The mood, already teetering on the edge, plunged into an abyss after my encounter with Ketsu Sugawara. I attempted to sketch a few drawings, if only to prove something to myself. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, they didn't bear even a remote resemblance to the simple pen drawing left by the Japanese student. Eventually, I gathered the sheets and retreated to my room.
Maybe it was time to abandon the idea of creating my own comic? Sugawara was right: I was an absolute mediocrity in visual arts. Why had I ever thought I could accomplish something in this field? Besides, I didn't really need it - it was merely a hobby; a desire - nothing more. Or rather, it used to be a desire. Now it had evaporated completely. With a surge of irritation, I tossed the scribbled papers and pencils onto the table before collapsing onto the bed.
Yes, I needed to let this idea go. Once, drawing had been a calming influence, a way to clear my mind by focusing on something entirely unrelated to the problems burdening me. But that was in the past. Now, every time I picked up a pencil, I would always have that image in front of me, the one where the pilot rests in the shadow of his Blackjack.
That damned Sugawara had obliterated my hobby in an instant. And the worst part was, I was mainly to blame - I was the one who had asked him to show me "how it should be done." How could he be faulted for simply doing what I had requested? I knew my anger was misplaced; I understood that logically, but I still lay on the bed, quaking slightly with the pent-up rage that was equally directed at the Japanese student and myself.
Realizing that brooding and staring at the ceiling wasn't helping, I checked my official phone. No new messages. The clock displayed half-past two. An almost full day stretched ahead. Moreover, unlike other students, the university's access system didn't restrict me, and I could leave its premises by entering the Break at any time.
After mulling it over a bit, I transitioned into the Projection and, taking the usual precautions, exited the room. The first thing that crossed my mind was to find where Sugawara lived and make his life miserable. Just because. Resisting the adolescent impulse, I dismissed the idea. As a raig, I could easily make anyone's life "entertaining," even a shapeshifter's, without much effort. But employing my abilities to ruin someone's life felt somewhat underhanded.
What I really need to do is track down Maya and get her take on the latest news. She's bound to spill about Gabriel's proposal, and I'm curious to hear her thoughts. Plus, it wouldn't hurt to ask if she's noticed any changes in Halley and Crixus' behavior; she's around them much more than I am.
Initially, I made my way towards the coast as inconspicuously as possible, then, no longer feeling the need to hide, I leapt from tree to tree, as though freshly arrived from the mainland, heading for the central square. Maya was nowhere to be found. I checked the usual haunts, but only managed to run into her ex-mercenary turned bodyguard, Ivan. He sat alone, engrossed in some sort of weapons magazine, parked on a folding chair near the entrance to the building housing Maya's room. His nonchalance suggested Maya was not in the vicinity, or more accurately, not on university grounds at all. This was slightly disheartening, as it threw a wrench into my plans.
It would spell trouble if I can't locate her by tomorrow and she makes a decision about joining Gabriel's group without my input. Regardless of how busy she is, I would feel more at ease knowing she accepted his offer. This would allow me to keep an eye on her. Plus, I’m starting to suspect her chronic fatigue might be due to poor time and energy management, as she attempts to juggle everything at once. I was worn out after those two weeks as well, but that was a short sprint. She, however, appeared drained a couple of months ago when we first met, and her condition hasn't improved since. I would feel more comfortable if I could be by her side in reality, not just in the Break.
After hovering around Ivan for a few minutes, I made my way back to the central square. There, on one of the benches, sat one of the invitees to the group, Jan Larson. He was engrossed in jotting something down on a piece of paper. A surge of curiosity made me peek over his shoulder. It was clear he was taking the "Count's" proposal very seriously. The sheet in his hand was neatly divided into two halves. He had listed the pros of the proposal on the left and the cons on the right. I got the impression he was the type to meticulously plan his life years in advance, and was now torn between sticking to his plans or taking a chance on new opportunities. His list of pros and cons were about even. A quick skim of a few lines convinced me there was no need to pry into his personal life, so I left him to his thoughts, feeling somewhat like Thora and Kael in my curiosity.
After a brief search for Maya at the university came up empty, I made my way to the mainland coast, specifically the cave where the hidden mobile phone was stashed. Unread messages awaited me there, all from the twins, filled with concise reports and queries for further instructions. From their messages, it appeared neither Halley had been seen yesterday evening nor this morning, and Crixus carried on as per usual. The former heir to the Corsican clan had been occupied recently overseeing the final stages of the BKDW building's renovation. The majority of the work was finished, the final touches and interior decorating were all that remained. I sent a message back to the sisters, advising them against any direct action and to stick to long-distance surveillance. Most importantly, they should not give anyone the impression that they were suspicious of Halley. I was confident the girls would handle this task adeptly, provided their capricious and mercurial nature didn't lead them into trouble. Nonetheless, they had been sensible thus far, so I felt I could depend on them.
Just as I was about to remove the battery from my phone and stash it back among the rocks, it beeped, signaling the arrival of another SMS. The message was from Zanh Kiem, informing me of his return to Wilflaes after concluding his business in the country's east. This was indeed excellent news! I promptly replied, suggesting a meet up when it was convenient for him. His response came instantly. The Maker scheduled the meeting for an hour later. Surprisingly, he proposed we meet at the Abode of Knowledge, on the meditation platform I was already familiar with. But, why not? Both of us knew the place well, and it wasn't frequented by outsiders.
Once the time and venue were confirmed, I disassembled the phone and concealed it in the stones. I then went to my other hideout and changed into Metatron. I had been trying to limit my time in the armor as it had a peculiar effect on me, creating a dependency that was all too real. It was too easy to get accustomed to the feeling of power, vitality and near-omnipotence granted by the armor, and to start believing I was indeed some sort of Chosen One. Still, I considered the notion of me being the reincarnation of El Cid Campeador nothing more than a collective illusion. I didn't feel like the last King of Men at all. And besides, what relevance did my past lives hold if I couldn't remember them?
I reached the Abode precisely at the appointed hour. Zanh Kiem was already there. Shedding his shoes, the Maker stretched out on the stones of the meditation platform, arms wide in his costly suit. His steel-hued eyes roamed across the distant, feathery clouds. He seemed entirely tranquil, far removed from the mundane hustle and bustle.
The sensum detected my presence before I exited the Break and gestured invitingly to the stones next to him.
"Did you deliberately don the First Angel to immediately establish who's in command here?" Zanh Kiem asked, a trace of annoyance in his voice. He barely turned his head in my direction as I emerged from the Projection, eschewing a simple greeting. I was about to tell him it was merely my best disguise when I grasped his meaning.
"Are you implying that I have no need to keep my civilian identity hidden from you anymore?" I questioned, taking a seat on the stones.
Cracking his neck, the Maker rose and assumed a lotus position.
"I'm not sorry. You've left so many breadcrumbs that I inevitably discovered your real name while piecing together the evidence you've scattered," he said before I could interject. He raised a hand to continue, "I think Abel de Diaz is also aware, but don't worry about the others. I've wiped away every trace leading to you, including surveillance footage from both the university and highway department. Neither I, nor the legate, will advertise your identity."
"I understand your perspective, but what about the legate? Why do you believe he'll keep this knowledge under wraps?"
"You're joking, right?" The sensum's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. "He regards you as the reincarnation of the founder of his order, possibly even a direct ancestor. Plus, he's seen you in Metatron. Don't anticipate any harm from him... Although, he might decide to do some good. Given he's a 200-year-old Dark Adept, neither you nor I could fathom his definition of 'good'."
"I think I should steer clear of him. Better yet, never meet him again," I stated, not concealing my distaste for the legate.
"Yeah..." Zanh Kiem mused thoughtfully, "Abel de Diaz isn't the kind of person you'd want to have around - you're right about that."
"Any updates about him? What's he up to? Where is he?"
"No. He's vanished as if he vaporized. Even Nein can't track him down," the sensum said, stretching and cracking his bones. "I suggest you don't waste your time pondering on the legate. We can only guess at his actions by chance, not predict them. So why engage in such a fruitless activity?"
"If only I could do just that: push something out of my mind and forget it!" I responded with a sad smile.
"Do you want me to teach you a nifty meditation technique?" The Maker instantly offered, rubbing his palms together.
"Maybe another time," I shook my head, declining his offer. "Tell me, how was your trip to the east?"
"Nothing interesting," Zanh Kiem shrugged off my curiosity. "We located an Eshin hideout, cleared it out, and returned."
"And that required your presence?" I was slightly taken aback. "Couldn't your fighters have managed such a task without their superior being pulled away?"
"Not this time," he winced slightly. "A Dark Ritual veiled the place; it would not have been discovered without me. In fact, even I had to work a bit. This dark witch's skills are quite formidable: she achieved things with minimal resources that we couldn't even fathom." The head of the Third Palm clicked his tongue in annoyance. "It seems the legate was right to kill her outright rather than attempting to capture her. Who knows what other surprises she had up her sleeve?" He gestured dismissively, then pointed to a table at the heart of the courtyard. "Care for some tea?"
Previously, I would have declined, reluctant to lift my visor in front of another person, but secrecy was pointless now.
"I'd be happy to," I accepted.
"Good. You won't find this drink prepared quite like this anywhere else."
We moved to the tea table and took seats across from each other. Zanh Kiem methodically rinsed two cups with boiling water before pouring the aromatic brew. I looked around, feeling uncertain.
"Don't worry," the sensum reassured with a smile. "Though it may seem exposed, this place is well hidden from prying eyes and strangers don't come here. Your face will not be seen."
Had anyone else tried to reassure me this way, I would have dismissed it. But when a Maker says something like this, it's as good as a guarantee. I removed my helmet, placing it carefully on the table's edge.
"You look older than in the photos," Zanh Kiem said, studying my face without flinching. "By about a couple of years."
"Disappointed? Were you expecting to see the reincarnation of the legendary El Cid, only to find an ordinary young half-breed?" I retorted, feeling uncomfortable under the Maker's scrutinizing gaze.
"Pf-f-t," He brushed off my comment. "Try this." He lifted his cup to his lips and took a small sip.
I followed suit, but immediately started coughing. My eyes welled up with tears and I couldn't breathe. After a struggle, I managed to put the cup down and began to sneeze uncontrollably.
"What is this?!" I managed to ask, wiping away my tears, after a full minute.
"The finest oolong harvested north of Fundjian... with a dash of red chili," he replied.
"A dash?" I wanted to shout, but instead, it came out as a hoarse groan.
"You didn't like it?"
"Could anyone like it?"
"More than!" He smiled and took a long sip with undisguised pleasure. "Try again. Give it a proper taste, and you won't want to drink any other tea."
"No, thank you!" I answered firmly, pushing the cup away.
"What a pity." The worst part was that he genuinely enjoyed this so-called "drink."
"How is the final stage of the investigation on Eshin going?" I asked, eager to change the subject.
"We're done in Novilter." The sensum emptied his cup and immediately refilled it. "Of course, many clan cells are still scattered worldwide, but they no longer pose even a fraction of the threat they used to. All that remains is the routine work."
So they were done in Novilter? Did this mean he would soon leave the country? That would be a shame. I would miss him. He was the only one I could discuss any topic with, without having to hold back.
"Are you leaving?" Trying to hide my disappointment, I asked in an even voice.
"The Third Palm no longer exists," the sensum stated, avoiding a direct answer.
"What do you mean?" I was taken aback.
"It's disbanded." He shrugged, concealing his odd smile behind another sip of his vile tea.
"By whom?" My surprise increased. "Could it be that one of the Creators returned to the world for this purpose? As far as I know, only a Holy See can disband a Punishing Palm or the department of the Inquisition by personal order and no one else."
"Ah? No! There's still no news from the Creators."
"But..." I was utterly perplexed.
"I disbanded it myself." He ran his finger along the rim of his mug, obviously relishing the suspense. "Rui will be out for over a year, but don't worry, she'll recover. As for the further cleansing of Eshin, Nein will handle it with the support of the authorities, along with Lao and Bao. Technically, I should be overseeing all this, but I thought I have other matters to attend to."
"Other matters?"
"The End of the World and all that," the Maker said with a broad smile, waving his hand dismissively. "Besides, there's one place where I'll definitely be needed more."
"And where is that?"
Zanh Kiem raked a hand through his hair, as if regretting something.
"Here. An hour ago, I assumed the position of abbot of the Abode of Knowledge."
"Oh, wow!" I was so taken aback by this news that I automatically picked up the unfinished cup and brought it to my lips.
Oh... I shouldn't have done that! Tears welled up anew as the nuclear drink touched my tongue.
"I told you, you'll like the local tea!" The Maker immediately exclaimed with approval.
Clearing my throat, I scratched my head and said with a sarcastic tone, "Don't worry, it'll suit you."
"To hell with you." The smile faded from the Maker's face as he ran his hand through his hair again. "However, bald, I might look even more dignified and solid." Despite his bravado, it was clear he wasn't thrilled about having to shave his head for his new position.
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"And the suit will have to be hung in the closet," I continued.
"Ah? I never liked it," the sensum dismissed. "In fact, it is much more convenient in a kasaya[1]," he clarified. "Also, sandals match the local weather much better than prim boots." He winked and added, "Feet don't sweat that much."
Setting his cup aside, the Maker took a deep breath and asked with a hint of hope, "Did you, perchance, accidentally find that very Door while I was gone?"
"No."
"What a pity..." If it were not for the feigned regret in his voice, I might have thought he was asking seriously.
"Not funny."
"Like your jokes about my future hairstyle," he shrugged, then asked in a serious tone, "Any news?"
"Does the name Gabriel Mustiel, Count of Runar, mean anything to you?"
"Hm-m-m-m..." The sensum paused to think. "And how did you cross paths with the duke's second son? I hope you are aware that he's not a 'Count' at all?"
"I am aware, but the fact that you, visiting Novilter for the first time, are cognizant of such nuances - that surprises me a bit."
"Oh, I met him in the Castle," Zanh Kiem spoke as if it was something insignificant. "What connects you with this person?"
Pouring plain boiled water into my cup, I told the Maker about the proposal I received today. The sensum listened attentively, not interrupting even once. After I finished, he drank a whole cup of his tea before saying:
"You're right. You should agree. Your civilian personality will gain another cover - from the side of power structures. It will also open some doors that were previously closed to you." He emphasized the last word with a suggestive intonation. "It might be necessary. It may never come in handy, of course, but it's still not worth wasting opportunities. And where else will you, not being a shapeshifter or an officially registered sensum, receive such a universal education? Besides, I think this Gabriel is right in his basic premise... The future of humanity is there." His finger pointed to the sky. "Among the stars. Not now, and most likely not in the next century, but there."
"That is - if humanity somehow survives the impending End..."
"Sometimes, I think you're a masochist," Zanh Kiem drawled in response to my words. "Does it really give you some strange pleasure to constantly think about this topic?"
"It doesn't. But to get this out of my head, I'm sorry, I can't - it doesn't work out."
"Do not dismiss it - it would be a mistake," the sensum said seriously. "But it's also not worth obsessing over. Keep this thought in the background of your mind, but do not let it completely dominate you."
In response, I simply remained silent. He may be able to live like that, but I definitely can't, and no amount of meditation will help me with this.
"I'm a bit apprehensive about Maya Grimm's inclusion in the group invited by Gabriel," I voiced my concerns to him. "On one hand, she did exceedingly well in all the tests. But on the other hand, she's an open raig. Could her invitation be another move to tie the raigs to the power structures?"
"I don't think so," the sensum responded, scratching the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture. "When I met with Leir Gluathon, the heir, he specifically requested his brother to be kept out of all games - both the investigation and politics. I got the impression that he wants to keep Gabriel away from any undercover strife. Thus, I'll assume that he acts independently and Maya's invitation is a result of her studies and not because she is a Break Knight. Especially since you mentioned that she didn't seem interested in joining the group."
"It would be easier for me if she was within my line of sight," I admitted to the Maker, deciding to be straight with him.
"So, you want to convince her to accept the offer," Zanh Kiem chuckled. "And this concern of yours is solely because you care for the girl and not because you're fond of her and would like to spend more time with her."
"Screw you," I brushed off his insinuations.
"Alright, I'll attempt to talk to her as well," Zanh Kiem nodded, seemingly ignoring my reaction. "After all, I'm now the official mentor of the Break Knights from the clerics. My duties include, among other things, communicating with raigs, looking after their morale, and so on." After a brief pause, he continued, his tone laced with sarcasm, "Also, how could I refuse an order from the wielder of Metatron?"
"That's not funny."
"Alright, alright... I'm done joking," Zanh Kiem raised his hands in a placating gesture. "But if possible, I will still talk to Maya. Not because I intend to pander to your wishes, but because I haven't forgotten the prophecy of my predecessor in this position." The sensum traced his finger along the edge of the tea table, a melancholic expression on his face. "The prophecy that the girl's life hinges on something related to robots. And I still believe that this 'something related to robots' is none other than your civilian self." He poked me in the chest. "What do you have under your armor?"
"A T-shirt," I snapped, suddenly grasping his insinuation.
"A T-shirt featuring robots," he confirmed, nodding. "That's what I'm referring to."
"I'd like you to scrutinize some individuals a bit more," I deflected, shifting the conversation's focus.
"I'm all ears." A faintly toxic, mocking smile faded from the Maker's face as he honed his attention.
"Halley, Crixus, Thora, and Kael."
"I can sort of understand the first two, but..." He started to pinch the bridge of his nose, but halted midway. "Go on."
Sipping my plain water, I enlightened the sensum about the peculiar link between Halley and Mersk, as well as the twins' role in this narrative. I also touched on my own speculations.
"How do you manage, constantly doubting everyone?" Zanh Kiem rolled his eyes after digesting my conclusions and theories. "Your mind must be a veritable inferno of paranoia."
"I muddle through," I shrugged nonchalantly. "Besides, my kidnapping episode seemed to illustrate quite clearly that you can never be too paranoid."
"The key detail in your tale is that Halley, Thora, and Kael's swords are spotless; there's no rust on them," the sensum tilted his head, locking eyes with me. "If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't rush into anything. Better yet, I'd have a heart-to-heart with Halley."
"As if I could just stroll up and chat with him," I smirked. "Something like, 'Can you tell me what you were doing over there and what ties you to the "Masks of Novilter"?' And he'll just spill the beans... Of course... He'll certainly tell the truth. Uh-huh... No, if his blade had the same restrictions as my 'Word,' that would make sense, but..."
"Why not?" Zanh Kiem cut me off. "You'd be surprised how many problems and tragedies could be averted if people simply learned to communicate directly and candidly."
"I get your point," I nodded at his words, with no intention whatsoever to heed his advice, Maker or not.
"Alright," the sensum, correctly interpreting my stance, sighed heavily and poured himself another cup of potent tea. "I'll dig a little deeper."
"That's all I'm asking."
"How's the Knights' training going? Are people showing up?" The newly appointed raig curator inquired, sipping his tea and relaxing his shoulders a bit.
"I too assumed that after a couple of training sessions, the novelty would wear off and many would drop out, but so far, that hasn't been the case. I suspect it's because the next Breakthrough in Wilflaes is imminent; the raigs, not being complete fools, want to be as prepared as possible."
"A couple of weeks to a month," confirmed the sensum with a nod.
"And that's without factoring in what the Creators informed us about. They mentioned the frequency of Breakthroughs would escalate."
"They did caution us about a gradual increase; meaning, the intensity should ramp up over time," the Maker corrected me. "For now, these changes, the harbingers of the End, should not be significantly noticeable or disrupt our usual routines."
"True, but I'm preparing for the worst-case scenario, just to be safe."
"You may be on the right track there," Zanh Kiem agreed, nodding.
"Speaking of which, since you'll be in Wilflaes on a full-time basis now, could you assist me with these preparations?" An intriguing thought occurred to me.
"How so?"
"I possess an ability - 'Fan of Probabilities.' It's somewhat similar to your combat foresight."
"I recall," the sensum acknowledged thoughtfully, bowing his head.
"Regrettably, it has a limitation: it's supposed to function only in the Break and solely during Breakthroughs. Yet, the First Angel somehow allows me to bypass this restriction. And it's quite challenging to utilize the Fan without proper training... To be honest, the flickering of probability lines makes things blurry."
Placing his cup on the table, the former head of the Third Palm rose and shrugged off his jacket, his neck cracking as he did so. A spark of anticipation crossed his face.
"Are you suggesting I rough you up?" the sensum asked, genuinely interested. "I don't mind, not at all. I'll just move the table away; it's a rare piece."
Zanh Kiem carefully gathered the cups, closed the kettle, picked up the table, and started towards the stone stairs.
"Actually, I wasn't proposing a fistfight," I corrected the sensum when he had already reached the edge of the meditation platform.
"Really?" I could clearly detect a strong hint of disappointment in his voice. He didn't seem to mind letting off some steam like that.
"Fisticuffs won't be much help in repelling a Breakthrough," I clarified, looking at my armored fist, clad in Metatron's plate glove. "Unless you could find a couple of practice swords," I mused.
"I can't promise Western training blades," the sensum replied, starting down the stairs. "But I believe I saw a bunch of bokkens around here somewhere."
"That'll work!" I shouted when only the top of the Creator was visible above the platform.
His return took a bit longer than I anticipated. Zanh Kiem was gone for nearly fifteen minutes, and when he finally arrived at the site, I understood what had occupied his time. The sensum had changed, now donning an orange kasaya with a blue belt instead of his usual business attire. His feet were bare, and he tread on the rocks like a large cat stalking an unsuspecting mouse. In his hands, he held several wooden Japanese practice swords. He tossed one to me, kept another for himself, and placed the rest on the parapet.
"Shall we begin?" he inquired, spinning the bokken in such a way that the air howled, parting before the wood in his grip.
"I hope you're proficient with that," I retorted, standing up and donning my helmet.
"I've been trained," the sensum replied with a nonchalant shrug and a smile, promptly launching into an attack.
I countered the Maker's lunge with a direct block, deflecting his strike downward and immediately attempting to hit his jaw with the backswing of the handle. Zanh Kiem effortlessly dodged my attack, attempting to trip me up in the process. My response was simple and straightforward - a direct thrust to his chest. He was forced to abandon his assault and sidestep. Having established some distance between us, the sensum grinned, stretched his shoulders, and the wooden sword in his hands transformed into a barely visible blur. It was akin to a circular saw being activated. It was hard to believe that a human could spin a blade with such velocity! Before I could even process this, I was bombarded with strikes from unexpected angles. The sensum himself seemed to be merely strolling forward, yet the bokken in his hand fluttered as if it was a weightless stick, not a specially weighted training sword. I managed to deflect the first five strikes, hastily retreating, but the sixth landed quite noticeably on my shoulder guard.
"Is everything alright?" Zanh Kiem immediately questioned, pulling back and lowering his sword.
"You're inhumanely swift," I responded, adjusting my grip on the bokken.
"I recall speed wasn't an issue for you in the parking lot," he countered, smiling.
"My Fan isn't activating," I regretfully informed him.
"Excellent!" he exclaimed, clearly delighted, holding his wooden sword in a two-handed grip.
"What's so great about that?" I asked, puzzled.
"For you?" he chuckled. "Nothing good. But I'll relish the opportunity to kick the First Angel's bearer's ass!"
He had barely finished his sentence when he launched into another attack. This time, his strikes weren't as rapid but they were significantly more powerful. After enduring a couple of these on a hard block, I realized I wouldn't hold up for long - he would simply outmuscle me. What was most frustrating was that Metatron didn't react to these assaults and I had to rely on my own strength. Regrettably, my prowess was clearly insufficient against the Maker who had been trained in martial monasteries.
The most vexing thing was that despite my superior swordsmanship, he outmatched me in both strength and speed. Additionally, he had a decent understanding of fencing. Enough to utilize his advantages, leaving me with almost no chances to retaliate effectively.
In less than thirty seconds, I barely dodged a rather nasty blow to the head. The helmet absorbed the strike, which was delivered with inhuman force, but it left my head buzzing. Without the First Angel, the training would have ended right there, and I would have been carted off to the ICU. Momentarily disoriented, I spun a moulinet[2], setting up a defensive fan. I'm not fond of this move, as it's useless against a seasoned swordsman who would simply sever your sword fingers while you're preoccupied with spinning. However, I was fortunate - Zanh Kiem was unfamiliar with such nuances, and his next three attacks were deflected by the inertia of my bokken's spin. I never thought this purely theatrical technique would work, but it did and bought me some time to regroup.
I tried to seize the initiative, having roughly deciphered the fencing style the Maker adhered to. He was clearly trained in the Chinese school. Broad slashing blows, evading with your entire body, lunging from extreme distances. To an observer, it looks impressive, but in terms of combat, it's over-the-top and full of unnecessary movements. However, even with this understanding, I couldn't gain an upper hand. The sensum's speed was phenomenal, and he didn't seem to hold back on using combat foresight. How else could you explain his ability to see through all my feints?
The only outcome of my counterattack was that I took another hit, this time right in the middle of my forehead. This time, the ringing in my head was even louder. Moreover, the sensum didn't give me a breather, instantly striking at my knee. I parried, and once again, my neck jarred as the helmet absorbed another blow. For roughly ten seconds, I was out of touch with reality - everything swam before my eyes, and I fended off the sensum's attacks without seeing where I was striking.
To my surprise, when my vision fully returned, I was still standing and successfully deflecting the Maker's attacks - I was doing it automatically, almost instinctively.
The sensum lunged again, but I didn't fall for it, seeing the fan of multicolored trajectories his bokken could trace. I took his strike on the handguard and jabbed my wooden blade straight into Zanh Kiem's chest. The gap between us was too narrow for him to dodge. In fact, he would have had time to dodge if Metatron hadn't finally activated! Now, we were on equal footing... With a hiss, the Maker flew back onto the stone, clutching his chest. Nonetheless, he was back on his feet almost instantly, resuming his fighting stance. The smile was gone from his face.
He simply stands there, his shadows scattering to either side. He remains still, yet I visualize hundreds of potential paths his sword could take. He likely sees something similar because before I can attack, he subtly alters his stance, forcing me to abort my lunge before I even begin it.
This is an odd fight. Extremely odd. We simply stand facing each other, occasionally one of us takes a slight step back or forward, or a blade quivers slightly in hand. Yet, in terms of probabilities, this duel is a whirlwind of intensity. I see the trajectories of future strikes, but before I can adjust my blade's position, the Maker aborts his attack, aware that I'm prepared for it.
It's the perfect embodiment of the idea "I know that you know that I know that you know..." and so forth, almost ad infinitum. Finally, the sensum seems to believe he has me figured out, and he launches his attack. His movements are swift and inevitable; a red line of probability draws itself inexorably towards the center of my chest. But, I handle my blade better; he simply doesn't realize that a blow can be deflected not with the blade, but the hilt. There's a resounding thud as the wood collides - the Maker tumbles onto the stone, having taken a soft, slightly mocking jab to the neck.
"Ahem..." the sensum drawls, rubbing his neck in surprise.
This time, he doesn't just stand, but begins to circle me, the center of his orbit. The games are over; the Maker is incredibly focused. Here he slows slightly as if uncertain, and my bokken sketches a fan of probabilities. Zan attempts to block the strike, tries very hard, but it doesn't help him.
We were evenly matched in every aspect, except skill. With regards to swordsmanship, I was superior, and no amount of skills or tricks could save the sensum. Time and again, he finds himself sprawled on the rocks.
"You're quite the scoundrel," I comment, lowering the wooden sword after landing a hit on the Maker for the fifth consecutive time.
"You just figured it out?" He retorts as he rises to his feet.
"You let me win, back in the parking lot!" Just as I was superior in swordsmanship, he was far better in hand-to-hand combat. And now it's clear to me: if he wanted to, he could have easily beaten me to a pulp on the asphalt, and not even Metatron could have saved me.
"I didn't let you win, I was building up your image," the sensum replies, shrugging without any hint of remorse. "And, for your information, it worked."
"Well, well..." I drawl, immediately launching into an attack.
"Hey!" Zanh Kiem tries to raise his blade in a conciliatory manner.
But... it doesn't stop me. Aware that I'm essentially facing a superhuman, I don't hold back much with my strikes. I'm not exactly angry, but I'm definitely annoyed. I only calm down after the sensum has acquainted his nose with virtually every pebble on the meditation platform. It's then that my irritation subsides, and I lower the bokken.
"You certainly love holding grudges," the Maker stands up, nursing his many bruises. "And don't try to claim that you just get your revenge and forget[3]," he continues before I can interject. "I thought I was decent with a blade," the sensum scratches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "Turns out I was mistaken..."
"Yes," I nod in agreement. "It would be more problematic if I believed I could fight proficiently."
"In the First Angel?" He gestures towards my armor. "You can. Trust me. You're on par with Master-ranked shapeshifters or specially trained sensums, no higher than a Seer, though."
"But not at your level."
"Does that bother you?" Zanh Kiem inquires.
"No," I respond truthfully. It really doesn't.
"That's good. Shall we continue?"
"Haven't had enough yet?" I retort, readying my wooden sword into a combat stance.
"Well... You've vented your anger. Hopefully, now we can start proper training."
Upon saying this, his form splits into dozens of shadows, and his otherwise motionless sword begins to trace complex paths of potential strikes. After enduring five minutes of this "stance," I lower my blade.
"My head is starting to pound. It's splitting," I explain.
"You need to adjust. It'll pass. Eventually, the necessary neural pathways will form in your brain."
"That's not a quick process."
"That's the purpose of training."
"Hold on a moment," I say, understanding what needs to be done. I shift into the Break and promptly return. "There, that's better."
"You shouldn't have done that," the Maker disapproves, shaking his head.
"Why not?"
"From what I understand from your explanations, when you enter the Break, you revert your physical state to a 'healthy' level."
"Roughly speaking, yes."
"So you just undid all of our progress. The neural connections that were starting to form in your brain rolled back."
"What the..." It seems paradoxical, but he's right. "So, I just have to tolerate it?"
"Yes," he nods, a glint of sadistic satisfaction in his eyes.
We continue training until the sun sets. As the sun dips below the horizon, Zanh Kiem finally lowers his bokken.
"That's enough for today. We'll continue next week."
"In a week?"
"Any sooner would be pointless," he explains. "Now rest. Just sit." As soon as I comply, he comes up behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. "Relax, look out at the bay, watch the wind stir the waves. Observe the tugboat pulling a cruise ship. Marvel at the lanterns of countless boats bobbing on the waves like giant fireflies. Let your consciousness drift out there, towards the water."
At these words, something within me flips over. It feels as if a giant has reached into my chest and is squeezing my heart with all his might. I start gasping for air as an invisible hand continues to tighten its grip and draw me somewhere.
"What's happening?" The Maker asks anxiously, gripping my shoulders as if trying to keep me grounded.
"A breakthrough..." I barely whisper.
As soon as the words leave my lips, I'm pulled into the Break, transforming into a faint star, shooting rapidly into the sky.
[1] AN: Kasaya refers to the robes worn by Buddhist monks.
[2] AN: Moulinet is a defensive technique from the French school of fencing. It involves swift, broad, "fluid" movements of the blade. It offers good protection against cutting and chopping blows, and is primarily used when facing multiple opponents and it's unclear where the next strike might come from. The downside of this technique is that the palm holding the blade is highly exposed and thus vulnerable.
[3] TLN: There's no suitable word in English that fully captures the original meaning. It's akin to "evil-remembering" — a term that implies a vindictive, unforgiving nature, characterized by a sharp memory for past wrongs with the intent to avenge them one day. Therefore, the phrase "Don't tell me you're just evil and have a good memory," is intended as a joke.