, Ilya simply doesn't know how to resist them. Unless he breaks his oath, he'll surely be killed, or, in the best-case scenario, shackled, shoved into a stone coffin three hundred meters below the surface, and forgotten for ten years. It could also be a bluff, but he has no way to verify it, and he does have a clear understanding of the price of a mistake, which he's not yet willing to pay.

The lines of the ritual circle glow black, and the powers of his class return to Ilya, no longer suppressed by the old man's drawings. Here, standing at the center of the geometric figure, dividing it between them, signs are no longer necessary. They both now understand for themselves the conditions they impose upon themselves with their actions. Of course, the old man is quite capable of deceiving Ilya, hiding one thing behind another, but he still wants to believe he has managed to secure at least a partial guarantee of survival. Undoubting that Ryuk will find a way to reverse this contractual structure along with Ilya, Ilya still counts on having time.

And given time, he can guarantee his survival in the most mundane way possible, simply by undergoing the Ascension Ritual, reaching a new step. Contracts and oaths that can withstand such a powerful riot of mystical forces and the grinding of the Mechanism's parts that occurs during Ascension exist. Both earthlings and local aborigines possess them... but not Ryuk, because if he possessed such talents or knowledge of pure rituals, he would be a Four, not a Three, at least. He would also have hundreds of ways to achieve his goal without resorting to such drastic decisions as this circus with hexagrams.

Blessings and Curses:

Spoken Word (Anchored): 2/2

With your will and your decision, you have sealed an oath stronger than stone and sharper than steel, binding two wills and two destinies together. Now there is no other way but to carry your word, all its weight, all its glory, its immense burden and endless mercy. The word has been spoken and will be spoken again only on the day when one of the two who spoke dares to break it.

Through the power of Ink and Chalice, the spoken line is strengthened and outlined with additional protection, concealing the oath from those who can see into the essence and see the hidden, and also protecting the threads of the line from unraveling under the strain.

Echo: the signs of the spoken Word are accepted by the Chalice and subsequently consumed to the dregs by both speakers, and therefore, from now until the completion of the existing ritual binding, both parties are always aware of the integrity of the binding that envelops the second speaker of the Word. Both speakers recognize the violation of the Word's line the moment it is distorted.

Spoken: [EXPAND]

Validity period: until the embodied structure is blurred.

Still, two steps, not one, but that's hardly surprising. Ilya wouldn't have been the least bit shocked if Ryuk had managed to pull off all three, but he obviously decided to either save power or deliberately leave himself a loophole in case he had to remove this piece of junk. Still, unlike the earthling, he hadn't made any special commitments, which isn't surprising, given his current injuries. Firstly, his injury itself is the best and only guarantee of Ilya's survival. Secondly, why did he even need to swear an oath if his goal was to shackle the earthling's limbs to keep him silent for as long as possible?

But even so, he had to take Ilya's word that he wouldn't use his second life, wouldn't reveal the secrets of others to his fellow humans. Because no ritual of two steps would help against this. The Earthling was certain that even nine steps of the oath would be of no avail, not even against the very essence of the Mechanism that separated the Broken from the other worlds, which had become a cage for the younger races.

"Get out." There was no anger in him, not even a hint of displeasure, but Ilya immediately realized that any witticisms or hints of them were best kept to himself now, and heeded the good advice quickly. "I'll think about it."

He liked the second part of what he said much less, since it implied the practical necessity of continuing their communication. On the other hand, it was actually a good thing, because the old jerk couldn't help but appreciate how Ilya had gotten out of it, which meant he was now reassessing the prospects for cooperation. Well, to such an extent was cooperation between them even possible.

"I'm planning on going hunting soon, sir," the earthling's reply was equally laconic, but he didn't dare remain silent. "I'll still return to Lazy, but I might venture a little further from its walls than I did previously."

"You're under the Word." Ryuk didn't even turn around, taking small sips of the unnaturally clear and transparent water from a simple clay jug. "You can go even to Ceown now, I don't care. Although no, I do care. Don't go to the six-times-burnt city. And anyway, be prepared for me to demand your return; I'll give you a sign, you won't miss it. What else?"

The last sentence is spoken in a more lively tone, the same one a harmless old man might use to scold children stealing his sweets, only now it sounds anything but harmless and unfunny. Ilya feels both a healthy apprehension and a certain vengeful pleasure at what he's forced to say next.

"You plucked me right out of the wasteland," he says, smiling slightly guiltily under the narrowed, ordinary eye of the Sage. "I left the city, but I didn't enter it. Of course, they might not notice me, they might not even notice me leaving, but still, if someone sees me leaving your house, and after that, compa-a-a-a-a!!!"

Okay, admittedly, the stress and constant threat of permanent death had seriously undermined his self-preservation instincts, because trying to blatantly trick this walking shit into working as a taxi-teleporter was, to put it mildly, a rather unintelligent idea. And the worst part was, the damned idiot not only heeded his words, but also fulfilled his not-so-veiled request! Only this time, he opened the door for just a moment, and to give Ilya time to pass through, he even gave him a hefty boost of acceleration. It felt, incidentally, exactly like a kick in the ass from some angry giant.

"-a-a-re. Fuck!!!" The diver couldn't contain his emotions, but it's hard to blame him for that; the transport circumstances were so extreme, especially considering the acceleration that sent him flying out the door straight into the very same crevice from which he was taken for the negotiations. "U-u-u-u-u!!!"

He apparently flew into it headfirst and braked with the only tool at his disposal.

With his face, damn.

* * *

And so he found himself back where this whole stupid adventure had begun, only now he had a bruise all over his face. And this despite the Wendigo's tough body, frozen to the bone! All in all, to be honest, it was a very good exchange, the best possible one. It would be nice if such traumas ended any interaction with a Troika that wanted to kill him. Ilya understood that nothing was over yet, that Ryuk could outsmart him, outplaying him, having already deceived him several times, reading the earthling's thoughts. He also understood that the old man would inevitably return to the interrupted conversation, but he also understood that this asshole wasn't completely crazy. There was a high probability that their future interactions would be more like attempts, if not to cooperate, then to exploit the weaker by the stronger.

The main thing is to set the situation so that the weak also benefit from such use, albeit to a lesser extent than the strong. Well, the bait has been cast, and if Ryuk hasn't appreciated Ilya's knowledge, he won't be impressed by anything. The Earthling has practically offered the old man help in healing him or finding what interests the mighty Sage. Ру wonder if he's a Path Drawer or a more standard Ink Knower? These two classes, which best suit Ryuk's already demonstrated build, have much to offer, but at the same time, are different for each. Well, and he could also ask for himself, although the question is how freely Ryuk wields his power. If there were no restrictions, he wouldn't be selling candy, and, alas, he wouldn't be so stressed by the effort required to use class talents, which, for someone like him, are trivial.

Here, if he's going to try to negotiate anything for himself, it's something that doesn't require direct influence from Ryuk, which greatly narrows the list of possible mutual benefits. However, there's no point in rushing to achieve those benefits, because it could all boil down to the now-very-unpleasant tradition of rewarding Ilya's help with not being actively targeted for his death. It's a perfectly classic approach within the local morality, but it's highly fraught with the possibility that the jerk will simply get used to it and start viewing Ilya as his direct henchman, deprived of his right to his own opinion. It's a very fine line, you know, between the need to get something in return and a painful death for the audacity to demand anything from the Three at all.

And yet he is alive.

And yet he still breathes.

And even the Mechanism, as if awakening from a slumber, rewards his knowledge of the legal and mystical aspects of contract magic with its own grace. The diver again looks within himself and mentally ponders how he should live on, what to do, where to swim, and how to escape the swamp of events that is drawing him under. And scarlet drops drip to the bottom of the bowl, breaking like red-hot gold against the stone.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

"Oho-ho..." Ilya's exhalation contained the entire weight of the world, but he didn't allow himself more, lying down in the crevice and continuing what he had recently been so unceremoniously interrupted from.

Closing his eyes, he gazes at his altar, at the form his manifestation of connection with the Mechanism has taken, directing his will and desire there, feeling how this desire changes that connection, changes it in a way only he, a diver gifted with the Mechanism's grace, can. The drops at the bottom of the bowl bubble and flow up its walls again, the wind howling with tripled force, driving clouds of snowstorm across the icy lake. Only this time, the drops don't flow out of the bowl; they fall out of it, falling upward.

The scarlet gold doesn't fly off into the inky winter sky. No, it's caught by the wind and the blizzard, the snow streams themselves turning slightly scarlet, and golden sparks shimmer within them. The wind beats against the altar's walls, playing with ribbons, talismans, and ornaments, tormenting the stone and striking the patterns carved into it. The wind seems to breathe, the wind is the breath of something old, ancient, inexplicable, and unknowable. No, Ilya realizes a moment later, this isn't breathing, not breathing at all. It's merely an exhalation, a single, never-ending exhalation of the frigid Cald that encircles the entire Broken in all its infinite immensity.

The wind roars and howls, reddened with blood, filling everything around, the lake and the altar hidden beneath its shroud, a shroud of mortal cold in which entire eras and peoples have frozen. The wind lifts the snow, and beneath it, it seems, the bones lying around the icy lake can be seen. The wind blows ribbons braided from maidens' hair, and the wind penetrates the bottomless eye sockets carved into the altar bowl. However, it begins to seem as if from there, from those eye sockets, flows the same icy stream, the same breath as everywhere around.

The last drops of scarlet dissolve in the blizzard, the last sparks of gold fall with the calming snow, the last moments of cognition of something else, endless and terrifying, fade into the night. Ilya opens his eyes, but now sees not the vision-interpretations sent by the Mechanism, but a far more familiar and prosaic status sheet. The sheet, in which yet another change has occurred, has completed itself and has already altered the body, aura, spirit, and essence of the novice Wendigo. It has altered it so much that the Wendigo now fits the description of "novice" even less than before. Straightening up with a crunch, nearly hitting the back of his head on the roof of the crevice that sheltered him while he evolved his talent, Ilya assesses this evolution.

Ice Breath: 2/5 (Essence invested: 0/20)

Having become intimate with the Cald, having embraced it, Wendigos can draw strength from it, channeling the Cald into the world around them, exhaling a tiny particle of it, momentarily becoming a conduit and a gateway that brings the Cald into the world. They burn with cold, curse with frost, weaken and mark with Cald, exerting a broad influence and penetrating the tiniest cracks in defenses.

The overall power of the talent has been slightly increased, with a corresponding increase in the volume covered, penetration ability, and secondary effects of exhalation. The cost of maintaining the effect has been somewhat reduced.

Source: By absorbing more and more Cald, a Wendigo learning their path gradually forms a focus of this power within themselves, strengthening a unique transition between the flesh and the doors the breath opens when used. Formed within the essence of the Wendigo, the formed Source significantly enhances the damaging effects of Ice Breath, making it more powerful, its curse more dangerous, and its ability to bypass or completely ignore defenses even more flexible. At the same time, the use and maintenance of the talent itself are greatly reduced by the presence of the same Source, a strengthened and reinforced door through which Frost enters the world. And the wider the door opens, the easier it is to keep it open, but the greater the price.

Ilya really liked the upgrade option he'd chosen, despite being almost certain that this aspect was almost always included in his options. Considering his entire build, as well as his already-leveled talents and acquired aspects, the chance of getting Source was almost 83 percent! It's not a guarantee, but it's still an extremely decent chance, much higher than usual. The aspect itself is a top-tier upgrade and much less likely to drop, but not in Ilya's case. That probability is steadily reduced by compensating talents that replace Source with Focus, a more primitive and dead-end ability in most Ice-based caster builds.

Since Ilya didn't take any balancing talents, actively used Ice Breath for several cycles, was in extremely snowy and wintry territory, and even boosted his build with the Icy Flesh talent, the result is appropriate. It's not the rarest or most valuable aspect he could have gotten, but it's in the top five. And for Ilya, it's practically priceless thanks to the last line in the aspect description — the ability to use psychic damage to reduce the cost of his reserve! It's not as ruthless as with the Eye — his aura simply won't handle the load, but it's still very tempting; he would have been drooling if Ilya had been less restrained.

Even the Breath itself will consume a considerable amount of reserves, but if he calculates everything correctly and doesn't kill himself with aura overload, he can maintain the created cloud of Cald in a nearly constant and uninterrupted flow until he tires of it. Or until he has to rest due to his aura being tormented by overload. In a normal situation, a diver would freeze his brain far faster than tire of maintaining the "door." However, a typical diver would use this part of the aspect only sparingly, in rare bursts, to recover, rather than wear himself out mentally, drifting out of sync. But Ilya has the opportunity to radically strengthen and diversify his tactics with the Great Trait, a real treat. So how could he choose anything else?

Of the remaining four, only one could be more useful to him, but if he chose Touch, the cost of each Ice Breath would increase by at least one and a half times, or more. With the support of a pair of Hides, his tactics would definitely be reduced to a one-shot attempt, or close combat if that attempt failed. The aspect greatly enhances the curse effect of the Ice Breath, making frostbite from the attack completely impossible to heal, just as it would be impossible to warm up, even if you jumped into a bonfire. This effect is already present, but with aspecting it, it would become even more noticeable, even more effective, and with a much smaller minimum of damaging contact; a couple of snowflakes flying under the coat would be enough.

Besides the increased curse effect and a less noticeable increase in direct damage, this aspect would synergize extremely well with the Wendigo's natural regeneration, especially if Icy Flesh is upgraded. Ultimately, it all came down to the cost of the reserve and Ilya's reluctance to become a one-hit wonder. This is a suitable build for a group or community, when there's someone to cover for, but not for a lone Wendigo, whose build was designed with an emphasis on survivability, protracted fights, hit-and-run tactics, pursuing the weak, and escaping from the strong.

The Touch was dropped naturally. The Earthling didn't even feel any particular pity, just as he hadn't felt any due to the abandonment of the remaining three aspects. The Cuts would have been quite useful, allowing one to transform a cloud of Ice Breath into a cloud of tiny, very sharp blades, as if caught in a hurricane rain of tiny razors. Pure direct damage with a bias toward physical damage in addition to ice damage, an increased curse effect due to penetration under the skin and into flesh, and a significantly more tolerable increase in cost. The Cuts would have been the one the Earthling would have spent the longest time thinking about, if there wasn't the Source.

Surely he shouldn't have chosen "the Embrace"? This aspect added a peculiar weight to the exhalation, making it heavy, pinning it to the ground, impeding maneuverability, slowing, and reducing movement and even thinking speed. For a group capable of finishing off hobbled prey, it's an excellent choice; for a lone Ilya, it's not a bad choice, but it simply doesn't measure up to the almost cheat-like power of the "Source." However, in normal groups for farming or clearing lacunae, players with this talent often try to utilize the aspects during slowdowns. Unlike the cursing Frostbite, the slowing effect of balancing talents doesn't weaken, which is what makes this aspect so popular. Not because it's so amazing, but because it doesn't weaken in situations where others, at least slightly, reduce their effectiveness.

The last of the proposed aspects was characteristic in that it offered yet another example of how a cheat trait could be used to one's advantage. Unfortunately, "Stench" was completely unsuited to Ilya's plans for his build; though it had potential, it would be foolish to deny. The mental aspect, well supported by synergy with the aforementioned Howl, allowed one to fill one's Breath with the stench of flesh left in the Wendigo's teeth. Nausea, weakness, vomiting, the victim's wild terror before the predator, one's own overwhelming hunger — it was a real combo... but the aspect gained its true power when paired with regular feeding, preferably of the same kind of meat one intended to stink at. Humans, that is. However, one could release some of one's Hunger into this stench, enhancing the nauseating effect of the fetid maw.

Given Ilya's Trait, he could knock down even crowds of fully-fledged gifted with amulet protection with this effect alone, but the need for a diet was still too troubling. The diet, plus the transition from pure Cald to the Mental Attack subtype, would significantly reduce the overall potential of the talent. Like "Shreds" for the Hide — it's a very good boost initially, but when unlocking the talent's higher levels, the first problems will arise. And when attempting to break through a tier, things will get even more frustrating, to the point of not being able to carry the talent or some of its aspects over to the next tier. In principle, if the build was put together haphazardly, losing two or three talents when moving up a tier was considered normal. Other builds were even based on the assumption that some talents would be lost or exchanged for similar ones right during the ascension process. Let's remember the same Possessed by the Dead, if we take into account the classes that were offered to him for selection, or, if we generalize, the entire branch of vampire Lots.

"Well, not bad at all," Ilya said in a slightly hoarse voice, after breath of renewed talent in front of him, having also tried a familiar legal cheat that relied on psychic durability. "It's pretty damn good."

He downplays this, simultaneously holding back a curse, both delighted and enraged by his own stupidity. After all, he'd already had experience with the Eye, but again he'd drawn too much strength from Cald, only holding back a cry of pain at the last moment, and only because the application of the new aspect of the exhalation was more fluid than Pierce. Ilya simply poured in a small portion of his reserve, covering a space forty meters around him with a solid carpet of raised snow, a veritable blizzard. In this state, the exhalation was more of an obstacle than a threat; it lacked penetrating power, having expended all his power on expanding the exhalation area. No, for an ordinary person, entering here would be like death, but a good amulet and his own class would provide ample protection, though you'd be completely blinded.

But then, after activation of Ice Breath... he turned inward, feeling the fighting pug in the bunker's steel cage grow and grow, becoming a rabid Alabai with the features of the Hound of the Baskervilles, God bless Conan Doyle's grave. As with the Eye, the Hunger grew stronger, taking up ever more space in his soul, its essence shielding him from the Cald, compensating for each other, thus maintaining a fragile balance while the diver's aura and subtle bodies cracked under the strain. Fortunately, the growth of the image Ilya had created, symbolizing the essence of Wedingo, occurred much more smoothly, noticeably more leisurely than with the eye, giving him time to stop and avoid freezing his aura.

And the more willpower he put into this breath, locking it in on himself, turning himself into a door resonating with the rising blizzard, the stronger the effect. The snow grew thicker, the cold more terrifying, the wind even more biting, so thick that even he suddenly felt uneasy in this blizzard, so uneasy that he began to tremble and tap-dance with his teeth. And with a certain amount of panic, Ilya realized he couldn't quite tell where the edge of this blizzard was, or which way he should go to escape. It was an incredibly insane feeling, especially considering that he was technically supposed to be standing in the center of a circle-sphere, with the exit on any side of his coordinates. But it seemed to him that in this blizzard even the dimension of distance had begun to freeze, which, in the context of the Broken, didn't sound nearly as insane as it might have seemed.

For the next three minutes, which felt like three days, at least, Ilya gradually cut off the Breath supply, allowing the blizzard to calm down and stop tormenting his freezing body. He was frozen, damn it! Wendigo! Even if no one would give him a few minutes to prepare in a direct fight, the very fact that by the end his exhalation was no weaker than what a fully-fledged second-stage user could manage... well, that's impressive. What's even more impressive is that, on the verge of losing control of the talent's effect, the earthling gained the ability to freeze space, and perhaps other ephemeral matter as well, which should have been considered a separate aspect, closer to the upper steps of the talent. If not a separate talent of the support-control subtype altogether. In justification of the balance of this part of the Mechanism, the diver only produced this effect, but did not control it in the slightest, surviving only due to his wild resistance to the cold.

Ilya unexpectedly discovered a magnificent trick for prolonged combat, a way to completely control the battlefield, and at a level not quite accessible at his tier. Or it might be accessible, but closer to fully utilizing all talents, not right now, not at the beginning, and certainly not even close to the middle. He'd also like to be able to control his Breath, overextended by the cold door, but then he could practically hunt second-tier creatures en masse. And so it worked out beautifully, avoiding any damage to his aura due to the door's overexertion; he suffered more from his own cold.

"Well, it's time to get down to business." Anyone hearing Ilya's anticipatory tone might stutter, especially considering he'd long since shed his human disguise. "And go hunting."

Ilya possesses the ability to find targets at a vast distance, given his rank and talent level. Now he's found a way to fend off even the most powerful opponent, provided he can't escape immediately and can hold out long enough for this ability to fully unfold. The glorious city of Lazybones was surrounded by an incredible number of vile abominations, and no one would hold a grudge against him for destroying them, even though these creatures sometimes have very useful entrails. Now is the perfect time to start making full use of his unique Blessing, not just his equally unique Trait.

Once again diminished in size, but at the same time grown to the size of a small but plump Pekingese, the cruel beast locked in the depths of its essence howled triumphantly.

It's time, as befits a normal Wendigo, to tear and torment.

* * *

The snow-covered plain here is broken up by hillocks, barely visible from a distance, completely covered in snow. They're not even hills, but rather small piles of stacked stones, vaguely reminiscent of burial mounds, only for dwarves. These mounds are purposefully placed here every kilometer or so, for they aren't burial mounds at all, but rather markers marking off foreign territory. To prevent anyone from trespassing, and if they did, they were to blame for the mistake. The creature that erected these ornaments was considered unintelligent but possessed extremely advanced instincts and a truly vile character, including a fondness for hunting two-legged game.

Generally speaking, all creatures a priori prefer, all other things being equal, to devour mortals rather than other creatures, even those of hostile species. This facilitates their development, but ++the furry scurrying creature not only perceived this hunt as a necessity, but also as a passion. A sadistic creature, a hunter, a clever creature, undeceived by the typical tricks of some ungifted hunter or tracker. For the ungifted, this is practically the worst nightmare of anyone lost in the wastes of the Spine, because your death won't be quick, and they won't let you escape; at most, they'll toy with you, letting you believe you've managed to escape.

The creature looks like a cross between a long-nosed monkey, a mole, and a fox, taking from the mole the large claws capable of digging and splitting even stone, and from the fox the long, bushy tail with which this turd balances when running. It's waist-high, almost square in build if you don't count the tail, and has a vicious, very vicious stare from its small, half-blind eyes. It relies on smell and hearing, but its hearing is so good that it can hear the heartbeat of a mortal frozen in place and recognize the zone of unnatural silence created by primitive amulets. And then it will play, torment, and shrilly yelp and laugh as it does so.

Ilya, frankly, was very surprised to see this creature on the Spine, since in the Twin's memory, he'd encountered almost no creatures typical of this region, as the Twin was a city dweller. And his own experience studying the bestiaries of the Broken on Earth had confirmed that the ++Shmygs, including the shaggy variety, preferred classic hills and plains to solid rock. However, this particular creature was somehow too small and puny, so it could be that it was simply another variety, either new or unknown to Ilya. This would require photographic documentation of the corpse, including an autopsy, and then adding to the bestiary, if it hadn't already been updated — they are regularly updated as soon as a sufficient number of edits are confirmed by the Forum.

The man struck from downwind, first hitting the creature's burrow dug directly into the rock with a couple of pebbles, to startle it, but not too hard, so it would come out to check it out and not just hole up there for a day or three. He would have smoked it out, but he would have had to use Ice Breath to flood the hole, wasting his energy and ruining his guts. In the end, everything went off without a hitch. The heartbeat and other noises were obscured by another snowstorm, the creature didn't catch a scent, and so crawled out. An inexperienced, truly small specimen, not a new species— you wouldn't fool a seasoned ++scurry of any kind with such chaff. It's caution would be the envy of all divers; it wouldn't dare venture into a place where it couldn't be sure of its safety.

Now, all it took was a couple of pebbles and a sharp throw of his entire body, skimming along the snow. And under camouflage, which is why even the ++Shmyg didn't immediately realize that he needed to run back to his burrow from a human, especially one running unarmed toward his claws, capable of tearing through steel armor. Barking something cheerful, the ++Shmyg rushed forward, following his animal reflex to catch the weak and vulnerable. He even aimed his claws not at the neck, but at the legs and groin, to inflict more pain. Instead of a blow to the flesh, he received a light Breath in the face, instantly blinding the beast, unprotected from elemental damage, and then a blow with the full might of the Wendigo, breaking his neck and piercing his skull.

He didn't even have to take out his cleaver, and his clothes were clean.

Tap.

It was merely a drop, but the enemy wasn't particularly challenging, so Ilya wasn't upset. He laughed more at how normal Earthling divers would react to his "merely" and "wasn't upset." A couple of minutes later, he had shed his clothes and was already cutting open the creature's body with sharp knives, confirming that it was indeed a standard specimen and not a new species. Half an hour later, he had finished removing several of the most convenient vertebrae for carving practice, cut off the magical claws, which even in death retained their unnatural penetrating power, and placed the carved heart and still-frozen eyeballs on the now-crimson snow. Lollipops, yeah. The creature's liver was still too small and rotten, literally saturated with someone else's pain and the beast's sadism; even a Wendigo wouldn't necessarily benefit from such a meal, and it was just disgusting, you know.

Having devoured the heart and eyes with decorum and the help of a "table" knife, he followed with no small pleasure in his mind's eye another scarlet-golden particle of Essence falling into the altar bowl.

Tap.

Forty minutes later, most of the creature's carcass was stuffed back into the hole along with the bloody snow, and the diver cleaned himself of the blood, finally using Ice Breath over his own body, scraping away the remaining blood and its scent with his Cald. There's no point in attracting creatures that could be dangerous to him, no point in attracting anyone at all. He'll come, take, and go as he wants.

The hunt goes on.

* * *

The horned beast was mighty, truly mighty, a true patriarch of its species, which Ilya mentally dubbed a Bison Bull, though he couldn't find an exact match in his memory. No longer a beast, but a creature, old and no less dangerous, but far more vicious than befits an animal of its kind. That's why it roamed the Spine alone, not leading its own herd, for simple animals, even its own kind, had suddenly become just another prey for it. And it could no longer be considered a herbivore; its teeth were too predatory, and the structure of its jaw and skull had changed too much — at best, the bison bull remained omnivorous, but even that wasn't a given. And that's not to mention the overall appearance of this woolly destruction machine.

The fur itself was partially shed, and the hide was covered in small and large ulcers. Bloody spines protruded along the spine, piercing the skin from within. A barely noticeable aura of a putrid, bloody nature rose above the entire carcass. Too often and regularly, this creature devoured not just meat, but dead meat, devoured corpses, including those still walking the earth. The beast-creature had not yet transitioned to the category of full-fledged cor[seeater, changing the nature and classification of its species, but it had nevertheless traveled a good half of this thorny path. Ilya even began to wonder if somewhere nearby, or not so nearby, there were some ruins or another necromancer den, something the little bull had stumbled upon.

And not only did he stumble upon it, but he also escaped, having managed to feast on those who wanted to devour him. How could the poor beast know that the nature of a corpse-eater is equally dangerous, both in terms of devouring you and being devoured? Now, halfway through its transformation, still a living creature, bloody foam oozing from its mouth and nostrils, the bull-bison is even less dangerous than in its standard beast form. True, its vitality and strength have increased, but its agility and reaction speed have decreased, which is only to the earthling's advantage. But had the creature fully transformed, the diver wouldn't have risked engaging it without first assuming its full Wendigo Form.

He could have overpowered it, or he could have retreated at any moment, but he wouldn't risk it. The corpse eaters were, shall we say, very peculiar. They were weak, widespread, easily killed, and often a favorite source of loot for divers, but they were also unforgiving of mistakes and neglect. But now he limited his precautions to simply approaching from a blind spot, not even paying close attention to the wind, since with mucus-clogged nostrils, the beast wouldn't be able to smell him. And the corpse eaters' highly specialized ability to smell life and blood even through lungs completely filled with pus, a trait for which they are renowned, was not yet present, nor could it be, since its heart was still pumping normal, albeit diseased, blood throughout its body, not putrid mucus.

Approaching from behind, the Earthman dodged a reflexively kicking hoof, cutting both hind legs in one motion, allowing the creature to fall to its side and attempt to rise, exposing its throat and driving the cleaver blade into that same throat, all the way to the spine and along it. He then stepped back, avoiding the unnaturally elongated neck and the widened maw, and then continued to slowly pace away. He allowed the bleeding beast to pursue him on its two front paws, dragging its hind legs behind it, for at least fifty steps before even his partially cursed body decided it was done, dead. His heart, incidentally, was still registering as a signature, indicating that the beast had only just fallen into a coma and was undergoing the final transformation into a new form of existence.

Ilya treacherously interrupted this evolution into an unknown direction by piercing the heart with a cleaver stained with foul-smelling blood, and then, in a flurry of effort, severing the head from the body. Naturally, he had to shed his clothes again first, not wanting to stain them with the stench of a corpse, which simply couldn't be washed off. As soon as the head was separated from the rest of the body, the pierced and severed heart stopped trying to rejoin, and an instant later, the diver was once again rewarded with the Mechanism.

Tap.

Tap.

Not bad, and even expected, since the enemy isn't as simple as it might seem at first glance. If Ilya hadn't hobbled him with his first blow, hadn't inflicted a mortal wound an instant later, he could have spent a long time playing bullfighter, trying to bring the beast down before it trampled the nimble but light diver. Instead, it happened quickly, although the enemy is objectively much more unpleasant than the Sniffer. However, the higher reward for the kill was offset by the missing bonuses from consuming the entrails charged with beast power..

In theory, he could easily digest even this rotten heart, but he didn't want to risk it. Even a diver could easily acquire Corpse eater properties, and they can sometimes be quite useful. There was even a certain synergy with the Wendigo class, but such curses tend to develop and become increasingly ingrained in the eater's essence. With his mental stability, there was no point in worrying about desynchronization, but the earthling didn't want to lose or weaken the connection with the Cald, trading it for Rot. This wasn't what he expected from the Broken One and his own presence within it. Ultimately, he didn't even bother to remove the entrails, leaving the rotting corpse lying in the snow, after knocking out five of the largest fangs and attempting to break off the horns.

The antlers could have been a real gift for the carver, yes, they could have.

Alas, while his teeth were the classic "grabbers" of a typical corpse-eater, ready to be used as a necklace, his horns were broken off. They broke off very easily at the base, revealing the insides to be devoured by rot, full of sticky ichor, rotten bits of bone, and other muck. Thankfully, he didn't get dirty, but he had to breathe clean ice on his hands a couple of times to completely dispel the stench. Twenty minutes later, the newly dressed earthling moved deeper into the wasteland at a leisurely pace, circling Lazy in a wide arc, not forgetting to regularly pump his Eye to near-maximum intensity to prevent any abomination from latching onto his frozen buttocks. Those buttocks weren't made for other people's teeth; that's not what Ilya's mother raised him for!

And the hunt goes on.

* * *

Even though the earthling had collected his seventieth drop of Essence on a rotting bull, which, after four cycles, could be considered a crime against the self-esteem of other earthlings, Ilya didn't upgrade his talent yet. Certainly not right away, not in the middle of the deep wasteland, too far from the city walls, and the upgrade wasn't exactly timely. The point was, he wanted to upgrade his two main trump cards next: Shapeshifting and Form, and these two related talents are highly desirable to upgrade together. It's one thing if you're a regular diver with a standard supply of Essence, where you can realistically save up for a year to upgrade your talent, even with a stable group. Ilya, on the other hand, has a very real chance of accumulating another ten drops in the same cycle.

So he didn't rush, continuing his pursuit, quickly finding a new target. This time, a whole pack, and not herbivores, which he usually ignored. So what? There are still relatively few drops from them, a lot of hassle, running after each scattering snow goat-ram will get you tired, and there will be so much blood that all the animals will come to the feast, say thanks to whoever killed so much meat. Ilya might not even be able to outrun all of them, much less successfully fight them off. A conveniently located wolf pack, especially one led by a couple of beasts, was a different matter.

And no, contrary to the clichés about "wolf" romance, these weren't a male and a female, but two males. Most likely two brothers from the same litter, who had become creatures together and were sticking together. A pack of a dozen mighty, powerful, and well-fed beasts, sleek from good nutrition, would have been no small challenge for Ilya. After all, pack hunting is ingrained in these creatures; they could easily cause trouble even for a gifted one. But they didn't, because the earthling spotted them from afar, approached them stealthily, and immediately struck with a Howl that paralyzed their will and body, followed by a not-so-powerful Ice Breath, freezing most of the pack, the ordinary wolves, for sure.

Both creatures leaped out of the cloud of blizzard-like air raised by his Ice Reath, sparkling with grayish reflections of magic, like smoke or fog, shrouding them both in a barely visible shroud. The Eye of the Ilya, who had come over their hides, spotted the shroud even before he Breathed, and that's why he knew for certain that his attack wouldn't harm these wolf brothers, nor would it damage their insides. One of them lagged slightly behind the other, bearing the brunt of the cold that lashed his face, and so missed the second attack. Ilya jumped, pushing off from a stone hidden under the snow, flying straight through the raised blizzard.

Having crashed into the beast's carcass, no less than the size of a calf, he plunged a sharply honed knife into the heart with a single movement, immediately pushing off the body and landing away from the fallen wolf. The wolf twitched briefly in agony, but was now powerless. Meanwhile, the second wolf, not fully aware of his position, lunged at Ilya, apparently expecting support from his fellow wolf. The earthling breathed Ice again, a thin, dense stream tearing away the cloud of magical protection and disappearing from view. Then came a lunge, impossibly fast, as if for a human body, and a barely perceptible, seemingly harmless swing of his weapon, right under the throat of the wolf that had charged,

Its fangs now also glow with the unsightly gray of wolf magic. Scarlet splashed across the snow-white blanket of winter even before it landed on wobbly paws, whining in surprise. But the agony didn't last long; Ilya closed in again and stabbed twice, piercing the beast's vulnerable flesh at the sites of major blood vessels, then immediately retreating, allowing both beasts to die peacefully, lest they snatch their killer on his deathbed. A barely perceptible smile of satisfaction flickered across his face, for he had executed the attack as if from a textbook, or as in training virtual reality simulations.

In fact, various wolf- and dog-like creatures were among his instructor's favorite "models" in the "anti-animal battle training" course. This type of enemy is one of the most common, on par with all kinds of reptiles. Well, unless you count those creatures that, while taking on animal form, simply have no exact analogs in Earth's fauna. For virtual training, where the key is learning to strike precisely where needed and quickly avoid a counter-bite, such an enemy is truly excellent. Largely because even in a simulation, if the capsule is good and the simulation software is top-notch, such dogs are unforgiving and, if the sensory transmission is turned up to maximum, they teach students the most effective method – pain.

Needless to say, London AU in general, and Mr. Albry in particular, didn't neglect capsule upgrades, limited-edition sims through grant orders, or hours of extra tutoring for those struggling or simply interested. Ilya had once sworn at it, especially while soaking in the shower, ridding himself of the phantom pains throughout his body and washing down an increased dose of medication for his racing heart, but now he appreciated it. Importantly, the Mechanism also appreciated it.

Tap.

Tap.

A drop for each of the wolf brothers, and a little extra for the rest of the pack, but it definitely wasn't enough. Both creatures were strong enough for Ilya to decide to hunt them, but not so strong that he feared he couldn't handle them. His eyes kept track of all kinds of prey, and among the creatures he spotted was one that made him quickly turn around, closing his Eye and praying his gaze hadn't been noticed. He hadn't even fully realized how many filthy creatures lived in the city's orbit, drawn to the scent and warmth of mortal souls.

A couple of minutes later, after the last twitch of the wolf's paws, having also verified the death of the regular wolves, the diver began wiping the blood from his left sleeve with snow, simultaneously applying a drop of the odor inhibitor he'd purchased through Chif. Without such a solution, venturing into the Ridge isn't even dangerous, but it's unwise. It doesn't fit with his reputation as a hunter-gatherer, smart and successful. A smart person wouldn't venture into the Ridge wasteland without a way to conceal their scent from animals, and a successful person without such precautions won't become successful anywhere except in their own ethereal fantasies.

Again, clothes are thrown off. Again, work with knives, pulled out hearts and livers, all in the classic style, devoured power in someone else's flesh. Somewhere deep down, Ilya understood that by eating only the richest parts of bodies, and not even whole, but slowly slicing them, he was losing some of the essence, but this didn't change the fact that he didn't want to give in to the ravenous beast within him. And what's more! He took a perverse pleasure in the impotent fury of the Wendigo, demanding to be devoured-devoured-devoured-devoured-devoured-devoured-devoured-devoured-devoured-devoured-devoured-devoured-devoured, but all he received was Ilya's contemptuous smirk.

There was something unhealthy about it, but he, well aware of the dangers of desyncs and overly enhanced builds, saw it as an opportunity to boast about his success to at least someone, even the essence of the Wendigo. Which, ultimately, was another form of dialogue with himself, because the Wendigo is Ilya.

"At this rate, I'll need to go to a therapist, or at least take some pills." Aware of a certain degree of his own abnormality, he wasn't too upset, realizing it wasn't class-induced madness, but merely the bugs in his head, or rather, the creatures that had long ago devoured those bugs. "Truly, the classics are eternal. There are no normal people, only those who haven't been properly examined."

He never would have thought he'd be so eager to brag to anyone about my exceptional awesomeness. He'd thought he'd long since overcome this teenage affliction, but no, it only surfaced in his deep adulthood. It was a good thing he'd recognized and acknowledged his own problem in time; otherwise, it could have worked out quite differently under different circumstances. With that thought in mind, he chewed the last piece of the heart, hard as a dried-out block of nutritional paste. While he was wiping his hands and knife in the snow, another vision overwhelmed him, only this time the Mechanism's reward wasn't as great as he'd hoped.

Tap.

He really did need to stuff himself with more meat, but Ilya still didn't want to become even more like a beast and give power to Hunger. It was stupid; such methods of self-control wouldn't give him any attribute bonuses or increase his resistance. It was just his own complexes and subconscious instructions that were simply too ingrained. They told him not to imitate his chosen Lot too much, not to let his build define him, otherwise disaster would follow. And wolf meat tasted disgusting, and even though the nature of the class turned any flesh into near ambrosia, human taste buds still discern the original flavor, thanks to the same Trait that prevents the subconscious from substituting one for another.

Whatever the case, there is no time to indulge in deep introspection.

After all, he's still hunting.

* * *

This time, Ilya pondered for quite a while whether he should even go after the prey he'd discovered. Primarily because he wasn't sure who of them would be the prey and who would be the hunter. It all started when the earthling found landmarks again, but these weren't the piles of stones ++ the sniffer had made. No, this was the carcass of a torn bison, nailed to a boulder, its entrails eaten out and chunks of flesh torn out. For a moment, Ilya even thought he'd been carried off to meet a "colleague." Not in the sense of a holder of a similar class or a different diver altogether, but specifically a wendigo, which is a creature, not a bearer of a class. But no, the small details didn't match, and the wendigo wouldn't have left so much flesh hanging unattended on the rock, at most bones and scraps of stuck meat and skin.

There were obviously no tracks in the snow; everything that could have been covered had already been covered, and the earthling lacked the necessary talents to reveal a mystical, rather than physical, trail. But he did find a small path, which he dug up under the same snow, realizing that it had been there for a very long time, literally carved into the stone centuries and centuries ago. During his hunts, he had, of course, selected more interesting prey while minimizing disturbance to the surrounding area, but he had also encountered other people. It's hard not to encounter them if you regularly activate your special vision and look in any direction for miles.

He circled the groups of hunters in a wide arc, avoiding the farmsteads and settlements that abounded near Lazy, though they were noticeably fewer than usual near large cities, simply due to the nature of the Ridge. He carefully avoided glancing at anyone's private herb gardens, camouflaged and hidden from view, but always marked with a barely noticeable marker indicating whose herbs were ripening there. Overall, despite the unnaturally long winter, the near-bad status of the land, and the unpleasantly high diversity of all manner of evil crap in the area, the Ridge remained a fairly lively place.

But here and now, Ilya found not human. Looking more closely, he realized the hanging corpse was relatively fresh and hanging there not without an apparent reason. The stone boulder itself resembled a very primitive altar, the gnawed bones deliberately driven into the victim, thrust into conveniently placed cracks and crevices to ensure the victim hung there for a while, rather than falling to the snow. So that the flesh would gradually become charged with the snow's magic, becoming, so to speak, a little more palatable. Looking closer at the symbols carved into the bone spikes, Ilya hissed in annoyance, squinting ominously.

"Savage one, and of course, snow type, too." He let out a sigh, realizing who fate had brought him together with. "Such a crap."

Some divers or simply forum regulars, out of inexperience, call these creatures "Yeti," but this is methodologically incorrect. Yeti are an entirely different kind of creature, far more dangerous. Such are the mechanisms of translation into a language familiar to earthlings, which each diver also has their own. The mechanism searches for suitable terms and concepts in human consciousness, folklore, stories, fairy tales, and the like. And within the Broken, the difference between "Yeti" and "Snowman" (Bigfoot) is enormous, despite the fact that on Earth they were synonyms for the same urban legend for all sorts of crypto-zoologists and other freaks. This legend, like many others, died automatically with the advent of widespread cameras and was later resurrected with the advent of image-generating AI, but that's irrelevant to the topic.

A Snowman is, to put it simply, a magical and "broken" version of the earthly Neanderthal. Essentially, a different race, with a human basis, but completely broken and more akin to creatures than to humans. Creatures of the most unpleasant kind — natural, not corrupted. They are born as creatures, and grow up as such, reaching the size of an adult male within five years, gaining the ability to reproduce, and reaching their full size within ten years.

Snowmen, forestmen, steppemen, and rockmen—all different varieties of the creature known as "Savage ones" — have fluctuating levels of power, with some even reaching the highest levels, up to a four, though this hasn't been proven. Fives may exist somewhere, but there's no evidence, or, more likely, there are no survivors of such encounters. They're huge, but not giants; they can cast spells, but aren't true mages; they're decent lurkers, fairly capable artisans, and generally quite versatile specialists. They also tend to live in communities, so Ilya could just as easily have stumbled upon the "refrigerator" of a loner or an entire tribe.

He could overpower a lone wolf, especially one of his own level, but he should have been running away from a tribe, preferably starting a couple of hours ago. But no. Nooooo, there can't be a tribe here; people would have been disappearing all around by now. Entire villages and trade caravans. It wouldn't be possible to hide something like that, and these creatures don't like to hide, not when there are many of them and they've developed their own advanced versions — healers, chieftains, hunters, broodlings, and the like. So, it's precisely the loners that can hide for the time being, until they lose their caution and start hanging markers like these around the area. So it's a loner or a couple, most likely, but Ilya really didn't like this "most likely" thing.

Okay, the path apparently leads to some ruins, since the boulder stands on a place of power, albeit a weak one. For this type of quasi-sentient creature, especially a solitary one, occupying the ruins rather than building a camp is a perfectly suitable tactic, especially considering the number of such ruins scattered throughout the Broken. After thinking for a moment and rocking back and forth on his toes, the earthling sighed and began to shed his clothes. He wouldn't approach an adult Savage one in human form, especially one who wielded some kind of magic and was well-fed. The characteristic "wild" runes (incidentally, Ilya himself could try using them, albeit with reduced effectiveness, thanks to his equally "wild" class) on the bone spikes could be the ultimate limit of the creature's abilities, or simply a minimal investment of energy, whereas in the lair, Ilya would be crushed by full-fledged ritual structures.

Thank you, Ryuk was enough for him. He doesn't want to fall under other rituals, you won't feel so good later, if you even survive such primal magic in the face.

The lair was found, not even that far from the boulder, four kilometers or so, no more. Along the way, they encountered several more hanging corpses, one of which was even human—a hunter, too, only a real one, not like Ilya. Capable of nothing more than death when confronted by such a powerful creature. The Wendigo, creeping along the snow, wasn't in a hurry, but neither was it hesitant; it had spotted its target ten minutes ago, catching a glimpse of the enormous heart of a Savage one hidden behind the stone arches of the ruins. He was alone, after all, but Ilya didn't relax, lest his partner simply be hunting while the other one was settling in. The ruins were almost completely destroyed above ground, and nothing was visible beneath the snow, but the basement remained intact.

And it was a decent-sized space, if it could accommodate that monster without any problems. At the entrance to that basement hole stood a snowman — literally, a snow pillar sculpted from snow and shit, topped with a wind-bleached skull, with remnants of dried flesh clinging to it here and there. The only thing missing was a plastic carrot to complete the picture of what you see in the park area every winter. If there had been a carrot, Ilya would have definitely triggered the alarm, giggling stupidly in his second form. The skull, importantly, was larger than a human's, with fangs and irregular jaws. Apparently, before settling in these ruins at the onset of winter, the creature had destroyed the previous owner, some kind of skeletal undead, probably a low-to-mid-grade Grave Guardian.

For such undead, an experienced Savage was a very inconvenient opponent, yes.

Ilya, just in case, circled the pillar to avoid the skull atop the totem, lest it notice and alarm the apparently sleeping creature. Approaching from the rear also failed, but it gave the earthling several ideas for how to better utilize his own carving talent. The bones beneath the snow offered a wide variety, including sharp thorns gathered into a primitive garlic. Frozen flesh, if pierced, would not be severely damaged by such things, but blood... these bones can sense blood and sing. A trick very typical of the mountain and snowy varieties of wildlings, and earthlings weren't shy about reverse engineering it, often using such bone signaling themselves if they had the appropriate talents.

For example, Ilya had some!

He never caught the alarm, though he felt his Form draining his reserves and wearing him down with fatigue. He still could have reached the entrance without disturbing the basement's occupant. Alas, it awoke on its own, crawling out into the clear light of the earthling. Fortunately, he had detected the creature's movements in advance through his heart signature and prepared for the encounter. He didn't want to engage in a full-blown battle with the creature; killing it from ambush would have been better.

The Savage One moved with incredible grace for such a large frame, standing nearly two and a half meters tall and with a Herculean width of shoulders. Dressed in untanned skins, covering him in a rather thick, albeit extremely unkempt and primitive garment, with a face overgrown with a dark gray beard, he was truly intimidating. His face seemed carved from stone, his heavy brow ridges like a bunker vault, the look of an aggressive, cruel, and very cunning idiot in his deep-set eyes.

Old, damn, really old, with gray hair! Which means he's incredibly experienced, even if he's not quite strong, even if he's alone and without a tribe. Savages mature very quickly, but age even more slowly than humans. Well, natives, not Earthlings, are accustomed to good medicine. And not just old, but armed. Clutched in his enormous hand is a long, very worn-looking bone, a meter seventy or even a little more in length, and slightly sharpened at the tip. This is definitely not an ordinary bone, but, damn it all, a giant's one. Very heavy, almost solid, without any major cavities, something like that would easily pierce shields. If this Savage, damn it, personally killed the giant creature of at least the second stage, it would be a very sad death for Ilya.

But no, such a powerful individual would have noticed Ilya long ago, would have killed him long ago. These freaks don't like to play with their prey; they're not ++just scurrying, damn them. So he most likely ripped it from the corpse and then put it to good use, or even stole it from someone. Still, it's best not to get hit by a skinless bone, and there's no point in hoping the aspect of the Maw will crack it, because it won't. Ilya thought these thoughts as he leaped along the snow, not soaring upwards to maintain his maneuverability. And it was no accident, because he crossed some invisible line and the bones began to weep, as if their cries were gnawing at his temples, like the screams of a child freezing in the snow. They all began to weep at once, struck with a mental effect and warning of the approaching danger.

This isn't even a signaling thread, but rather a closed sensor-type field with an additional attack element, damn it!

And once again, one could only marvel at how unnaturally fast this brute was, how light his stride. He spun on his toes, no worse than a ballerina or a murdered Maniac awaiting his resurrection. A turn, an assessment of the whitish shadow flickering in the blizzard, and then a blow of the bone, like a hammer, straight into the skull of the exposed Wendigo. He performed all this almost simultaneously, like a well-oiled mechanism, unfazed by doubt and reflection. And yet, he was a little too late; the Earthman shifted and slid along the ground, exhaling directly into the snow, without even raising his head, concealing himself in the snowy shroud.

A blow that would have crushed his reinforced skull if not for the Hide, only dislodged a fragment from the snow-covered rock. One of the fragments even struck his temple, but failed to even scratch the skin, let alone damage it. A moment later, Ilya struck. Like a machine, casting aside thoughts and fears, practicing typical combat tactics against a larger, more physically powerful opponent. It was as if he'd met Oleg in the alley again, only here the difference in size was even more obvious. The Wendigo, not small, was too skinny, looking like a reed compared to this massive beast.

A completely unfair battle, but, in Ilya's opinion, unfair only in relation to the Savage one.

The Wendigo's palm was as broad as his opponent's, but his wrist and fingers were much thinner, like those of a mutant pianist, no doubt. But his body was no less strong than the brute's, probably even stronger, which is why he wouldn't be recommended to play hugs with Ilya. In a single movement, the Earthman grabbed the opposite end of the bone club-sword, just above the littered area, yanking it toward himself, simultaneously kicking the wildling in the chest and continuing to exhale another blast of concentrated cold into his face. Alas, their strength was roughly equal, and he failed to disarm the physically heavier opponent. His kick was met with a firm elbow block and an attempt to grab that leg more firmly, and his exhalation wasn't stopped, but slowed again by the sobbing bones.

The bones had clearly spent itselves completely, but it was as if they'd befuddled not Ilya, but the flow of his magic, forcing it to dissipate into a dozen smaller streams and be absorbed into the bones scattered above the basement shelter, hidden under the snow. Now that was just "wow," or even "holy shit," to be honest. Ilya would have even nodded his head respectfully if he hadn't been so busy surviving and killing.

Unfortunately, his mind, energized by combat talent and a surge of adrenaline, left no room for surprise. He simply silently accepted that his attack had been blocked and instantly changed tactics. Instead of pulling his leg away from the wild man's grasp, the Earthling allowed himself to be grabbed. The Savage one closed his fingers just above his foot, attempting to twist the joint and break the bone. Then, having gained a foothold, bracing himself against this grip, he arched himself in a manner impossible for a human, his head scraping the snow, and delivered a truly epic kick with his other foot, right to the opponent's head.

Even for the Essence of the all Broken, he couldn't remember the name of a move in any martial arts, but he could witness its effect firsthand. Pain shot through his leg, slightly dislodged by the jerk, but the pain was far more intense in his other leg. The one that struck the enemy on the side of his head, somewhere between his temple and jaw, with the Wendigo's unbridled strength. To Ilya's surprise, and to the Savage's credit, he didn't fall; he merely released his grip on the Wendigo's leg with weakened hands and took two wide, hesitant steps back, without dropping his weapon.

But the small eyes were clouded, and the vicious Ыavage was staggering like a professional middleweight boxer after a couple of punches from a heavyweight champion. Waiting for his opponent to recover would have been sheer folly for Ilya, so he Howled, slowing the savage even further, nearly paralyzing him, only to instantly slam his entire body into him, knocking him flat on his back. Or rather, not knocking him down, but letting him fall, because after that Howl, the creature's knees buckled completely.

The toothy maw almost managed to grab the enemy's face, but he still partially reacted, grabbing Ilya and trying to shove his forearm into his mouth, as if fighting a wild animal. No, against a more classic Wendigo, such a decision would have been justified, but Ilya immediately changed his mind, throwing the enemy's arm aside, grabbing him by the neck and back of the head, and then slamming his forehead into the bridge of his nose. Something about Pasha the Bald on Earth should be starting to hiccup loudly lately — well, when the cycle ends, after all, Ilya often began to speak fondly of his trademark forehead-slam. Just as the creature was in a knockdown, the Earthling simply finished what he hadn't managed the last time, exhaling his Cald right into the brute's mug, catching him in the act of inhaling, just as his mouth opened in shock.

Well, probably because he received a blow to the solar plexus with all the force of the frozen body.

In any case, the final point had been reached, and natural resistance to magic had never been a particularly strong suit for a Savage. He'd already discharged his bones; there was no more protection, so his eyes froze and burst right in their sockets, and his brain froze from forehead to back of his head. The earthling, rolling to the side, suddenly scrambled to his feet, scanning the surrounding area with his eyes and gaze, as if expecting an ambush from under the nearest rock, but no, silence. Only the howling wind, and a new blizzard was about to begin; he could already see a cloud front in the distance.

And only the Mechanism, as always, counts out with infinite indifference the price for the diver’s latest victory on his difficult path.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Another second, and yet another one, barely breaking through the barrier...

Tap.

Shaking his head, Ilya quickly reached the place where his things were. With a suppressed cry of pain, he transformed into his human form, assessed his remaining reserves, dressed, and decided it was time to rest. He's too overwhelmed, fatigue is starting to show, and mistakes are just around the corner. A mistake in his line of work always meant death. He hadn't started hunting rabbits, had he? He spent the remaining time before the storm returning to the battlefield, deciding against devouring the sentient creature. Besides, wild ones don't have much strength in their guts, even the comparatively strong subtypes. Their main strength lies primarily in the more advanced social aspects of species interaction, and the heart of a gray-bearded Neanderthal would yield little more than one and a half wolf's.

This is not the price for which Ilya is willing to pretend that part of his principled position regarding literal cannibalism has taken a vacation today and has temporarily become not so strong.

Someone less versed in the bestiology of the Broken might have hoped to wait out the storm in the cozy, warm shelter of a Savage, but not Ilya. He'd certainly looked in there and didn't even puke, but he didn't want to stay there for long. Sure, it didn't stink; Savage ones generally have a basic understanding of cleanliness and don't shit where they eat and sleep. Or rather, they don't shit where they eat and sleep, even if they do use their own excrement as a strengthening alchemical component for those same snowman totems. But a pile of bones, including human ones, roughly processed hides, and the barely perceptible scent of someone else's body... well, the Wendigo wasn't exactly thrilled with such a setting; it was easier to wait it out outside, burrowing into the nearest available snowdrift.

The Savage ones don't stink, but the scent of their bodies still triggers a kind of allergic reaction in normal people. It's not a subconscious panic, but an instinctive and unconscious urge to get away. Ilya could have ignored it, but honestly, he didn't want to subject himself to unnecessary trials.

The storm covered his snowdrift like a cozy blanket, the whistling wind in his ears sounded like a lullaby, and death from hypothermia was not a physical threat, so Ilya fell asleep almost happily. But he still didn't forget to wake up regularly and survey the surrounding area, just in case there were two Savages after all.

The hunt is not over yet.

* * *

Upon awakening, Ilya resolutely made a difficult decision of heightened resolve. But seriously, it became clear to him that it was time to put an end to his own insatiable greed and return to the city walls. He should also bring the herbs Chif needed. That shouldn't be a problem. He'd already collected everything the dwarf and his clients had requested. He just needed to double-check how it was being stored. It wouldn't hurt to sort out the trophies, either. It wasn't just the fangs, teeth, and bones, but also another incredibly epic item. That very bone the Savage had tried to fight him with, Ilya wouldn't leave it there for all the money in the world.

This is literally a kiss from FaFo! The perfect blank for a combat weapon for the Wendigo's Form. A solid bone weapon, even if crafted, retaining the shape of the original bone was practically the only type of bladed weapon that suited the Wendigo's fighting instincts. He had, of course, hoped to carve something like this for himself in the future, but he hadn't expected to obtain the necessary material so quickly. Not just quickly, but too early. He simply hadn't yet developed his talent fully enough to unlock the full potential of the giant's bone. He'd also like to know where that grizzled ogre got his bone so he could privatize the rest of the skeleton, but that's just wishful thinking.

Judging by the bone's age, the very old wildling had been carrying his weapon for decades, perhaps even stealing it from one of his brethren. Even unworked bone, typically devoid of any carvings, could become a weapon for a Wendigo, and a decent one at that. The effect of penetrating magical shields would be brutal in itself, purely due to the nature of the material and the giants' ability to resist any form of magic. He should at least somehow manage his material gift, inherited from the Mechanism, let alone carve a weapon for himself... well, or he could abandon the shapeshifting form and try to raise his carver to at least the third level, then he could consider arming his Form.

These thoughts didn't stop Ilya from moving like a silent ghost through the wasteland of the Ridge, occasionally avoiding dangerous creatures, and occasionally cutting down one or another if it came his way. A predatory Sheller, though incomparably smaller and physically weaker, was lying in ambush and was successfully killed in the same ambush, before it could even shake off its disguise. Ilya hesitated far more about cutting off its largest plates than about killing an animal that hadn't even given him a single drop. However, when he devoured its entrails, the Mechanism finally came to life and celebrated this small success.

Tap.

A pair of snow monkeys, apparently fleeing from some predator, bore wounds on their bodies. Both fell almost instantly, only the second one slightly turning at the sound of her companion's skull shattering under a cleaver blow. Alas, this time the devoured entrails had no significant effect, merely invigorating Ilya slightly, as if he'd taken a dose of a high-quality energy cocktail at an expansive club, clearly laced with one of those substances that require not only identification but also a medical certificate of approval for a specific range of recreational drugs. The kill itself also went unrewarded, unless you count the need to scrape brains off the cleaver.

Another horned herbivorous specimen of the beast-creatures, only this one was a "beast" with no signs of turning into a corpse-eater. It died, however, in exactly the same way as the last one; the tactics and blows inflicted were identical. Well, the only difference was that this particular specimen died noticeably faster, and its blood was perfectly normal, scarlet. Although the devoured heart and liver yielded no gifts, aside from the same surge of strength, the Mechanism itself rewarded the kill.

Tap.

He wasn't rewarded with drops for the other animals he killed. But the victims there were often little different from ordinary animals. Ilya killed them only because he knew for certain that, with his blessing, he could indeed get a drop from even some random deer or wolf. Maybe, but not this time. Alas, but at least he'd collected a stash of bones, something to occupy his lonely evenings, and a stash wouldn't weigh heavily on his pocket. Unless, of course, we're talking about a super-bone, which, frankly, was a real pain to lug around.

Another fight happened much more unexpectedly. It was this one that reminded Ilya that it was time for him to go home, rest, sell some herbs, gather his thoughts, and consider upgrading his talents. Because he had been attacked suddenly, and the earthling hadn't seen his opponent until the very last moment. It's hard, you know, to see the heart of a creature that simply doesn't have a heart, as such. Undead, oddly enough, are practically incorporeal. Just a pile of translucent ectoplasm and a dozen bones inside, moving around the split skull of some frozen wretch. That same Frost Spirit, the work of one of which Ilya had disguised as the work of when he destroyed the Hunter's gang, along with the Hunter himself.

Well, not exactly a spirit. A hybrid of one with a typical undead, but this abomination reeked of Cald no less than Death. Ilya immediately realized that against this creature's Breath would be even less useful than against Ilya, and Howl, as a mental effect, was even less effective against the undead. Fortunately, he didn't have to resort to the overpriced, but discounted, low-quality anti-undead amulet. There was something else, too. The Earthling, who had jumped back with a rather unheroic cry, suddenly closed in on the slowly floating ghost, preparing to strike with a magical cloud, simply thrusting his hand into its depths, as if trying to grab its skull and crush it in his fist.

A normal person would have had that arm rotted to the bone, along with all the blood in his body. The creature was a powerful one, after all, not quite ordinary, and quite old. The Wendigo, of course, would have suffered significantly less damage due to its natural resistance, accelerated by its icy flesh and class talents, but it would also have been ill. Ilya, however, allowed the Hide to activate and watched with pleasure as a dozen spectral maws literally sucked in the spectral essence, like a cocktail through a straw. Without a sound, the ghost simply ceased to exist, disappearing into the depths of the maws, where only eternal Hungor reigns.

The bones, now just bones and no longer the center of the dead-ice creature's power, fell to the snow with a barely audible rustle, accompanied by the loud crack of the skull disintegrating into pieces, from which the dead essence had been torn by force. Ilya even picked up some of the bones, accompanied by another vision from the Mechanism.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The quickest and easiest drops of his time here. If only all fights could end like this, instead of this dancing on the edge of a blade and the constant risk of death. Doesn't he deserve a little happiness? Is that really so much he's asking of this cruel and repeatedly Broken World?

A part of Ilya seriously expected to encounter that super-fast deer he'd heard so much about but never seen. Fortune and Fate were on the deer's side, so the little creature never knew of Ilya's existence, and apparently would have been very glad of it. The earthling approached the city walls exhausted both internally and externally, and, for almost the first time, worried about his hiding places. While he was prepared to give up on his other battle trophies if he lost them, he was very sorry to leave the hidden bone unguarded. Alas, if he brought it, they would take it away, at best offering a somewhat decent price. Giants are dangerous and rare, and all the materials from their bodies are valuable, if not by weight in silver, then certainly not cheap.

Another part of the diver expected the cycle to end right then and there, at the maw-like gates, which still invitingly opened their jaws to each incoming guest. The time was already quite opportune, even a little too much, and yet the end of the dive never met him at the entrance. He was met by the familiar foreman and his subordinates, who inspected Ilya with a somewhat prejudiced air and clearly wanted to do something to him, but decided against it. Either the grim visage of the "victim" got in the way, or the crowd of witnesses, including a whole gang of returning hunters, who cheerfully demanded "not to torment a fellow hunter," or Chif actually said a word or two on behalf of his promising client-hunter, lest they slip him a bag of the local equivalent of glitter.

Ilya found himself within the walls of Lazy, deeply inhaling the air, which was not the most pleasant to smell, smelling of horse sweat, shit, and burning coal.

//"But I still have to hand over the herbs..." the diver groaned mentally, turning straight for Chif, who had specifically requested that he come to him immediately upon his return. "I wonder if I should hand over some of the simpler bones and the more expensive herbs I collected outside of the order, or is it's still too early to open up?"

A difficult question, but certainly easier than fighting a Savage or trying to escape that enormous creature sleeping in the snowy swirls, almost awakened by Ilya's Gaze. However, these are precisely the kinds of questions he'll have to grapple with over the next few days, now that he's back in town.

The hunt, this hunt in particular, was finally over for him.

* * *

Well.

Either I'm losing my grip, or my opponents are just that good, but victory is not mine, and it's a shame. I tried so hard, I was in such a hurry to finish, I was so hopeful about my honest first comment... that's how people lose faith in themselves. :(

As you might guess, there were quite a lot of rolls through the chapter, but the most difficult were the negotiations with Ryuk. The hero was extremely lucky, and with a slightly inadequate throw from Ryuk, he realized he was being led slightly in the right direction. And then a group of ballistic shock pianos, placed in the nearby bushes, played a role. On Earth, they truly know how to work contract magic. This is one of those cases where Ilya has an automatic 100 erudition bonus.

Yes, Ryuk was pressuring him mentally and physically, but once the main character figured out exactly what to expect from the old man, his round was won. Ryuk realized this too, and there's a slight chance he'll either leave Ilya alone (extremely low) or try to take advantage of his knowledge (higher).

Otherwise, everything was fine. Increasing of Breath went like clockwork, with a very high chance of landing the right aspect. The other aspects were also good, but Source was simply superior in every way. Just so you understand, Cold Breath, not Eye, should have been the first talent to benefit significantly from the main character's psychic fortitude. Eye just slightly outpaced Breath due to a lucky roll, yes.

There wasn't a single truly difficult fight simply because the protagonist avoided anything difficult. The chapter mentioned that there were creatures that forced him to retreat or even flee upon detection. However, in the most difficult fight with a Savage, he landed a single, pure, dirty crit. Not on the fight itself, but on the loot afterward — a pure hundred, plus fifty-three extra. And then the dirty hundred — ninety-one, plus ten from FaFo, depending on how suitable the loot is for the hero.

So, here's your bone, damn it. :)

Initially, instead of a Savage, there was the undead whose skull decorated the "snowman," but then it would have been difficult to explain why such a valuable bone appeared in those ruins. Make it an undead bone? Then Ilya wouldn't have even been able to scratch such an undead. Basically, the Grave Guardian was replaced by a wild Neanderthal, the fight was rewritten, and the hero was left with a blank slate for picking.

That's it.

The rest of the Dice weren't all that interesting, so I won't bore you with them. Everyone, this, this, and that, and I'll go reread the adventures of a very charismatic lizardman who's trying to build the beginnings of democracy in a caste society of evil racists. Goodbye.

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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/88055/591198

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP