Готовый перевод Быть Гладу и Хладу / There will be Hunger and Cold: 13. Конечно же, на всей дистанции замысла узких мест столько, что он суть одно сплошное узкое место, уже игольного ушка

13. Of course, there are so many bottlenecks along the entire distance of the design that it is essentially one continuous bottleneck, narrower than the eye of a needle

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The appearance of the deadly dwarf, who moonlighted as a mid-level criminal boss, embodied a vivid picture of strong satisfaction with the results of certain events. The result lay before him on the tea table, divided into bags, tied with string, and gathered into bundles. Separate from the herbs ordered in advance, those that Ilya had brought with him and not left in another stash in the middle of the wasteland, lay the plants and mineral stones that he had managed to grab along the way. The total amount was about half or even more than what he would receive for the order, despite the fact that Ilya had taken with him not everything, but only the most perishable and not too valuable items.

Far to the side lay neat piles of armoured Sheller plates and the teeth of a bull corps-eater. Or rather, the teeth weren't on the table, but in a cheap beer mug filled with the strongest booze in the teahouse. Burn away the poison and the aura of death so that you don't die of infection later from just scratching your skin with a sharp bone. Or even just from holding it in your hands and forgetting to wash your hands afterwards. Counting his profits, Chif looks at Ilya-Svyatyk with frank good nature, bargaining more for the sake of propriety than actually trying to knock down the price. Ilya had initially named a price below market value according to his own understanding.

"Next time, make your price higher, Svyatik, or they'll cheat you out of your entire purse." Having finished the bargain, Chif began to count his earnings, as he had done last time, only for what he had received immediately, promising to give the rest in two days, when they would take the stash left by Ilya. "It's not a farm here. Everyone immediately asks for either seven times more if they're selling, or nine times less if they're buying. And then they haggle with each other until they get tired of it and agree on a normal price. It's fine with me. I'm not a shopkeeper myself, I don't want to get my mouth dirty, but some traders take offence."

Ilya, who understood this, deliberately took advantage of the fact that this “good man,” unless he was a buyer, would not care about haggling. This saved a considerable amount of time, so here again, the simple-minded man's behavior worked to his advantage. However, he was not fooled by the kindness and advice of others, even in small matters, and understood perfectly well that most of Chif's patronage was not born out of concern for him. Ilya was profitable for him, managing to quickly close simple but quite lucrative deals, which were usually carried out by a group of two or three collectors under the cover of security guards, which is why each of the participants had to pay. Chif sees potential in Ilya and therefore does not want to lose that potential. He is willing to invest a little in valuable personnel, since his investments cost him nothing and, like any sound advice, are absolutely priceless.

"Well, you did well." Glancing at the armour plates laid out in a row, he adds, with a slight hint of uncertainty and irritation. "I don't like to ask, but are you sure there's nothing left of the beast's entrails? Not even scraps or spilled blood? The plates are completely fresh, I know that. Surely there was nothing to collect, eh? If anything, I can easily sell them so that no one will ask where these beautiful things came from. And if they do ask, I can point to the door."

It is clear that he suspects Ilya of having managed to obtain the most valuable entrails of the beast and now simply hopes to sell them to someone else, not the Chif. But at the same time, he understands that a simple farm hunter cannot kill such a creature, so he does not really believe in the existence of such prey. But he admits, yes, which is why he says, almost directly, that he can not only sell the goods, but also do it quietly, without unnecessary words and questions to the simple peasant Svyatik.

"If only." The earthling waved his hand wearily and sadly, scratching his chin, which was covered with a short beard. "The creature ate everything, liver, gallbladder, everything of value."

"Well, if she ate it, she ate it." The criminal did not engage in conflict or interrogate his client, limiting himself to one final question. "Did you see the creature that killed the Sheller, or perhaps find any traces of it?"

"No, there were no traces left. The blizzard had passed." Part of Ilya wanted to describe the damage and minor indirect evidence that the poor armoured creature had been torn apart by a vendigo, but caution proved stronger than the desire to laugh, because someone clever, to whom Chif would recount the details, could well recognise them and start preparing the guards at the gates to search for the camouflaged creature. ‘Everything was covered in snow, there are rocks all around, no traces. It was struck in the neck and forehead. The skull was deeply pierced. The teeth on the bones are large, probably from a large cat of some kind. But I can't swear to it.’

Ilya had no idea why, but he had the feeling that the dwarf didn't fully believe him, that Ilya-Svyatik hadn't convinced him, despite all his acting talent. This, however, did not prevent Vozh from paying the agreed amount and promising to send someone quickly for the rest of the weed. Well, at least this time he didn't make a stash with drugs, but simply with alchemical precursors, and not for drugs, but for various doping and enhancing compounds. Also, their “dialogue,” during which Ilya preferred to grunt and remain silent, was enlivened by the latest rumors, which a satisfied Vozh did not even bother to mention in passing. It is clear that he was not talking about the price of turnips, nor the love affairs of his brother's neighbor, his godfather's distant acquaintance, his mother's friend's son, but raised much more interesting topics.

For example, he said that the very “case” about the strange and terrifying creature that was making people disappear, including even local criminals, had been resolved. There was a lot of commotion, they say, and the personal guard of the ruler surrounded and seized everything, but there were quite a few witnesses to how many corpses were hanging on hooks there. Ilya showed no interest, although he listened attentively, especially about the gifted individuals who had taken up the investigation. Well, good luck to them. Ilya left no traces. He doesn't take off his disguise, he successfully escaped from the accidental search ritual “hot on the trail” by going on a hike, so if he doesn't screw up, they won't catch him. Well, unless the “Ryuk effect” happens and the investigator with a detective class doesn't run into Ilya on the street.

The rest of the news evoked far less emotion in his heart, although it was not entirely uninteresting. For example, someone had successfully nailed down two gifted members of the formally free squad, which in reality was a kind of knightly spearhead of noble houses. Only it was not intended for tournaments or noble wars, but purely to keep those very adventurers, free and not so free, in obedience. So that, so to speak, they would sell only to those who needed it, for whatever price they were told, and not forget to bring gifts. Chif was looking forward to the next division of the most delicious “herbal” places of power along the Ridge around the city, while everyone else diligently exchanged suspicious glances in anticipation of the slaughter — no one could determine exactly who had “disappeared” that detachment.

And no, it was definitely not Ilya, because there was a full-fledged crowd of three dozen well-armed snouts, literally knightly spears, not weak ones, just on foot. And the gifted ones were seasoned ones. They've been around Lazy for at least a decade. Ilya would only risk touching such a crowd first, from an ambush, after taking out the extras and hitting at least one of the gifted ones. Otherwise, the crowd would stab him, and even a build stronger than usual would not help. And then this crowd simply disappeared into one of the raids, as always, without telling anyone where they were going, who had given them the task, and so on. Only the heart-to-heart amulets showed the death of both gifted ones and their deputies from the “gang.”

Ilya could make such people disappear, but only after thorough preparation, studying the enemy in advance, and managing to catch them at a convenient moment. Moreover, he would only be able to do this if there were no other option, when an attack became the only possible outcome. In other cases, a normal diver would not get messed up with a well-coordinated and dangerous group of natives, regardless of his personal morals. These are not slaughter of remote villages for drops and ritual enhancements; you can really die here. Alone, Ilya would not have taken the risk, that's a fact, but in a pair... If he had good cover from another combat diver with Earth training... then yes, it would not be easy, but it would be a perfectly achievable task.

He recalls there were two earthling divers in the image of a marker mark?

If something bad happens in a place where divers congregate, such as murders or something similar, it often turns out that one or another diver is involved in the incident. The main thing here is not to look for black roses in an unlit night garden, otherwise you can blame any event on the divers. Even if you just stubbed your little toe on the corner of the tabletop! But you shouldn't dismiss the influence of their FaFo attributes either, because, like Ilya himself, they have a strong tendency to get themselves into bad situations, even ones that you would have to try hard to get into and still might not.

It seemed clear to the Earthling that Chif also had his own suspicions about the murder, but the little man was in no hurry to share them and had no intention of doing so. Ilya wisely refrained from being presumptuous and asking questions, preferring to remain silent and listen. They parted on good terms, and Ilya trudged back to his quarters, first walking around the city and even buying a bottle of nalivka and a large baked pie with eggs and onions. After long days and nights of hiking, where he had to eat raw meat and the simple rations he had brought with him, he desperately wanted something tasty.

No one tried to rob, stop, or kill him, so he reached his host's house without any obstacles, but there he had to suppress a heavy sigh again. Running his eyes around, slightly frightened, Limp told him that he was being sought, and not by just anyone, but by Mormyshka himself. Allorik Mormyshka was the name of a certain well-known individual who was not particularly gifted, but who led a large and very successful band of raiders who went on deep raids, combing through the Ridge, sometimes reaching as far as the full-fledged badlands. Well, if you believe their drunken stories, but they all say such things when drunk, and don't seem to contradict each other too much in their statements.

In reality, it's not so bad; you could say it's full recognition from someone who definitely wants to give him a job, and to do so by the customs. He didn't come himself or with his whole gang, so it would be awkward to refuse, and the recruitment would be considered coercive, but he sent someone with an offer to meet. And not just to meet, but in a good restaurant with a reputation, where he definitely wouldn't be carried out dead. In general, he approached it nicely and correctly, as a normal boss should approach a really desirable employee.

Ilya was not surprised in the slightest, as such a turn of events was bound to happen. In a relatively short period of time, he had successfully built himself a reputation worthy of a simple man. It was not enough to suspect him of being gifted, but it was enough to make him stand out from the crowd. Successful solo raids on the wastelands, returning with loot each time, an equally successful ‘duel’ with a hired blade, as well as the story with Mutuzy, all of which contributed to his reputation. The very fact that he was still alive, while the buyer had lost his men and part of his aforementioned reputation. As a result, the image of a dashing, completely reckless, badass, but at the same time intelligent and quick-witted redneck was finally cemented.

All that remained for Ilya was to complete this image, gradually pumping himself up and gaining new and new drops, until he knocked out the most delicious targets near the city. By that time, he could think about ‘finding’ some ruins or the remains of an underground complex with some altar parts in the Ridge and ‘manage’ to obtain the Grace of the Mechanism, officially becoming gifted. It is desirable not to say anything directly, so that he is identified only by hints and clues, and only by those whom he himself wanted to hint to. And then, of course, the earthling who has already grown into the society and structure of the city will be suppressed, but within tolerable limits.

Like, you bring us tasty treats, you sell whatever we tell you to, but we shouldn't put on a collar and cage... because then everyone else who works with this lucky bastard won't miss out, and we'll have to appease them somehow. Actually, this is a golden dream, literally the ideal scenario for future events, which Ilya doesn't believe in, but will try to achieve anyway. A lone wolf on individual contracts, enjoying the patronage of several small and medium-sized factions, not forgetting to repay those who provide that patronage, but formally still independent, able to work on commission, deliver the desired results, and keep quiet about it. Of course, there are so many bottlenecks throughout the entire plan that it is essentially one continuous bottleneck, already as narrow as the eye of a needle, but it is possible to work with it.

So he will work, yes.

So Ilya did not refuse the invitation, chatted a little with Limp, drank a bottle of vodka with him, broke off the real wax seal with the emblem of the Drinking Workshop, and celebrated his return from the Ridge. The rest of the servants said a word or two, and even the widowed mistress of the house came in and wished them well. The woman was still somewhat lost, as if in a stupor after the death of her husband, but she remained the owner of the house and was under the protection of the Apiary Workshop, so everyone stood up, bowed their heads, and politely thanked her for her kind words.

Limp bowed particularly deeply, as did the servants, but Svyatik merely tilted his head. He was here as a guest, but he paid for his own board and lodging and was under no obligation to show more respect than a simple, kind guest who owed nothing to the lady of the house who had taken him in. This is another reason not to disregard the memory of the Twin when creating a character, because such small moments, which are not even etiquette but simply customs, permeate society from all sides. It is too easy to get caught up in trifles or even not get caught, but to be rude out of ignorance, seriously quarrelling with the person you are talking to.

Only after retiring to his room did he allow himself to breathe a little, bathe in a generously supplied barrel of warm water, ignore the rather thick hint from the not-so-pretty and, importantly, married maid about rubbing his back, and then lie down on the bed. Clean and almost non-prickly sheets are much more pleasant to the body than a hard rock, but not as soft and gentle as a snowdrift. And yet he falls asleep, allowing himself to sink into the darkness of dreams with a restless slumber, alert and ready at any moment to wake up with a swift attack, defence, or escape. Fortunately for all parties, no one disturbed his sleep until morning.

"The Anchor Chain, not far from the market square, there's a huge piece of a boat nailed to the roof with iron nails, you can't miss it." Limp, yawning sweetly and very sad because Svyatyk only had one bottle of good drink, explained the route quite clearly, even showing a map on his fingers. "That's where Sailor rules, that's why they gave the tavern such a funny name. Where's the sea here, eh? There's no sea, but there's an anchor chain hanging right on the wall in the main hall! He wastes so much good iron, an idiot, isn't?

Listening to the story of the sea wolf who had fled to the lands of the Ridge, who was not the captain of a private pirate ship but the first mate on a ship belonging to the coast guard, Ilya was thinking about something else entirely. No, the twists and turns of the undoubtedly hundred times imagined and thousand times rehashed story of Sailor who fled from an unjust trial were amusing, even somewhat inspiring, enough to make a two or three seasons of VR show. An unbroken fighter against corruption and smuggling, who accidentally saw too much, did not turn a blind eye to the trials of those in power, and is now paying the price at the edge of the world. Wow, what an image. Cast a woman in the lead role, preferably a pretty one, definitely from Asia, because in the last ten years the best series on this theme have been made by Asians, add a love story, a charismatic antagonist, and an open ending. It will turn out absolutely awesome, even if it goes into production right now.

But no, Ilya wasn't worried about selling his new idea to Solji, Valiant, or even the still-unsinkable Netflix, since they themselves had access to the Forum and unlimited supplies of top-quality drugs. He was preoccupied with thoughts of his own development, more than two dozen drops in a stone bowl, which needed to be used somehow. Initially, he planned to improve his Form and Shapeshifting altogether, but now he began to have doubts. He would be able to collect another twenty drops quickly if his development regime was not disrupted, so the two key class talents would not go anywhere.

But the bone he'd received by pure chance and FaFo's grace had really stirred his inner perfectionist. He wanted to gain enough strength to work on this bone quickly and finally acquire a proper weapon, one that would suit his second form and fully synergize with his build. But then he'd need to level up his Carver and then his Hunting Beast — one to carve the weapon, the other to be able to use it properly, integrating it with the Twin's fighting style. The only thing holding him back was that his second level of Carver wouldn't be enough to work with such a bone anyway, and for now, the Hunting Beast was far less necessary than his form. It wasn't too late to radically change his leveling plans, but it would require thinking, calculating, and tabulating, and all of this is much easier to accomplish with access to programs and grids on a computer than out in the wild.

So Ilya listened to Limp's chatter but didn't really pay attention, lost in his own thoughts and glad that his mask persona was so laconic. Nods and assent were all that was needed. And everyone was happy, and no one was offended. The Earthling didn't allow himself to relax in the city, so he made his way to the tavern already braced, his eyes darting around, prepared for anything. Pickpockets, seeing his scowling mug and not noticing the purse tucked under his belt, preferred to leave the redneck alone as he went about his business. The bouncer at the entrance to this rather respectable tavern merely gave Ilya a professionally grim look and pointed to the table where he was expected. And indeed, they were waiting, not the gang leader, but his second-in-command—Ilya knew the descriptions of both from Lomp, who had seen them many times before.

The guys carry all sorts of useful things for beekeepers, too; they mix many herbs into the bees' feed solution to make the honey richer and more beneficial. So it's no surprise that they approached him through this shop, and the shop, albeit formally, ensured that everything went smoothly. And it did, come to think of it! A rather broad, but not fat, man with a graying, closely cropped beard, a bushy mustache, a bulbous nose, and calm, dark-gray eyes greeted him politely, invited him to the table, offered him a drink, asked about the last raid, and, again, did everything right, with respect. This infuriated Ilya; it would have been better if they'd tried to cheat him and force him again, the bastards.

"I don't speak city slang very well, but I'll try to say it without any double meanings." After all, when the question was asked and put bluntly, a normal villager would have been satisfied and content, but the diver was just furious about the wasted time. "I understand what you want from me... but it's pointless. I swear you made a good offer. I would gladly accept it. It's just that I don't know how to walk with a crowd. All my life, I've been alone, or with my father, at most. If you needed a gatherer or a herbalist, then I would be useful. But I won't be a guide, I can't do it, not for the whole gang."

Formally, this is even true. They had their own gatherers, and the lads wouldn't have refused another one, skilled with herbs, but not defenceless at the same time. But they called Ilya specifically as a guide, one who knows the Ridge and knows how to walk along it. He could walk where the herbs they brought grew, but without ending up in someone's teeth. Medieval morons, yeah, right. These guys weren't morons at all; they immediately grasped the most important thing. This guy either knows secret routes, which is unlikely, since he's not that local, or he knows all kinds of secret tricks to avoid being found and eaten. And such tricks are quite possible and necessary to use, especially on long raids, where it is much smarter to avoid battle than to win at a great cost.

Mormyshka quickly understood this and tried to get the shot he needed, one that would take the squad where even they would not want to go unnecessarily. Their two previous guides had recently left the group together for valid reasons. One was cut to death in a drunken brawl, and the other, having remained his mother's last son with his father dead, his wife and brother widowed, was suddenly forced to find a simpler and noticeably safer job. They even agreed with Mormyshka himself that if one of them died, the other would take care of his family and the family of the deceased, and therefore would stop going on long raids. As a result, the gang is now looking for new guides for all vacancies so as not to stand idle, and they did not even disdain to contact Ilya.

What surprised the earthling even more was that his refusal was understood, accepted, and no one even got demonstratively angry at the redneck who had wasted a bunch of their time and eaten for free. No, no, they ended the conversation quite civilly, finished off the not-too-strong ale, ate the fresh sausages with sauerkraut, and then said goodbye in very warm terms. At the same time, they agreed in advance that Svyatik could fulfill a separate order, too small for the whole gang, but large enough for the gang to act as intermediaries for a small, pre-agreed percentage. Here, Ilya did not attempt to back out, being entirely satisfied with such a contact.

They parted ways, satisfied with each other, going about their business. Ilya wasn't interested in where his conversation partner was going, but he headed home, intending to focus on his own development. The dialogue was pleasant, despite the pointlessness of the conversation, and the time spent together allowed him to be sure that he knew exactly what he needed. No, he would not increase his Carving or combat skills for now; he simply did not need them at this moment. He thought about it and fell into a state of indecision, acting foolishly, like a small child who wants a new toy instead of using his brain. No, even now, after receiving the giant's bone, the original plan is still much more correct and acceptable.

With these new aspects, Ilya will be able to hunt even more advanced creatures without the slightest risk. He would seriously consider saving up for a double upgrade of related talents to the third step, but that won't work here; he needs to unlock the rest of his talents little by little, especially those that are key to his class. “Hungor and Cald,” for example, will have to be pumped up almost immediately after the current upgrade, as the chance of getting the desired aspect will be very high. And it's not worth delaying with the second root either, even if you first need to take at least the first divisions of the other talents to increase the chances of getting the necessary aspects.

Pretending to be slightly drunk and washing his face beforehand, Ilya locked himself in his room and sat down in a meditative position. Ideally, he should wait for a new opportunity to go out. Not only to increase his talents, but also to test them afterwards. But these talents could be fully tested later, whereas it was better to increase them before the end of the Cycle. Ilya couldn't even say what exactly was going on. He just had a hunch. It was not so much intuition as the experience of an adult who roughly understood some of the methods of the Ancients. The eighty-first anniversary of the Mechanism's arrival was getting closer and closer, after all.

No, the earthling was not one of those degenerates who wait for the Gates to open on Earth, and the beginning of the digital apocalypse, definitely not. And yet something is bound to happen, and it will clearly not be another round of the Lottery, which ended not so long ago, which is why a new one should not have started yet. It is worth being prepared for this, even if it seems silly. In any case, there will be no harm from his somewhat hasty desire to raise steps, so there is nothing to fear.

Once again, the vision of a frozen lake, which has recently become so familiar that it no longer evokes the thrill he felt at first. This is not surprising. Ordinary divers and even experienced divers see these images much less frequently. And yet, and yet this vision is different from the past ones, too many drops of golden blood spill over the edges of the bowl. These drops are too heavy, they behave too strangely, their effect is too different.

The drops do not simply cover the patterns, nor do they simply freeze on the amulets and decorations; they are absorbed into the stone itself, into the base of the altar and the bowl that forms it. The key talents of the class, both at once, undergo an evolution, and the rock seems to become somewhat different, while retaining the same shape. Or does it? Were its edges so sharp before? Did the ice on the surface hide such a black, unnaturally cruel, and terrifying stone? And did it seem to him, or for a moment did the rock of the altar become completely ghostly, transparent like glass or even a diamond? Transparent enough to see the bones stacked beneath it, the bones of the same creature whose bleached, horned skull lies at the bottom of the bowl, sprinkled with blood and gold with every drop of Essence?

No, it wasn't my imagination.

It wasn't an illusion that the bone, which had absorbed the scarlet gold, had become even whiter, and the horns on the skull had become even sharper. Then, drop by drop, the blood flowed through the rock, staining the remains of the skeleton hidden under the altar. The earthling's body ached as if he had caught a terrible cold, then he was overcome by an equally unbearable heat, which ended in a fraction of a second, leaving his sweaty and tired body gasping for air, compensating for the missed breath. Yes, a double increase, and moreover of two talents of five divisions, is incomparably stronger than a single one. This way, you can slightly or not so slightly damage yourself, although it is difficult. More than three talents at a time do not increase at all. Otherwise, it is easy to go into rebirth. Yes, such a death ultimately gives a very funny property, which can sometimes be very useful, but the risk of injury, primarily energy injury, as well as disruption of the connection with the Mechanism, prevents such a practice from becoming popular.

Looking inside, the diver easily found what he was looking for, satisfied to realize that he had become a little stronger. Or rather, not just a little, but noticeably stronger. The leap was not only quantitative, but also somewhat qualitative, so he would have to test himself for a long time to come. If the cycle did not end in the near future, he would even climb over the walls again, practice his transformation, and go a little further in terms of infiltrating Lazy's society. Well, and he would earn some drops, of course, because he had started all this infiltration for the sake of the drops, among other things.

And also so as not to go crazy without normal communication, of course.

Skills and Charms:

Shapeshift: 2/5 (Essence invested: 0/20)

Supreme power over his curse allows Wendigo to touch the Evil hidden within, to bring Hungor and Cald to their rightful place, becoming one with them. It changes the physical body, significantly enhancing physical, magical, and spiritual characteristics for the duration of use at the cost of the curse's extraordinarily strong pressure. The duration of the Wendigo's transformed state is limited by its reserves of strength and its own development, but it can be renewed or extended with fresh victims, their flesh, their pain, their everything. To activate, the Wendigo's Form talent must be present.

The strain on the body and aura during transformation is significantly reduced, physical characteristics in the human body are noticeably increased, control of the Wendigo's appearance is somewhat simplified, and the reserve costs for maintaining the transformed form are significantly reduced.

A Moment: craving its prey, dreaming of it, striving to devour its flesh as quickly as possible, down to the very last morsel, the Wendigo calls upon its ability to transform into something else with particular ferocity. This call, this desire, is so strong that it begins to ignore the boundaries set by familiar laws. Whether it be the boundaries of its own flesh or even time itself, it matters not to the one who knows Hunger. But as quickly as a human-like creature can become a hungry beast, just as quickly can the beast pretend to be human again. The transition between the two forms is accelerated by a very significant amount, even by orders of magnitude, but the faster the Wendigo strives to forget that he was once human, the more difficult it is for him to return.

To be fair, this aspect is taken by all users of the second form, starting with Shapeshifters, continuing with Possessed of all forms, and ending with carriers of other classes who have acquired the ability to transform themselves into something else. Moreover, they take it on the second division, where the chance of this aspect appearing is almost 100% for most classes. The fact that this aspect is one of those that allow you to take advantage of its stability, which is impossible for a simple diver, is just a nice bonus, nothing more. An addition that allows him to squeeze all three hundred percent of the benefit out of an already useful aspect.

Under normal circumstances, “Moment” allows you to take on a form more quickly and then return from it, which might seem like one of the weakest types of enhancement. That is, until you realize that almost a minute and a half of painful transformation, which in itself can be used as an extremely elaborate form of torture, has suddenly been reduced to a maximum of ten seconds, while the sensations have become even slightly more tolerable. And if you try hard and ask your allies to step back and not come near you, you can reduce this transformation to three to five seconds. As the talent develops further, this aspect, or rather the ability to use it, will intensify, up to the much-hyped and somewhat cinematic transformation of the Shapeshifter right in mid-jump.

Although this is, incidentally, idiotic, because when you jump, you remain vulnerable, which is why all normal shape-shifters and their ilk move on all four (or however many they have) limbs, even if they can change their appearance literally in an instant. Like Ilya, for example, even though he's still at the first level and has only taken the very first aspect. And there is no need to pump up the fourth step to try to knock out the “Chains” that strengthen control over the essence of the Form, thanks to which instant transformation finally goes from a huge risk to a dangerous routine. Only his Trait and the most popular aspect of all possible for a particular talent, nothing more.

A pure and happy smile blossoms on his face against his will as he rereads every line of the updated talent with his inner eye. With his bonuses, he can literally transform in a split second, back and forth! But it's always harder to become human again, because at that moment you've already completely given yourself over to your second form, and now you're trying to turn back. In such a situation, the mind has to endure almost triple the load. And the earthling doesn't give a shit about any of this, so much so that words cannot even describe it!

He would transform even faster. But for now, his body cannot withstand it. Not even his aura, because at this moment it is experiencing a static load that does not depend on the speed of circulation and is always the same for any period of transformation. No, it is the body that cannot withstand it; bones will crack, vessels and muscles will tear, and internal organs will fail, even despite the flesh being strengthened by cold. The talent itself also has limitations, and a completely instantaneous transformation would be closer to the fifth step; even then, it is not a certainty; perhaps it will be necessary to wait for the second stage. And yet Ilya is happy, because now his main weapon has finally become a real weapon that can be used at any moment, rather than in advance and on his own terms. If he had known how it would all turn out, he would have upgraded the skins even earlier, but at that time, he was not yet sure whether his guess about how the Trait worked would be correct.

And let it be, let it be, a hundred times let it be that other delicious aspects have passed by, let even a couple of them also benefit from his trait, let it be! He has already taken the most valuable thing he could, and some of the other aspects may well be available at a higher steps. Perhaps in a slightly different form and with a slightly different description, but accessible, and if not accessible, then interesting alternatives will be found.

No, seriously, what else could he choose? Yes, the same “Reflection” could save his life several times, but that's by no means guaranteed. Undoubtedly, this aspect allows you to freely transfer wounds from one form to another, or not to transfer those wounds at all. If you get your heart pierced in your Wendigo Form, you can immediately take human Form, drink some potions, and wait for regeneration. Yes, yes, the damaged body heals itself, gradually recovering, even if you don't summon that Form at all. This aspect is often used as a “first aid kit” for the injured second Form. Even if you are completely broken, but you managed to turn back into a human, then gradually everything will “grow back.” The main thing is not to transform until you have recovered; fortunately, a rough understanding of how the reflected form feels comes with the aspect.

The other options were even less suitable, especially "Intersection," which gradually began to stitch the real body and the Form, with the final power of the aspect being acquired gradually, with each new step on the talent scale. And if, upon reaching the second step, the gifted Wendigo simply becomes taller, stronger, leaner, and an inhuman essence begins to flash through the features of his face and body movements from under the camouflage talents, then by the end, the human and Wendigo Form merge, and the transformation ‘icon’ on the status sheet becomes locked and unavailable for use, just like the talent itself. There is nothing to transform into, because you are already yourself, and there is nowhere else to change your "self".

On the positive side, the costs of remaining in the altered Form decrease, until they disappear completely in the final stage, which simultaneously frees up a huge amount of reserves and concentration, and at the same time allows you to make full use of talents, aspects and relics, the side effect of which is a reduction in the time spent in the transformed state or even the blocking of the ability to change appearance for a certain period of time. This combination is very powerful and promising, but there is only one and a half perverts on Earth who are seriously trying to develop in this way, managing to survive somehow and even achieve their goals, and on top of that, there are a bunch of unsuccessful ones who have become out of sync.

The last pair represented his strongest talents in terms of personal performance, based on mental stability, but the first of them was also the most useless of all. "Prepayment" allowed one to experience the madness of Hunger in advance, to go mad in advance in a human body, so that later, in a transformed body, one could possess one's own consciousness, but in human form. And the more one dared to plunge into madness, the greater the result would be, up to the possibility of not experiencing any problems with transformation for several months or even years. But if you really go for years, you'll immediately get out of sync and spend all those years as a mad creature hunting people. Well, or a mad creature in a room with soft walls, if there's a community that will cover for you.

It won't work to cheat. You need not only to live through the madness in advance, but also not to succumb to it, otherwise the aspect will become useless and will have no effect. The choice is very specific and is usually only taken in communities where there are those very rooms with soft walls. It is practically useless for loners. And for Ilya, it is downright harmful. It takes up a free aspect slot without bringing any benefit at all.

This cohort also includes "Overflow," which was a rather rare aspect in general, especially in talents tied to other forms. This aspect opened up the possibility of spending one's strength on credit or accumulating it in reserve, doing nothing, and thus gaining a certain amount of energy to remain in Form. You wouldn't transform for several cycles, and then you could run around in your transformed form for a day before you started to weaken. The longer you held out and the more you accumulated, the harder it was to control yourself; the more you borrowed, the harder it was not to freeze yourself to the point of becoming not even a cold corpse, but simply a block of ice. No, it would be very useful, but his disguise would quickly lose at least half of its effectiveness. And the process of accumulating reserves is very complicated and time-consuming, especially at first.

Ilya made his choice and did not regret it in the slightest.

Nor did he regret his second, very successful choice.

Properties and Mutations:

Wendigo Form: 2/5 (Essence Invested: 0/20)

Even if someone possessed by Hunger remains barely distinguishable from a human being, this is only on the outside, while their inner essence, hidden beneath flesh and bones, changes radically. The true form of the child of Hungor and Cald is hidden behind a thin barrier of physical flesh, and given sufficient impetus, this form can manifest itself, superimposing itself on the familiar body. The proportions will change, the height will increase, the face will acquire different features, the spirit and magic will be distorted, becoming stronger, colder, harder, and more evil. The talent of Shapeshift is required for this to work.

The adopted form becomes noticeably taller, denser, stronger, and somewhat thinner; the sharpness of fangs and claws becomes unnatural. The effectiveness of all talents used in the Form increases significantly; the bones of the skeleton are significantly strengthened, and the Form gains the ability to imitate human speech to a limited extent.

Horns: a symbol of life and birth, consumption and growth, horns became part of the essence of a creature that accepted eternal Hunger, as blessed as it was cursed. Cursed and blessed to consume, to devour, to live, and to suffer. Concentrating the power and will of the Wendigo, the horns growing on its head, branched and sharp, become an extension of wild magic, storing additional magical powers, serving as a guide and resonator for any talents. There is no peace for those who see him once, walking with frost, walking with the rustle of leaves, hungry and horned, cursed and terrifying.

Another standard version of the aspect, which did not even place particular emphasis on mental stability, but this did not make the aspect any less useful. The horns not only opened up access to a whole host of later aspects that appear at other steps, but also serve as an extremely powerful amplifier. This aspect is only more powerful for transformation talents in the case of the Possessed or rare Shapeshifters with the Form of a Goat. But even though horns are almost mandatory and a status symbol for all kinds of demons, the Wendigo's modification of its combat form gives it only slightly less. And since the Wendigo itself is somewhat more powerful than demons in terms of pure ‘damage numbers,’ if you can say that, then the effect of the horns in its demonic form is in no way inferior. This is especially true for Ilya, who initially assembled an extremely powerful build for himself; the only thing more powerful would be to completely disregard human appearance and moral boundaries, yes.

Horns prolong the transformation, significantly strengthen all talents working in Form, and replace a specialised relic of the ‘guide’ subtype, tailored for a single user. Roughly speaking, Ilya will now have either a staff or a set of combat wands and magic sticks growing on his head, opening up very serious manipulations of the effects of any talents. Adjust the flight and shape of the Ice Breath? Easy, just practise! Accelerate and strengthen its freezing effect from a new aspect? A piece of cake! Want to further influence the Howl by directing it into a cone-shaped structure? That's possible too. Want to pour some of your power into the bones you're carving right as you carve them? Nothing is impossible. Want to reduce the amount of reserved magic that each Hide takes? No problem!

Without any one super-feature, the Horns have increased the diver's effectiveness so significantly that it's almost uncomfortable. First and foremost, Ilya correctly matched the previous aspects to other talents and can now use their strengths. Now, having attained the current status of Twin, he can confidently say that he is capable of facing the memorable trio of liquidators in direct combat. Not in a complex tactical scheme, where everything could go wrong at any moment, but by rushing at all three at once, even from an ambush, but without luring them into a stone labyrinth. Yes, the chances would still not be the best, but they would still be high enough to try and succeed.

First and foremost, thanks to the same legal cheat with Super-Trait, which allows you to use aspects to the absolute limit and a little beyond. The ability to instantly transform into another form, the ability to see through the Assassin's disguise with the Eye, and on top of that, the use of a Breath that freezes reality itself, which would gradually overwhelm even the Martyr's regeneration and his connection with the Executioner.

The other options were largely just as good, but, as always, a choice had to be made. Some lacked synergy with the planned build, some were too specific and only applicable in certain cases, and some had a third issue or all of the above. It's not that the choice was easy, but that's exactly why it's worth thinking through your build in advance, so you don't agonise over indecision and can simply choose what's right for you.

The same "Braids" also greatly strengthened Form, covering Wendigo's entire body with fairly thick fur, while also creating a sort of mane around his neck, only not a lion's. Enhanced defence and the ability to absorb magical blows, gradually shedding and burning away. Weak attacks are absorbed without the slightest harm, strong ones burn away part of the fur and only slightly damage it, while deadly ones are at least weakened, leaving a chance of survival. On top of everything else, bone amulets and charms can be woven into this fur, especially if you carve them yourself. This is a fairly popular path, bringing the Wendigo a little closer to the yeti, albeit not completely. Alas, such protection does not fit into a mobile fighting style, and the skin with it becomes not weaker, but even stronger, yet more expensive in terms of reserve costs. The choice of a caster or a specialist in clearing crowds of weak opponents, but not a lone hunter, alas.

No less interesting was the aspect with the image-name "Thinness," which was a way to take talent into the realm of urban infiltration and combat. With this aspect, Wendigo became very thin and slender, but at the same time, his thinness became closer to concepts than to mere thinness. The appearance gained the ability to thin out so much that it could squeeze through any crack between walls or under a door, getting into locked and protected rooms. At the same time, it was a kind of camouflage, albeit ‘wild,’ tied to conditions rather than magic. As long as the Wendigo does not break down doors and walls, as long as it sneaks around, it is more difficult to detect its signal spells as it slips through the thinnest crack. Well, if we are talking about relatively simple and inexpensive magical signalling systems or talents.

You arrived at night, did not disturb the guards, devoured the owner of the house, his wife, his beloved hunting dog, the cook, and the horse, and then left just as quietly. Yes, it is an extremely powerful aspect in terms of concept, and in direct combat, the ability to become thinner than a sheet of paper and let a blow pass by is very helpful. As with escape, because the pursuer cannot squeeze through the gaps between the bricks, he will have to break the wall, which means losing time. But still, this is a specific tool, which should only be chosen if you know exactly what you need and what you want. Ilya knew, but this aspect was not part of his desires.

Classic ‘Gluttony.’ If Ilya's memory serves him correctly, this aspect has a chance to appear in almost any Wendigo talent. The talent allowed for a very powerful, albeit temporary, enhancement of oneself by devouring flesh. It increased the degree of protection against enemies of the same type. If one of them was devoured. It replenished reserves, strengthened the effect of talents, increased regeneration, and provided many other ‘little things.’ The number of drops obtained from eating also increased dramatically. So much so that if Ilya chose ‘Gluttony,’ he would have to eat the entrails of his prey in Form to double or even triple the number of drops he received. But at the same time, this aspect increased his hunger and also began to weaken the Wendigo somewhat if he didn't eat for a really long time.

Not as much as full-fledged specialised talents such as ‘Insatiable Belly,’ ‘Cursed Feast,’ ‘Hole Inside,’ or many others, but it still took away the opportunity that was so useful for Ilya to not weaken from hunger, but only become stronger. Yes, the enhancing properties of the aspect would have given a lot, but they would also have closed many paths, including one of Ilya's planned options for advancing to the much-desired second level. If you want to take a step up, you need to prepare the foundation for that step in advance, rather than biting your elbows at the last moment. That's why Gluttony was scrapped, despite its wild synergy with the Trait — Ilya is still incapable of going crazy from gradually growing hunger and thirst to continue the feast.

The last aspect was a rather rare variant called ‘Giant,’ which was used on Earth almost exclusively in cinematic builds. This aspect caused the body to grow and become larger, increasing the vendigo with each new talent step, up to an average height of four and a half metres at the fifth talent division. Alas, the price here was not only madness, but also a VERY significant reduction in the duration of the form, as well as an equally VERY significant increase in the cost of maintaining the form in the active phase. In principle, this is a very serious aspect, and one that also provides the opportunity to take many other tasty enhancements in the future.

But not for a loner.

As soon as you waste your energy, the backlash will be so severe that it will make you sad and hurt, and a couple of rather aggressive old women with brooms will be able to knock Wendigo, who has been forcibly returned to human form, back down. Brooms, not meltas, because who would give simple old ladies firearms, or rather, pyromagic weapons made by the Flaming Armsmaster?
T.n. In Russian, broom sounds like metla, so play of words with the Melta gun.

So, Ilya bought “Horns” and “Moment”, and he decided that it was good.

"That's good," he even said out loud, either for himself or for Ryuk, who was surely watching and should have noticed the Earthman's enhancement. "And I'm damn good too."

He whispered the last sentence clearly for others to hear, quietly getting up and taking off his nightshirt, which had become just another shirt for him, simply a spare. It wasn't that he didn't care about the cold, but an ordinary man, no matter how rural he might be, still cared. And that meant he had to warm his frozen body. Otherwise, he could slip up. Even infiltration professionals regularly get caught up on such trifles.

Standing in the middle of the room, gathering his courage, taking several deep breaths, and measuring himself against the ceiling and walls, Ilya suddenly dove into himself, emerging as someone else. For a brief moment, the frenzied mixture of a Saint Bernard and a German Shepherd, embodying his Wendigo essence, swelled dramatically, becoming almost like a movie werewolf. Chains rang out, stretching to their limit, and an incredibly vicious, mournful howl filled the cage-safe-bunker, but that was all. As always, the Wendigo achieved nothing.

But Ilya shapeshifted.

The floor creaked softly under his noticeably heavier, lanky body, but it sounded loud to Ilya's ears. His left horn grazed the ceiling, adding another thirty-five centimetres to his height, and even without horns, he was now slightly taller and broader in his thin shoulders. The twisted, pale figure of the Wendigo in the dark room would easily have caused chronic diarrhea and stuttering in anyone who happened to be nearby, but there was no one nearby. Only Limp snored slightly anxiously below, and the cook, Verta, who was sleeping behind the wall, let out a loud fart. The aura of cold horror that enveloped the surrounding world during the diver's transformation flashed too quickly to be properly perceived. The process of taking on the form itself slightly distorted the surrounding reality with the strangeness of Hunger, but now, due to the rapidity of the transition, it was a brief and quiet squeak, rather than the annoying buzzing of a mosquito. If one were to draw analogies.

A moment later, the earthling was once again human, just as contorted and sprawled on the floor, but now gnashing his teeth in pain. The pain of his changing body did not lessen, but rather intensified due to the acceleration and the increased strain on his body, which simply could not withstand such a sudden change in form. There was a metallic taste of black blood in his mouth, and a couple of bones seemed to have cracked. Ah, no, it really didn't seem to crack, but it was still better not to use instant transformation without real necessity. Both times, he didn't scream, turning either into a howl (in his animal form) or a squeal (when humanised), only because his throat was seized by a spasm.

If it weren't for mental resilience, such an intense flow of pain would definitely have caused psychological trauma.

Or, at least, a strong reluctance to repeat such experiments without unnecessary need.

Although wait, the reluctance to repeat it had already awakened in him, sharply and powerfully, like a stomach ulcer in a lover of super-spicy Asian cuisine!

Ilya suddenly had a sharp and wistful desire to munch on something spicy, maybe even a salad, because it was all meat, meat, meat, and he might have liked the sauerkraut at the anchor tavern today. And to make it even better, he could ask for a salad made from magical plants and herbs, so that he could get a couple of drops from what he had eaten. He would get crumbs from the plants, compared to meat, but it was still eating, still satisfying his Hungor. For a moment, Ilya smiled sincerely at his dull thoughts, already managing to lie down in bed again. Well, yes, yes, that's why everyone in this city is in such a hurry to feed the not-so-nice and moderately charming Wendigo a couple of dozen kilograms of magical herbs. More likely, such herb owners will send a few more killers and thugs after him with obviously bad intentions.

Smiling, Ilya closed his eyes, already beginning to fall asleep.

Then he suddenly opened them, staring at the ceiling, and his expression became more and more thoughtful with every passing second, as if he had just come up with a brilliant plan. This mega-plan alone makes one question one's own adequacy, sanity, and intellectual development coefficient.

* * *

It was obvious that on that very night, the earthling, who had already managed to overload his body with two rapid transformations, did not go anywhere, preferring to sleep it off. By morning, he had regenerated most of the damage caused by his unfamiliarity with his new talent, just as he had done with his Eye. But the idea that had come into his head did not go away, and he thought about it carefully for some time. And the more Ilya thought about it, the more he liked it, even though it did not become any less crazy.

It would have been strange to rush off on another raid without spending or enjoying the fee he had already received, and he also wanted to spend all his money on supplies. He had already updated his travelling clothes, ordering sturdy ‘gentleman's’ boots with soft soles from a good shoemaker, through an acquaintance, and he also asked to look into alchemy with amulets. Just to look for now, but with the prospect of buying some items if they would hold them for him until he had the necessary amount.

Vozh, whom he met two days after his return, promptly and without delay paid him the fee for the herbs left in the cache. He also asked with great interest how to choose and equip such hiding places, listening silently to Svyatik's somewhat weakened slang, only grimacing slightly at particularly difficult moments. Apparently, the criminal genius realised that he had accidentally discovered a very good method of working around the guards, and the earthling even considered suggesting that he completely copy the earth's system of drug stashers, where the seller, the executor, and the buyer never see each other.

There was no digital network in Broken, at least not in this part of it, but there were amulets capable of transmitting signals or even direct messages. The only thing stopping him was that Chif would then definitely become a drug lord, which is why Ilya kept quiet, answering only what he was asked. Let this mini-man go into smuggling, since he's already involved in it anyway. His position and social status as a mobster require it, yes. Surely he knows how to get past the guards to pick up those very herbs in the hideouts.

Money was spent, equipment was upgraded, including weapons — a better cleaver, a set of knives, and several short darts. They even offered to buy a good composite bow and antlers, but for now, they lacked the money, and Ilya-Svyatik himself didn't carry a bow. He himself explained that it was easier to set a snare against a common beast, and a weak bow wouldn't do any good against a strong one. Like, his father's bow, as he claimed, had vanished with him, never to be found by Svyatik, who had quickly followed a trail that had quickly vanished.

He was actually telling the truth, about the uselessness of weak bows, not about his father, so his words and behavior didn't seem suspicious. He'd go for herbs, collecting money for a new bow, and then he could hunt animals, bringing back skins and offal, and meat, too. Around Lazy, killing animals wasn't forbidden, which is why many of the simpler gangs were known as hunters. There was little prestige, no danger, but the pay was quite good — just kill and gut herds of deer, yaks, musk oxen, and other purely herbivorous, non-magical game. For a hunter unwilling to take risks, getting a job was the best option, but it also came with its own challenges.

De facto, the hunters have long since become a separate caste, and it is difficult to join their ranks from the outside. The fact that true adventurers despise them does not bother the lads. They were directly protected by the ruler of Lazy. So during the rutting season, when herds of herbivores rush through the Ridge and past the hunting grounds near Lazy, even beggars and vagrants get their fill of meat. And woe to those who try to trespass on someone else's clearing or intercept a prized herd of slightly magical but harmless animals — they will be beaten to a pulp. If not in the wastelands, then upon returning to the city, they will not wake up in the morning. But the rest of the time, hunting solitary animals was perfectly permissible and unhindered, especially if you were doing it for yourself and your small community, and not for sale.

The earthling absorbed all these rumours, paid for drinks, listened to stories, and even paid a minstrel singer to sing something lively and cheerful. The girl, though more of a woman, clearly thought she was being paid for something else, torn between greed, the desire to take the money and ‘not give,’ fears of losing teeth for such a scam, and a banal fear of the sullen and slightly bearded redneck. Farmers, as everyone knows, can have sex with sheep, cows, and wild deer, and then pass on shameful diseases to decent girls. Yes, yes, these are not even complete fabrications, if you come to that.

Ilya was not bothered by the emotional turmoil of the entertainment worker, who sang quite well and accompanied herself on some stringed instrument. He was not offended by her opinion of the villagers, although he was sure that she would have given herself to a decent townsperson for free, let alone for good money. He diligently played his role. He gathered rumours and found what he needed among them. It was difficult to lead his interlocutor to the line of conversation he wanted with his suggestive questions, but he managed it and was able to find out a little about the individual he was interested in.

After a double fiasco with Svyatyk, Mutuzy fell behind, but not because he forgave him, no. It was simply that the man had suddenly found himself on the rise, having managed to hustle and invest wisely in a very profitable vegetable business. Those very herb beds deep in the Ridge not only grew herbs. There were also vegetable gardens where seemingly ordinary carrots, onions, rutabagas, and so on grew. But they only seemed ordinary, as they were special varieties that absorbed energy from the surrounding world. Not exactly alchemical reagents, but something closer to very powerful vitamin supplements.

For gifted mothers who want to give birth to a strong child and not weaken during childbirth, for warriors recovering from injuries who already drink alchemy to the maximum extent possible but want to speed up their recovery a little more and not die from intoxication, and for simply rich jerks who want to live long and well, they consume extremely beneficial substances. Proper nutrition, replenishment of strength, and the creation of a foundation for good, even unnaturally good health — that is why they make and cultivate such gardens.

The Ridge is extremely inhospitable, especially for farming. Winter here lasts eight months or even longer by earthly standards, or six months out of nine according to the Broken Calendar. The frosts are severe, and instead of soil, there are almost only rocks. And yet, there is power in the air here, so even ordinary grains and other crops grow like yeast. Sometimes, in the months when the cold recedes, people manage to harvest up to three crops, if they have amulets and a minimum knowledge of pure or theurgical rituals.

Super vegetables are somewhat different from ordinary crops, so they are allowed to ripen even under the snow and are only harvested when they are fully mature. That is why Mutuzy's salad is clearly from the garden, even though the main harvest was gathered long ago. And it needs to be sold quickly, before the quality of the produce starts to decline and before it is taken away for free. Or rather, before they ask nicely to give it away, covering at most part of the damage, and that's it.

Usually, this is all extremely secretive business. Most of this product is purchased exclusively by temples and the aristocracy, as only they can afford to consume such food on a regular basis. And for the full effect, it has to be regular, damn it, not just once a year to treat yourself! But Mutuzy was lucky in that one of his customers abruptly cancelled his order, moving his entire noble household from Lazy to the capital, so he saw no reason to spend money on the last batch of products. The food remained, and Mutuzy bought it, investing heavily in the business and now hoping to sell it to someone else, making a little profit on top and, most importantly, reaching such buyers.

This is literally a ticket out of the ranks of ordinary herb buyers, of whom there are at least a dozen decent ones in the city, not counting individual enthusiasts without a reputation and large turnover! A ticket to connections with the real top brass, to new orders and full payment, without resellers and intermediaries. It's clear that he has temporarily forgotten about Svyatyk, as these are literally fateful days for him. Revenge can be postponed until later, especially since, as the diver suspects, with his new connections, Mutuzy will be able to ask for Ilya to be buried quite legally and officially. They would find something to pin on him, throw him in jail, and kill him in his cell. It wouldn't even be very expensive with good connections if it were just a simple redneck.

The reckless plan in Ilya's head took shape with every minute of these reflections, forcing him to keep a poker face rather than grin maliciously in anticipation. He really wanted to kill the bastard directly, but he wouldn't risk it. Right now, only a very lazy and preferably deaf person in the city is unaware of the conflict between Mutuzy and the ‘chicky redneck who killed the Breather with smoked ham.’ If the merchant died mysteriously, even an idiot would think to ask who stood to gain from it. The probability that he would be asked among all the profiteers was too high. It is never worth overestimating the natives, but underestimating them is like death. The Seekers of any kind are no worse at investigating cases than earthly law enforcement officers, even if their skills are honed to local specifics.

Testing the Lurking Evil against a specialist, having already attracted his attention and being under suspicion? Reluctant, very reluctant. It would be better to wait six months, or at least three or four standard cycles, but during this time, the offended swindler could well cause Ilya problems. So, either an accident needs to be staged so that murder is not considered one of the versions, or murder needs to be avoided altogether. A simple, mysterious disappearance in the style of earthly criminals won't work here; the rituals of checking the life of a specific target will get in the way.

And how to deal with such a detractor so that he can't do a damn thing? Just ruin him, and at the same time strengthen yourself — a drop or two of Essence from a whole batch of super-vegetables can fill the bottomless belly of a Wendigo. It would be better if it were meat from special animals, but it was still not bad. The main thing was not to screw up in the process of turning the plan into reality. And here, in order to carry out his daring plan, Ilya first needed a rope, soap, and a pot.

* * *

A rope greased with soap made from fat is neatly coiled in the middle of the diver's room, the door is firmly propped open with a chair, and everyone knows that Svyatyk has a headache from bad booze and has decided to sleep, so it's best not to wake him up, or he'll punch you in the forehead. In the middle of the improvised circle stands a pot filled with ordinary well water, and around the pot are laid out bone plates inscribed with various symbols of a dead theurgical language, one of those that Ilya is fluent in. The diver himself silently channels his power into the rope, which is covered with a barely discernible amber glow, then gives his radiance to the rapidly decaying bones.

Ilya was a bit of a pity about wasting the young Sheller's remaining plates. He was seriously considering using them to connect with one of the local carvers. Not to find work, but rather to buy more of the simplest bone material from them, which wouldn't cost him anything. However, the ritual seemed significantly more important, so plans to contact another workshop had to be put on hold.

Meanwhile, the water in the pot, made of not very high-quality clay, also began to glow amber, evaporating and leaving less and less liquid. In the end, there was barely a sip of a very thick mass resembling boiling amber. And with one movement, the earthling put this mass into a small jar and immediately closed it with a cork made of beeswax heated over a candle. The quickly frayed rope was thrown into the corner next to the previous piece, and the pot, unable to withstand the tension, crumbled not even into shards, but into clay crumbs. The container for the strange non-amber was placed near the bed, right next to the previous two.

The pot was enough for all three rituals, even though by the end, Ilya was thinking about how he would scrub the amber stain off the boards and how he would then wash off the smell of meadow flowers. Although, okay, he wouldn't have let the smell develop; he would have interrupted the ‘'pure’’ ritual as soon as he realised he couldn't pull it off. But he did pull it off, even leaving a couple of feet of rope unused, but he used up all the bones to the very end. However, he had no doubt that the bones would be enough for all three charges; they were much more magical than rope, soap, or a pot. It was just that these three parts of the ritual were its main symbols, while the marks on the bones were only a guiding outline.

Tap.

Oh, this is unexpected! It is quite surprising and equally pleasant, as he did not anticipate it. The essence accumulation coefficient from pure rituals is very low for him, as he is of the wrong class and build. I mean, the initial coefficient, without taking into account the increase from the Trait, but if you multiply zero by a hundred, you still get zero. Fortunately, the earthling turned out to be not a complete zero, and the bonus drop of Essence was not superfluous for him at all.

It is a pity that the ritual, despite its simplicity, requires so much effort and can only be performed by one gifted individual, no more than once every twenty-seven cycles. Otherwise, it would make sense to engage in the creation of such non-amber continuously. However, nothing prevents him from practising other pure rituals, since he knows quite a few of them, simple and sometimes even useful. Alas, most of them require much more specific reagents, longer and noisier ceremonies, as well as time, often even an unreasonable amount of time.

And yet, it's still good! Getting a drop of essence where you least expect it is a pleasant addition, especially if his plan works.

And if it doesn’t work, then at least he will get a consolation prize.

"The main thing is not to break it," muttered the tired and slightly worn-out earthling under his breath, who put at least a quarter of his strength into each of the rituals, compensating for his speed, reliability, and lack of a number of ritual talents at the cost of enormous overspending. "It would be very disappointing."

In fact, these potions will not harm gifted individuals, except those who are particularly vulnerable to alchemical effects, but Ilya is not preparing to confront gifted individuals. These primitive alchemical gas bombs, which are not even lethal, will suffice for a visit to Mutuzy. Alas, they are not classic sleeping bombs either. He knows suitable pure rituals, but they are either costly, difficult to perform, or tied to the location or time of execution.

As soon as the vessel breaks, colourless smoke begins to pour out of it, causing hallucinations, bowel and bladder incontinence, and general weakness. You can only die from this junk if you fall badly or have a terribly weak and sickly body, but it will knock one out for a long time. And you don't have to worry about witnesses after such a greeting, because seeing a Wendigo in the night will be the most normal part of a sick delirium caused by gas.

Ilya gathered the rubbish and the remains of the ritual into a bag to throw away later, and then lay down to sleep, since there was nothing else to do anyway. Tonight he had planned a walk, entertainment, and a fancy dinner, only without a restaurant; he would cook for himself. Woe to those who dare to stand in his way! Although, no, what woe? Had he inhaled his own ritual alchemical compounds, that he was spouting such nonsense, even if only in his mind? No woe, damn it! Let no one stand in his way or cross his path!

Surprisingly, he didn't meet anyone that night, and not only because he constantly used the Eye to avoid any company. It was simply the weather that came to the rescue again, with a new snowstorm that was so strong this time that it completely trapped all the idle good people and night owls under the roofs of their houses. Or under the snow, if they did not manage to get home or if they did not have a home at all. Usually, the city is protected from the blizzard front by ritual fields, but now the strongest storm of the winter had struck, simply overwhelming this protection. Well, Ilya could only thank FaFo and the local weather at once, because this phenomenon made his life much easier. It was suspiciously easy, so suspicious that you involuntarily sense a trick and clench your arse, anticipating the penetration of bitch-life, which has already put on a spiked strap-on.

He easily found Mutuzy's shop, which was combined with a warehouse, living quarters, and a small sorting area where the herbs were sorted, separating the grains from the chaff. He did not forget the way, and for Wendigo, the storm only made orientation easier. Then, as usual, he stripped naked, leaving his clothes in another snowdrift, taking with him only three containers — one in each hand and the third in his teeth — as well as a belt with primitive and, for the most part, homemade tools. In an instant, he was on the roof, right in front of a closed attic window, which was even covered with some kind of simple signal spell. Placing his load next to him, he breathed barely perceptibly, just a little; such an exhalation would not even harm the human body, or rather, it would harm it less than the blizzard around him.

And yet, the Breath was enough to outline the threads of the signal spells, and then force them to freeze, freeze, and stop sending signals. With a more advanced system, this would not have worked, as the signal is constant, and an alarm is raised when it is interrupted or simply when the signature changes. But Mutuzy was greedy, hoping for the bolt that blocked this passage. Ilya pried the bolt open with an ordinary knife, inserting the blade into a fairly wide gap.

He had hardly practised his hacking skills since completing the training course, but his memory of how to do it, combined with Twin's dexterity and coordination, was enough to succeed. Sliding inside, Ilya walks quietly and almost silently, carefully avoiding small debris and boxes of junk standing in his way. The house of a successful merchant, who is often paid in kind or with whatever is available, is full of all sorts of things, as if it were a pawn shop, not a modern one with neat storage boxes, but a movie one from the early to mid-twenty-first century.

Another locked door, but now without any alarms, or perhaps Ilya simply didn't notice them, which was unlikely. He had to use lock picks, and then he went out into the open. Inside the house, the doors were unlocked, and the only guard on duty was leaning his cheek against a crack in the door, trying to refresh himself. The stove was stoked so well that it felt like being in the tropics, so the tired man — his acquaintance from that visit, by the way — dreamed of the much-desired coolness. Ilya stepped back, arranged the containers in their places, and breathed a little cold air on them to remove all traces and aural marks. Well, not all of them, but the ones that would be easiest to detect. Again, even in the process of creating the potion, he hardly touched these things, leaving no informational traces on them, minimising them.

After Ice Breath, he carefully pierces the wax seals with a bone needle, waiting for the faint scent of the potion to appear. Everything in this house smells of herbs, every board, so how can you smell the faint note of a new aroma, especially if you are not looking for it deliberately? Ilya waits for about twenty minutes, but when he passes the guard, the latter is already staring at the ceiling, his back arched, as if looking at the starry heavens — the effect is exactly the same as that of particularly crappy glitter, and it even brings a wave of nostalgia for the welfare hoods of the urban agglomeration, damn it!

The man completely ignores his nocturnal guest, quietly and peacefully shitting himself with a loud accompaniment of gas, which in itself is psychological damage. Especially for Wendigo's sense of smell! Apologies are not enough here; moral compensation must be taken at one's discretion. Yawning widely, the earthling grabbed the door of the second warehouse, which was locked after all and even had three alarm wires on it, one of which led to a primitive trap. Judging by the taste of energy he could sense through his Veil and Mystery, the thief should be, as the forum users say, ‘fucking electrocuted.’ Not with electricity, but with a psychic shock that plunges him into delusional dreams and deprives him of consciousness.

Why did Ilya go in there then? The first storage room for herbs was full of herbs, not vegetables, and Ilya didn't even go in there or open the door; his logic and sense of smell were enough. Even if he didn't have a sense of smell, it would be difficult to ignore the fact that the door was protected by a single alarm and there were no traps there. You can immediately tell where the most valuable items are hidden, can't you?

After freezing the threads and picking the lock, a naked cannibal man who had sneaked into a stranger's house on a dark night — somehow Ilya doesn't like this verbal image at all, it feels wrong — found himself in the holy of holies of this house. There weren't that many vegetables, maybe a ton and a half at most, and each individual non-carrot of an aubergine hue, reddish cabbage head or non-potato root vegetable lay in its own stand so as not to rot or lose its properties. Throwing aside his belt and set of lock picks, the earthling concentrates and, relatively slowly, in about ten seconds, transforms into Wendigo. This time, he didn't even hit the ceiling with his horns! Probably because the ceilings in the warehouse are higher than in the living quarters.

Picking up the first head of cabbage, which is the size of a football, Wendigo opens his mouth as wide as possible and begins to munch, destroying the product in two bites, for which they would have paid silver. It is quite possible that silver would be paid for a portion of food with such an ingredient, and not for the whole head — neither Ilya nor his Twin knew the exact prices, as these matters are too far removed from the life of a simple, untalented townsman. But inside, Wendigo began to throw a tantrum because he was again being forced to eat some inedible crap, but they wouldn't give him meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat -meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat-meat, suddenly calmed down.

Judging by vague sensations, it was some kind of double deception on the part of Ilya's human side. It seemed to be vegetables, not the fresh, steaming flesh of a freshly torn victim, but at the same time, Wendigo felt satiated. And he caught a blue screen from it, like the odious and forever remembered by humans black line of the twenty-eighth version of Windows. The diver does not wait for his dark side to sort out his feelings, grabbing a second and then a third portion, not disdaining the rest of the vegetables, chewing them like welfare folks chew tasteless but damn healthy free nutritional paste. It must be admitted that he got carried away, especially after the images in his mind showed him the first and much-desired drop of Essence falling along the snow-white bones to the bottom of the bowl.

Tap.

Of course, the rate at which the drops were obtained was not particularly high; if everything continues at the same pace, he will earn a maximum of five, but more likely four drops from the Mechanism. On the other hand, he's not risking much right now, taking revenge on the native who owes him, plunging the Wendigo entity into the deepest cognitive dissonance, and earning drops out of thin air, for fuck's sake! Cabbage followed carrots and pseudo-potatoes, his consciousness barely dwelling on the amount he was devouring, the shelves rapidly emptying, but the reward for these culinary sufferings also came.

Tap.

Tap.

For the first time in Twin's life, the diver feels not satiety, no, he is incapable of feeling it at all, but a slight feeling of fullness. Even his thin stomach, which was almost stuck to his spine, has become flat, but no longer dystrophic! He must definitely screenshot an image of himself on the Forum. If he ever gets to tell someone this story, he is guaranteed to win the ‘funniest moment of the cycle’ award. Or, at the very least, he will be among the top five nominees.

Tap.

There were only a few vegetables left on the shelves, about five non-carrots, the colour of gangrenous aubergines, when the earthling realised that he had become quite complacent and relaxed. He had become too absorbed in his own thoughts, in the absurdity of the situation, where a Wendigo was breaking into a human's house to eat their vegetable supply. He heard the door creak, instantly turning and ducking, causing the heavy crossbow bolt to fly past him. However, it would have missed anyway, because at the last moment before firing, the shooter flinched when he saw who he was shooting at. Mutuzy, turning deathly pale, let out a half-choked squeak and stepped back, but missed the open door, bumping his back against the wall and sliding down it.

Still, he was an experienced resident of the Ridge, having been an adventurer before settling down, so he understood better than anyone else how dangerous it was to come face to face with a Wendigo. Ilya instantly assessed the situation in his head, seeing it as if it were real. The merchant had a primitive amulet against poisons and other things that affect humans, which he never takes off, even in his sleep. Dressed only in a nightshirt, the man was flashing not only his muscles, but also this amulet, which was almost discharged, as its light was flickering like an incandescent bulb from a technology museum.

Mutuzy wakes up, realizes that the air is poisoned, and that there is no point in calling for help in such a blizzard, grabs the crossbow from under the bed (or wherever he keeps it), and then shows that he is not a timid asshole. There are many valuable things in his house, but he immediately understands where the thieves would go. He's probably just greedy, not fully awake, or his amulet didn't block all the hallucinogenic fumes. Because one man with a powerful and reinforced crossbow, a short blade on his belt over his nightshirt, and a string of combat amulets, one of which is responsible for suppressing the sound of footsteps, creaking floorboards, and his own breathing in his fist... No, he wasn't greedy. It might have been enough to win over a squad of ungifted thieves who weren't waiting for an ambush if he had struck them in the back.

Only instead of thieves, he met what he met.

Ilya stood up to his full height, grabbed and hid the belt that had been left behind in his palm, straightened up, and almost touched the ceiling with his horns. He was even a little afraid that they might leave scratches on the not particularly sturdy wood with their sharp ends. Then he took the last carrot with his unnaturally long fingers, slightly cutting it with his renewed claws, and then in one step found himself next to the deathly pale merchant. The man wasn't just pale, he was literally one step away from a heart attack and a massive stroke, but somehow he was still holding on, only squeaking hoarsely and barely audibly in horror. He didn't even think about reaching for his blade, recharging his amulet, or even activating his combat amulets, realizing the futility of such an attempt. With a deceptively slow movement, the diver throws the last vegetable into his mouth, instantly destroying it, and then leans toward his victim, coming face to face with him.

If the creature's mug can be called a face, of course.

A hoarse, cold breath that chills to the bone leaves frost on the eyebrows of Mutuzy, who is bidding farewell to life, but at the same time, his exhalation carries no stench, no foul odor, no smell at all, as if the smells too have frozen in this breath. Grinning, showing off his predatory rows of sharp teeth, only incisors and canines designed to tear and tear flesh, Ilya squeezes just five short words out of his throat. This feat is not easy for him, despite the fact that after his double transformation, he can actually imitate human speech — he is trying it for the first time, after all, and lacks practice.

"No one will believe you." That is probably what the cold would say, what the hungry plague that came to the land of men would say, leaving behind only dead earth covered with snowdrifts over human bodies.

Without waiting for an answer, Ilya walks past, crouching and squeezing through the doorway, carefully closing the door behind him. As soon as he reached the end of the corridor, past the guard who had defecated himself, already lying down and now waving one arm as if he were swimming somewhere, a shrill laugh rang out from behind the door of the empty warehouse. One, two, three, and then it turned into an explosion of incredibly insane laughter, which a moment later was replaced by a scream of horror, mournful crying, and then laughter again.

Well, if Mutuzy goes crazy from what he saw, then everything is just fine, but even if that's not the case, no one will really believe him. Especially considering the almost depleted charge in the amulet, which at any moment will release a little “wild, exhilarating amber, carrying a storm of feelings and fantasies” into the bastard's breath, even in its simplest form. Higher forms of this Amber would knock down another quartet or resurrect them if a healing reagent were used. But Mutuzy? Even if he tried to tell someone what he saw, even if someone believed him, they would still come to the only correct conclusion upon verification. The man first took a small dose of the drug and saw a very clear hallucination, and then, when the amulet finally died, he fell completely into his visions.

He's imagining a vegetable-stealing wendigo, damn it.

Who does he think these respectable guards and creditors are?

Screams, interspersed with laughter, reach Ilya's sensitive ear even after he returns to human form, but by the time he climbs back out through that same attic window, the laughter abruptly stops, and the sound of a body falling can be heard. And an even louder sound, purely toilet-like, indicates that the amulet has died, and the venerable herbalist will be witnessing nothing but hilarious scenes until morning. All that remained was to wish him luck and the soft walls of the local madhouse, which Ilya did, emerging into the snowstorm. Although, wait, the mental hospitals hardly invented this... but even better luck to Mutuzy in his madness; perhaps he'll die on his own, without needing assistance.

Once outside, he additionally enveloped himself in a stream of Ice Breath to reduce his energy and aura imprint. He spent much more effort finding the snowdrift where he had left his belongings, but he managed. He also managed to return to his room unnoticed, slipping through a window that had been deliberately left closed but not locked. Before going to bed and falling asleep with a completely satisfied expression on his face, he forced himself to use his superhuman strength and hammer the borrowed nail back into its original place, straightening it properly first.

He dreamed of damn Ryuk, staring at a puddle on the table that looked like a mixture of ink and mercury. The old jerk replayed the scene over and over again, with Ilya's single phrase, trying to keep a straight face, but he was doubled over with laughter, which made him burst into completely idiotic giggles, but then he would take on a stern and uncompromising look again. Ilya is still thinking through a lazy thought-guess: it seems that he is being spied on by the “Drop of Contemplation,” which, in the third step, has the aspect of “Ephemerality,” because it is very characteristic of the side effect of the contact-marker flowing into a prophetic dream due to the general deepening of work with conceptual connections.

He even seems to know how to knock out the synchronization of such a talented mark, albeit with a lot of hassle, but he knows. The main thing is to check everything a hundred times when he returns to Earth, but now it's definitely time to say good night.

* * *

All divers on Earth, as well as those simply studying at courses or universities, are diligently taught to avoid what is called the ‘guilty mentality.’ This is the feeling that causes a person who has committed a crime to agonise, worry, and dwell on their mistakes, whether real or imagined, and then do something foolish. For example, they might return to the scene of the crime or try to make up a nice story during questioning, instead of just saying, ‘I didn't see anything, I don't know, I don't remember.’ Such courses are only held for trustworthy citizens; those who have been convicted or are on probation, especially those who have been charged or marked as suspects, are not allowed to attend, which is logical — there is no point in teaching potential criminals how to hide from the law more effectively.

Ilya was not unreliable, so he was admitted and fully absorbed what the course taught, much of which he already knew. His turbulent youth, Baldie, Zvon, Kalich, and other comrades shared some of their worldly wisdom. The rest was done by banal logic and a cool head. So when he woke up from his sleep, the diver was not worried, did not rush to find out what had happened to Mutuzy, and did not show any interest in the subject. Sooner or later, the opportunity to gather rumours would present itself, and he just had to wait for that opportunity. It was desirable not to attract the attention of the guards or simply those around him to another Rodion Raskolnikov.

Roughly speaking, all the course's teachings could be reduced to the simplest paradigm of action: commit crimes only after thorough preparation, and if you failed to do so but had to commit them anyway, don't panic and behave naturally. Of course, this is just rhetoric, because the whole point is to learn to be natural in such circumstances, which can only be achieved through hard work, practising acting techniques, and banal self-control psychotechniques. This is exactly what Ilya did in the course, so he didn't give himself away.

The problem was that he didn't need to, because the city as a whole and all types of guards, both secret and visible, couldn't care less about some Mutuzy. He remembers thinking how lucky he was with this blizzard, which hid him from any possible accidental witnesses and passers-by. Even then, it occurred to him that such weather was probably quite suitable for all sorts of secret and dirty deeds. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who thought so, because today, from early morning, the guards have been running through the snow-covered streets as if they had been pumped in the backside with a bucket of turpentine. The simple-minded and the gifted are running, the commoners and the nobles are running, the adventurers and the guild members are running, everyone is running. It feels as if the Dead were to rise now, they too would start running, but that's not certain.

What is characteristic is that no one could say for sure why they were running and what exactly had happened there. Ilya's drinking companions, who had gone to get a little ‘drunk’ in that very anchor tavern, either honestly said that they knew nothing, or just as honestly made up such tall tales that it was even funny. Especially the version that the city governor's beloved wife had usurped power, locked her husband in a dungeon, and was now throwing horribly debauched orgies in the palace, with the guards looking for handsome young men to drag them there. Because there aren't enough of their own, there are too many loose aristocratic women for one man, you understand.

Ilya did not laugh, with great difficulty, more out of sympathy for the appearance of the young man who had given this version, which suited the name Ugly Bastard much more than the earthly version. An inimitable copy and a pitiful original, nothing else.

Other versions also retained their fantastical nature, but at least they were not so absurd. Although that man, who claimed that his nephew worked at the gate guard, secretly told him that some creatures had damaged the ritual blocks that protected the city from blizzards. So that all the people would freeze to death and be sacrificed to the frost creatures. Nonsense, of course, although it was all too easy to believe that the favourable weather had been arranged deliberately, because it was a perfectly logical move.

Regarding the main incident, it was possible to ascertain some general details, mainly from a guard who burst into the tavern, exhausted and very angry, threw a handful of coins on the table, and demanded beer as quickly as possible... and then remembered all the Dead and asked not for beer, but for kvass, cold, and bread with sausages. And not just for himself, but for the whole half-dozen who followed him in. Judging by their sweaty faces, they were really hot, despite the frosty weather. While the guards devoured their food and drink like hungry beasts, they still managed to find out a little information about what had happened.

Well, frankly speaking, very little.

It turns out that while everyone was asleep or shitting, some daring people ambushed one of the noble estates, which in itself is quite an adventure, because it doesn't happen every day. But then, apparently, some ‘utterly fucked-up mess’ happened, because the venerable and highly respected City Governor himself threw his advisor out of the window of his private palace, which was conveniently located next to the magistrate's office. It's not even a secret, because a bunch of people saw it. A bunch of people are now getting a good thrashing from that very advisor, who, being gifted, survived the fall, took the deformed breakfast tray off his head, and began to issue orders and demands.

And of course, he shared the beatings. Why should he be the only one who has to endure them all?

Ilya sank deep into his thoughts, trying to understand what was happening and what threat it posed to him, and then he almost somersaulted over his head, exhaling a stream of Cald in front of him and transforming into a Wendigo. Why? Try not to panic if the liquid in your mug of delicious, strong ale suddenly swirls into a vortex, turning dark as ink, and from there comes a barely audible voice, audible only to your ear and no one else's, saying, ‘Come to yourself.’ Even the most reserved person would at least swear, but Ilya restrained himself. He restrained himself with iron willpower, no less.

//"Well, that's great, wonderful even! He even drew a door to my damn room! A taxi delivery service, so the respected diver doesn't have to walk!"

Irritated thoughts did not prevent Ilya from quickly finishing his lunch-breakfast and heading back, pushing through the snowstorm that had subsided inside the city, because the weather protection inside the walls had clearly been strengthened many times over. He had already managed to enter the house that had taken him in, but froze on the stairs, right in the middle of a step. He froze, of course, not of his own volition, but because another dive cycle had ended. Forty-seven days, a record so far, although not too long, falling short of the three-year record.

In a moment, he is back in that cosy void between here and there, between Earth and Broken, anticipating his imminent reunion with the familiar comforts of civilisation. Five drops for a normal shower, and the same for a good dinner with lots of spices and flavour enhancers! Just one drop for access to a toilet with a heated seat — he doesn't suffer from its absence due to the specifics of his build, but purely from a moral point of view, he misses it a little.

The Cycle in the Broken World is complete, and the Diver has been returned to his native world!

Deserved drops of Essence: 32

Essence drops brought: 32

The Mechanism has noted the outstanding effectiveness of the Diver among his peers on the Steps!

An additional reward has been received: a two small one-time Gift of the Great Mechanism!

The gift will become available to the Diver when they dive into the next Cycle!

Awaken, Diver, for you are home again!

Thirty-two drops is a truly legendary result by any standards, but Ilya reacts with ridiculous indifference. He will get more, just not today, even though the result is really good. After all, at the end of this cycle, the earthling received the highest number of drops for the entire time he spent in Broken. Yes, in the first cycle, his reward was doubled, but, to be fair, that cycle was many times more difficult than this one, with opponents that were much more dangerous and deadly. At the same time, now, he chose his enemies and defeated them without the slightest effort. He reduced earning drops to a routine, which was what he originally wanted and strived for.

He wishes all cycles go exactly like this, yes.

Stretching his whole body with pleasure, the diver rolls out of bed, yawning widely and eager to make himself some kind of breakfast. His work is still waiting for him, but he has time for a little rest. As usual, he doesn't turn on the Forum or the news, wanting to breathe in the earth's air calmly, rather than immediately turning to urgent matters and heavy thoughts. And yet, the Broken World finds him, with a quiet trill from the speaker, playing the received signal with an unobtrusive melody.

Ilya set up this reminder with an alarm button so that he could track comments from Crocodile himself, who is KroKroKroKodYYl, damn. And if this person suddenly decided to write to him literally twenty-nine minutes after the end of the dive, then something was clearly important. Promising himself to find the diver and kill him in Broken if he just decided to say hello, Ilya opened the Forum and immediately went to the right topic through the saved window. It must be admitted that what he read really surprised him and made his eyes pop out, almost choking on his vitamin-enriched sweet soda.

KroKroKroKodYYl [OP], [confirmed diver], [cold-blooded and charming]: Look, FullofRegrets, but I'm asking you as a friend, just to be honest, honestly, I swear on my pinky fingers, fuck. So, you weren't sitting in the dungeon of some cool house with very deep basements, were you? No, right? Because I had a fucking FUCKING FUCKING RAGE very awkward moment recently. And now I feel lost, distracted, tired, and FUCKING READY TO TEAR THE HEAD OFF OF EVERY FUCKING ABORIGINAL MAN AND ABORIGINAL WOMAN IN THIS FUCKING SECTOR FUCK!!!!

FullofRegrets [confirmed diver], [definitely not a shaman], [truth confirmed by the Mechanism]: No, dear Crocodile, my trouble has nothing to do with what happened in Lazy at the end of the cycle. It is still dangerous, still threatening death to me and everyone around me, but it is of a different nature. Counter question: I understand that this commotion and attack on the mansion of a certain noble house is your work?

KroKroKroKodYYl [OP], [confirmed diver], [cold-blooded and charming]: FUCK. I don't play like that.

KroKroKroKodYYl [OP], [confirmed diver], [cold-blooded and charming]: Okay, it's my fault, I should have shaken you up more about your shit. But, damn, everything pointed to you being there. We thought we'd pull you out and then thank FaFo for leading us to that shit pit. We knew for sure that they were holding gifted people there, against their will, and we weren't wrong. But we were still wrong, FUCKING BITCH, FUCKING BOTTOM, very wrong. We went after one of our own, but in fact we only pulled out three half-dead locals, one of whom was no longer ‘half’ dead, and another who didn't inspire any trust. Or rather, he inspired too much trust, which was not surprising. Ugh. Do you happen to know how to get out of town quickly so that no one finds you?

At that moment, Ilya choked on his drink and began feverishly wiping the table, trying to figure out how to react. Who does he think he is? Although, okay, he has to admit that it was a rather noble and sensible thing to do. In the best traditions of the Citadel School, so to speak, where fellow divers are taught to cover for each other, and not, as is often the case, to say, ‘We don't abandon our own, but whoever has been abandoned is no longer one of us.’ If Ilya were a standard diver and found out that his comrades were being held captive and tortured (which is almost always interdependent) by local assholes... well, a lot depends on the context here.

What he can do, what he cannot do, what he is willing to do, and what he is willing to risk. Crocodile, despite all his suspicions of him, managed not only to break into the prison he had somehow found, but also to set it on fire and then retreat with the prisoners. And he retreated in such a way that they are still searching for him and have not found him at the end of the cycle, which is important!

Hm.

Come to think of it, the ability to find a random clue to some important topic is one of the most popular methods of help from FaFo. The crocodile had false assumptions, especially since Ilya deliberately gave him a false lead. And if he knew for sure that the secret dungeon contained only gifted people, because ordinary prisoners would be kept in the city jail, it was easy to come to the wrong conclusion. With such an introduction, damn it! The man, if he is a man and not a young lady pretending to be one, managed to get himself into a real mess and now doesn't know what to do.

They could have simply killed his fellow diver, perhaps in a pure ritual and with the captive's cooperation, in order to successfully remove most of the tracking marks on his blood and body parts. That must be why he prepared everything at the end of the Cycle... although, how did he know the approximate time of the end of the cycle for the second time in a row? Another small gift? Or some kind of cunning property from the realm of divination?

FullofRegrets [confirmed diver], [definitely not a shaman], [truth confirmed by the Mechanism]: I could ask my problem, but then it could become your problem too. In any case, I would be wary of giving me precise details of your location, especially if the problem decides to cut off all ties because of the commotion. It was only by a small miracle and with a great deal of nerves that I managed to somehow escape the threat of instant death. Or so I thought.

Well, if they now think that he is working for a secret agent of the Crown or someone else who is opposing the city government, it's not his fault. And he sincerely hopes that they won't try to save him a second time.

KroKroKroKodYYl [OP], [confirmed diver], [cold-blooded and charming]: Well, sorry, mate. In my defence, I'll say that I also ended up screwing up. I'll think about it. If I realise that we're still completely screwed, I'll send you my coordinates at the end of the cycle, and maybe you'll be able to help. If not, we'll still try to break through. The blizzard will continue for a long time, so there's a chance to get away before we're completely surrounded. We'll have to kill the locals, but they're such scum that they deserve to be buried alive. But before I spill everything, I'll ask a couple of leading questions, okay? What if your problem is the same one we ambushed the house?

FullofRegrets [confirmed diver], [definitely not a shaman], [truth confirmed by the Mechanism]: Got it, honourable. It is unlikely that your last concern will prove to be true, but I am prepared for this test. I will also consider how to proceed more wisely.

He did not promise to help, nor did he swear eternal friendship, diligently ignoring his dark side. It was not the essence of Wendigo, but rather simple and understandable human meanness, that claimed that betraying this man and his company would be entirely beneficial for Ilya, because then the earthlings would not see him and would not recognise his face, for example. But judging by the commotion that arose as a result of the attempt to rescue the ordinary Wendigo, it will be necessary to review the entire trilogy. It will not be possible to sit quietly anyway. No matter how precisely Ryuk killed him, deciding to run away into the sunset, yes.

By the way, he needs to conduct some research and make some paid inquiries to LORE specialists about the problem of the old candy grandfather. Maybe he'll find a way to buy himself a life and existence, or even some kind of benefit. Maybe just life, yes.

With these thoughts in mind, Ilya ignored all the enticing Forum tabs and pop-up news on the channels and blogs he had chosen, closing the whole thing and hurrying to the elevator.

It was there that he became a terrifying Wendigo with an incredible Trait and an awesome Blessing; there, he fights powerful enemies and achieves incredible victories.

And here it’s time for him to go to work.

* * *
Author's Note:

98,000 characters, and I was already thinking I'd finally overcome my curse, at least a little. Well, I did overcome it a little — I'm still two thousand short of a hundred, which is already pretty good.

This chapter is partly transitional, devoted to leveling up, thoughts, one amusing plot line that has finally come to fruition (partly supplemented by one cheerful comment-omak), as well as preparation for upcoming events. Both on Earth and in Broken, there are signs of major developments coming up in at least a couple of chapters, so I had to set the stage. And yet, the main character fell out of Broken at the end of the cycle at a very (in)opportune moment — I can't figure out whether he was lucky or unlucky with that.

In terms of leveling up, it was very entertaining to observe the cubes. Initially, the GG decided to choose the “classic” aspects, which is why he chose not the most powerful ones (Gluttony is the most important here), but the most beneficial ones in terms of overall usefulness now and in the future. And here, both options are extremely good, especially Horns, which unlocks aspects that are simply yummy.

What else?

Well, a hundred for Erudition, which isn't difficult with a bonus of +40. Regarding finding a suitable pure ritual. He not only made three vials, but also got a drop. It would have been a freebie, but without a crafting class and focusing solely on pure ritual and knowledge of the mysteries, it's impossible to mass-produce particularly vicious drugs.

Oh, and Mutuzy. He rolled a 17 on mental stability, so he's definitely gone nuts. Not completely nuts, but he's definitely not sane anymore and won't be anytime soon. And yes, no one believed him; they didn't even really question him. Important people have their own business.

In general, the most brutal dice fight was the path of Crocodile, who really thought everything through and did it well. If it had been MC there instead of the natives, he would have calmly killed Ilya by mutual agreement, left the city, and then, after waiting for the new cycle, immediately left Lazy. It was literally a textbook operation to rescue an earthling from the clutches of professional natives with minimal resources and in a categorically hostile environment.

The only mistake was that the princess ended up in the wrong castle, and Crocodile and his partner found themselves surrounded by natives who could barely walk. It seemed like they had to be killed, but before he could make a decision, the cycle had already spoken. At first, he dragged these half-corpses with him, not understanding which one was his colleague — they were completely uncommunicative, under the influence of alchemy, after torture, under the effects of oppressive rituals.

In fact, I'm even thinking about renaming Crocodile into Mario, since his name starts with an M anyway. But his name is also a bit of a joke, and I'm not sure which one to choose. :)

P.S. Hello to all the first commenters. Just so you know, it's me. I took down the Ficbook servers specifically so no one would dare take my first comment away.

P.P.S. Just kidding, of course, if I had the opportunity to crash servers in a neighboring country, I would definitely not crash Ficbook.

P.P.P.S. Definitely a joke.

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
Его статус: идёт перевод

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/88055/591418

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP