The knights responded to my presence as if someone had thrown a hissing snake between them. Regrettably, their reaction was more akin to frightened rabbits: they didn't spring sideways, breaking the distance as the situation required, but merely hopped in place and froze, as if hypnotized. The only thing this duo did right was to point their weapons in my direction.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," I said, tilting my head slightly to the side and showcasing my empty hands.

"M...M... Maestro?!" The broad-shouldered one gasped, lowering his axe blade.

Clearly, he was from the "Non-Fearful Idiots" division!

I preferred the second one. He remained silent and bowed politely without lowering his sword. Simultaneously, he subtly moved to the right, freeing up a possible attack vector.

Shoot...

This doesn't look good...

His weapon.

Now, at this close range, I could see... On the armored man's sword, close to the guard, there was a thin, palm-length strip of rust. Not darkness, as on the blades of those Korean Avengers I'd met, it felt like half a century ago, but still - not a good sign.

As I was distracted by this detail, the raig in the Landsknecht armor stepped back and spoke.

"We are honored to meet you, Maestro. But we are in a rush." The pseudo-Slavic hero looked at him with great surprise after he spoke, which was clear despite his face being concealed by chain mail - the speaker was lying. "We must bid you farewell."

"Purity," did you hear? I tried. A fresh wave of warmth in my palm was the response.

Come on! I don't want to be a babysitter!

A slight tingling in my arm indicated reluctance, not pain.

Fine...

"Your sword," I said, nodding toward the thinner one.

I hadn't drawn a weapon and my stance was not threatening, but my voice held a firm tone.

Children, they are just children. Instead of running away if they didn't want to talk, or feigning indifference, ignoring my question, the Landsknecht thought it best to hide the sword behind his back!

Urgh!

If only there were a wall, I'd bang my head against it!

"Purity," why does it have to be them? They're naive, helpless, likely raised in affluence, untouched by life's harsh realities.

I took a silent step forward.

Or perhaps they weren't so hopeless? Responding to my movement, the broad-shouldered one stepped in front of his comrade, yet he didn't raise his weapon.

"It was a dog!" He blurted out.

"Isn't it customary to introduce yourself before speaking to your elder?" I pulled a face as if I'd just bitten into a lemon. I've always had a knack for dramatic expressions.

"Uh... uh... Excuse me..." He seemed to have met a wall rather than my gaze. "Dobrynya[1]."

"Dobrynya?" It was evident this wasn't his real name but a raig code name he'd chosen for himself. "Rus?"

"Vyatich[2]," the young man responded, caught off guard by my question. The slip didn't escape him, and he immediately fell silent.

These two could benefit from a run-in with Tu Chong! He is a mentor and knows how to handle rookies. However, considering they haven't contacted BKDW since their initiation, they must have their reasons.

Perhaps I should 'package' them now and hand them over to Max Kraas's golden gloves? Two moves and they'd be out of the Break, then one call. It's straightforward.

I felt a tingling response.

Yes, I get it, "Purity"! Don't interfere!

"So, a dog..." I arched my right eyebrow.

"May we leave now?" the slender one asked.

Before I could issue a curt response, Dobrynya began babbling at a rapid-fire pace, his Slavic accent prominent.

"Baenre[3] has two half-year-old little sisters, and a neighbor has a dog. It barks and howls all the time! Day, night, morning! Always! They talked to the owner, but it was to no avail. They complained to the police, but the dog's owner owns the property, and they're just renting there." While Dobrynya unleashed this torrent of words, I mused. A barking dog implied a suburban area. From here, there were only three or four suitable locations within a five-kilometer radius. They likely didn't travel far for their training, so even a loner like me could deduce their identities from his over-sharing. "Everyone was on edge, and aunt Ma... the aunt developed a nervous tic, the kids couldn't sleep, they cried all the time... They endured this for two months. And then yesterday... Well... Baenre... the dog... you know..." His lethargic gesture with the ax ended his explanation.

I didn't understand. Rust for killing a dog? I hadn't imagined the Break would mete out punishment for such an act. Not that I planned on killing animals, but the penalty seemed harsh to me.

"Can we leave now?" Baenre seemed displeased with his comrade's loquaciousness.

And he was scared. Dobrynya, on the other hand, didn't view me as a threat at all. He looked at me as a beloved character who had stepped out from a story into reality. The thin one... it was more complicated with him... He sensed the aggression emanating from me but failed to realize that my irritation was aimed at "Purity," taking it personally instead. Yet, he soberly assessed his chances and didn't try to flee, instead asking for permission. He didn't provoke. Definitely not a hero, which in this case, was a good thing.

"You may," I responded. "Want to die on your first Breakthrough? Be my guest. I won't stop you..."

"What do you mean? We'll handle those monsters easily!" The broad-shouldered one immediately burst out, gesticulating wildly. Honestly, his chosen name was a poor fit: Alyosha Popovich[4] would have suited him far better.

"Is it really that bad?" The Landsknecht interjected, taking a step forward and interrupting his friend.

"Dire," I retorted, having no interest in sparing their egos.

"Will you teach us?" I was caught off guard by his brash directness.

"I can demonstrate," I tactfully evaded a direct response.

"Purity," don't interrupt! I haven't decided yet!

"Attack," I ordered. They didn't understand, did they? They stood motionless. "I'll count to three. One..."

Before I could finish, the broad-shouldered one lunged at me, swinging his ax. It was sluggish and ponderous. Given his mass and weapon, such a strike would have been dangerous...in reality. But in the Break...

A slight push from my toes, a half-turn, and his lunge whiffs past me as my palm meets his forehead.

"The strength of a raig..."

Continuing the movement, I use my strike as additional momentum, altering my direction slightly. The sweep of the bastard blade only grazes my cloak. The ensuing slap lands on the armored man.

"Not in the weapon..."

I pivot, sweep, push, and the two oafs collide. Baenre's prana drops by half as he collides with his companion's ax.

"The strength of a raig..."

A sharp kick against the concrete sends me into a short, low flight just half a meter above the ground, spinning in a spiral. My knee slides under Baenre's elbow, and Dobrynya, who fails to stop his attack in time, falls onto his partner's sword. Now, he too loses half of his reserve.

"Is in speed!"

I conclude, now standing firmly five meters away from the Knights, who are staring at each other after nearly knocking themselves out of the Break. My blades never left their sheaths throughout this entire display.

I can't help but smile. Not because everything went as smoothly as planned, but because the film "The Matrix" sprang to mind. I stand there feeling like Morpheus, introducing Neo to the peculiarities of the virtual world for the first time.

The whole performance took less than seven seconds.

I am pretty awesome! Well, something along those lines.

I have no affinity for BKDW, and I don't want to be under the government's thumb. I couldn't find the Masks... And in the Breakthrough, I need people to cover my back. Sure, this pair is likely the most raw material I've ever seen. In the worst-case scenario, there are two weeks until the next rift in reality. It's a short time. Barely enough to teach them how to hold a weapon properly. But their primary deficiency is understanding - an understanding that the Break is different from reality, not merely in its illusory nature.

Can I succeed?

"Purity!" I protest, "Didn't I tell you not to interfere?"

Are they regaining their bearings? Preparing for a second round, perhaps seeking revenge?

Ah... No, gentlemen, if we are to play this game, it'll be strictly on my terms.

"Tomorrow," I command, halting their motion with a gesture, "Here, at the same time."

They merely stand and stare.

"Dismissed!" I roar, amplifying my voice.

Well... they certainly can run quickly. In a matter of seconds, they've vanished. Perhaps they're not entirely hopeless after all?

Was this the correct decision?

"Back off!" I bark at "Purity," feeling my palms beginning to tingle, "I didn't ask for your opinion."

It's rather remarkable how 'chatty' the wakizashi is, but I'm not keen on the reason for its heightened activity. So, this sword has ensnared me in yet another adventure. Admittedly, if things go according to plan, this little stunt by "Purity" will benefit me more than harm me. However, there's also the possibility that it could make things worse. Much worse.

I was just planning to train... what else is there to say?

The perfect location, indeed. I'm not the only one who figured that out.

An odd encounter. More accurately, an unexpected one, particularly considering its repercussions. Where will my decision to aid these new raigs lead me? On the other hand, as paradoxical as it may seem, "Purity" has a point. If I don't assist them, they'll die. Possibly in a spectacular and inspiring manner, but swiftly nonetheless. If not for the wakizashi, I would have left without intervening. But how would I have dealt with the guilt when I witnessed these two dying during the next Breakthrough? Could I distance myself and convince myself that I can't save everyone, so there's no point in trying? Would such self-deception work? I always considered myself moderately cynical, but where's the limit? Sure, I can't help everyone, but does that mean I shouldn't help anyone?

I'm perplexed.

I stand in the hollow of the future stadium, lost in thought. As if I have nothing else to occupy myself with. My thoughts are jumping around like antelopes fleeing a pride of lions. I admit to myself: I feel a flicker of panic. Just when I had adjusted to this life, when things had started to improve, and my future seemed clearer - new changes came knocking.

Of course, I could just not show up tomorrow. And that would be the end of it.

Ah, no, there's no point in lying to myself. I'll show up - running away isn't an option. I've already made my decision. It might have been hasty, but does it really matter? Especially when you understand, not with your mind or your intelligence, but with something more primal - that you're doing the right thing.

Of course, they might not show up tomorrow. But... No, I certainly won't seek them out, ask about them, much less persuade them. But at least I've tried. And if they don't show up, they're the fools: I would never turn down a teacher in their situation. And to educate fools - no, "thank you," not even "Purity" could make me do that.

I glance at the clock - wow! It's been eight minutes since the guys fled, and I'm still standing here. Naturally, my practice today is off the table. Sure, I could find another spot, but there are more pressing matters at hand. First, I need to think and then proceed with everything else.

A thought flashes across my mind - should I have chased after those two? Maybe I shouldn't have let them run off so easily? No, I made the right call. Tracking raigs who can sense your presence is entirely different from observing ordinary people. Moreover, I'm confident they'll be here tomorrow. More precisely, I'm convinced Dobrynya will return, but the situation with the other guy is less clear. I scared him quite a bit, particularly when I spotted the rust on his blade. However, overlooking this detail would have been unwise on my part. After all, I've seen those who, disregarding their swords' warnings, pushed themselves to a point where they easily harmed bystanders. Human morality is a somewhat malleable entity, and with enough determination, one can convince themselves of anything, especially if you're as young as most raigs. And if Baenre chose that path, then his road certainly veers away from mine.

I pondered this as I hopped across rooftops, heading home. Hanging around the stadium was pointless, and conserving prana seemed like the better option. Despite this encounter, my plans for the evening remained unchanged - another trip to the library was in store.

Arriving at my apartment, I lingered under the shower for a long while. Warm water, drumming against my face, swept away the burdensome thoughts. This routine, for me, resembles meditation. I can't explain why, but standing beneath the streams of water, feeling it course over my skin, has a soothing effect, helping to order my thoughts.

I didn't bother to dry off after turning off the shower, but rather padded wet-footed into the kitchen. I'd turned off the air conditioner when I left for some reason, and now the apartment's temperature mirrored the outdoor heat. After brewing tea, I filled a large mug, and, wrapping myself in a towel, I habitually settled on the windowsill.

So, two new raigs have appeared, freshly initiated. Inexperienced. But, at the same time, convinced they have nothing to fear. The first peculiar thing about them is that, uncommonly, they likely knew each other before receiving the "gift" from the Break. Sure, coincidences occur, and it's probably not worth concocting conspiracy theories on this subject. I replay our conversation repeatedly in my mind. I don't believe they could have feigned so convincingly, especially unprepared and upon a chance encounter. I'll take it as my primary hypothesis - they were acquainted before their initiation.

The second point to consider: the story about the dog, is it fact or fiction? On one hand, I can believe in such a mundane tale. On the other hand, the rust on the sword from killing a dog contradicts my theories about the nature of raig blades - it doesn't align with any of them. I'll set this question aside for now, mainly because if I'm really determined, I can find out the truth.

From his innocent ramblings, Dobrynya revealed enough information that it wouldn't be too challenging to figure out where they live. A maximum of three days should realistically be enough to determine their residence.

There's one thing about this duo I don't quite grasp, and it's troubling. It's even causing me some stress. If everything Dobrynya stated is true, then... For what they were doing, which means mindlessly battering each other, nearly any location would have sufficed. Particularly if they reside in the suburbs, finding a suitable spot should have posed no issues. But they picked the construction site. Why? For what purpose?

This isn't logical...

I've finished my tea. Pouring another mug, I grabbed some crackers, and settled back down. Their training at the stadium doesn't fit the overall picture. On the contrary, it shatters it. My choice of location was due to specific requirements. Their choice was clearly based on something else. Was I being observed, analyzed, and these two were dispatched to "infiltrate"? Ugh... That's nonsense. Too convoluted, unreliable, contrived, and foolish. Even if I had been under surveillance without my awareness, with such a level of scrutiny, they would have devised a much more intelligent scheme.

So what am I missing? What am I not seeing?

Let's assume everything they've said is true. What do I know, then? First, they live in the suburbs. More accurately, one of them does for sure, while the other's residence is uncertain. There's no doubt about the suburban location since dogs can't be kept in areas populated by shapeshifters - the creatures go mad in such company. In the outskirts of the city, away from the clan residences, keeping dogs is common. Next, these two belong to a specific group, as they share mutual acquaintances. However, this group could be anything from a school class to neighbors. This detail isn't crucial at the moment, but it supports the theory that they knew each other before their initiation.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

What else... Baenre's family rents a house, and he has two younger sisters, likely quite young, possibly infants. His mother's name starts with "Ma"... And Dobrynya referred to her as "aunt," though this likely means nothing, merely a customary nod to politeness. The Baenre family's neighbor owned a constantly barking dog, which recently died. The conflict with this neighbor over the dog was long-standing and even involved the police. So why didn't they move away from such a troubled neighborhood? There could be many reasons, ranging from financial limitations to the possibility that they don't rent a house but are provided with accommodation by their employer. No, this aspect is too complex to speculate about; I can disregard it for now. Let's concentrate on...

Wait!

I seize the fleeting thought and pull it back. What if? Seriously, what if Baenre's and possibly Dobrynya's parents are specialists from another city or country, hired for the stadium construction? Then everything would make sense. They would know the place, possibly having visited their fathers at work more than once. Therefore, they might feel safe there psychologically. The association follows: need to train - familiar stadium, a straightforward line of thinking. It's a bit of a stretch, but it explains everything.

"Purity," they didn't lie to me, did they?

You are such a snake. When I need help, you always remain silent.

It appears I can't avoid tracking them down and verifying everything myself. Slipping into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, I hop off the windowsill and take a seat at my computer. I connect to the internet and pull up a map of Wilflaes and its surrounding suburbs. I do have a paper version in my apartment, but it's five years old, and I need something as up-to-date as possible; an online map is perfect for this. Besides, such an internet search is entirely normal and safe.

Fifteen minutes later, I've marked down eight settlements, dividing them into two groups of four. The first group included those with the most conveniently accessible routes to the construction site. The second included less obvious but still plausible locations.

This preliminary step was the easiest. What should I begin with next? The theory that they were sent to spy on me, or the assumption that they come from families of invited specialists? The latter is simpler and quicker to check, so I opt for that. If it turns out to be incorrect, I'll consider a different approach.

I leave the city map bookmarked. Now, I move onto reviewing news about the construction site from the past three months. This is also a safe choice, as the controversial construction has drawn the attention of various people. I start looking into the primary contractors...

Aha!

"We have also invited consultants from the Flavian Pillars company. Engineers from this firm, which is considered one of the most reliable in Europe with an impeccable reputation, will be present on site to provide assistance..."

This article is intriguing, particularly given that the ancient Roman Colosseum also goes by the name "Flavian Amphitheater." Moreover, the article includes a link to this architectural firm's website. My blind guess seems to be on point.

After several minutes of searching, I note potential candidates. It's unfortunate that social networks are not well-established in this world; things would be significantly simpler. If there were a counterpart to Facebook or VK here, verifying my theory would take considerably less time.

As I mulled over my next move, a thought occurred to me that lent further support to my theory about foreign workers. Could it be that these guys specifically avoid contact with local organizations like the BKDW and the Masks, not because they're fearful of exposing themselves, but for another reason? For instance, if they plan to return to their home country soon. The construction project is expected to conclude in no more than five months, and it wouldn't make much sense for them to engage with the local communities of the Break Knights thereafter. Well, there might be a sense, but declining such contacts also gains an additional, fairly persuasive argument...

The day spent scouring the internet flew by unnoticed, and I was so engrossed that I forgot to have lunch. I identified contractors who collaborate with local construction firms. I found real estate agencies responsible for accommodating the invited specialists. But there was no further progress. To continue my search, I would need to visit these agencies and delve into their documents. Moreover, if the guys show up tomorrow, I might gather additional details that could aid my search. I could dedicate this night to such a visit, too, but I need a break because my brain feels like it's about to burst every time I think about this newcomer pair again.

I had dinner, watched a news segment on television, and then checked the BKDW and Masks websites. The latter once again delighted me with a series of new illustrations of the Knights. According to the accompanying description, they were sent by a well-wisher from Australia, who depicted the raigs of the southern continent, which the artist, being a Knight himself, painted. I perused the pictures, memorizing the unique details of each individual - in case it might prove useful at some point in the future.

After saving the images onto my hard drive, I downloaded the first episodes of the top five highest-rated series I hadn't watched yet. I wouldn't have time to delve into them today, but tomorrow morning, they'd provide some light entertainment during breakfast.

Ten minutes before midnight, once again forgoing my motorcycle suit, I opted for lighter, more comfortable attire and habitually wrapped a scarf around my head. In a small bag slung over my shoulder, I packed a flashlight, batteries, a notebook, and a fountain pen. After giving myself a final once-over in the mirror and feeling satisfied with my disguise, I stepped into the Break.

Out of habit, I make it a point not to travel the same route consecutively. Hence, I took a different path this time, not via backyards or rooftops, but through underground tunnels. Although it took longer and often required walking through walls — a sensation I found unpleasant — this change in routine brought me a sense of calm.

After ensuring the security and checking for cameras, I circumnavigated the entire library floor, only exiting the Break once I was certain that no students or staff were left behind at the university. Since I remembered where I'd previously spotted the books that intrigued me, finding them again didn't take long. Soon, comfortably seated at the table farthest from the entrance, books spread out before me, notebook open, I immersed myself in the material.

Encyclopedias, textbooks, student coursework... An hour in, I found myself contemplating a switch from the Faculty of Robotics to the Faculty of History. The disparity between the history of my world and this one sparked my interest, and I enjoyed drawing comparisons, occasionally noting intriguing details. However, I quickly dismissed the idea of such a transfer. It would raise too many questions, and the academic year was set to commence in less than a month. Plus, history could remain a hobby. Izao's history grades were always stellar, and I wouldn't need to concoct elaborate explanations for this interest.

At three in the morning, I gathered all the books and returned them to their rightful places on the shelves. I tucked my notebook and pen into the bag, and then meticulously erased any traces of my presence. There was no need to spend the entire night in the library this time, as I needed to catch at least a bit of sleep before my scheduled meeting.

On my way home, I pondered over where I'd gone wrong. Such thoughts sprang from the scant information available on Sire Campeador in the books I'd studied, even less than the snippet provided in the general encyclopedia. His name while in ministry was not mentioned, nor was there any reference to the monastery he was said to have constructed — or rather, reconfigured from one of the castles. This seemed logical, considering such transformations were common in my world's history.

I realized that such scarcity of information regarding events that occurred so long ago is quite commonplace. How many monasteries from the dawn of the twelfth century have survived? Barely any, less than one percent. The majority have faded into oblivion without a trace. Natural disasters, wars, epidemics, and simply the relentless passage of time — there are numerous reasons for this. The fact that there's even a sliver of mention is remarkable. So my logic tells me, but I find myself unsatisfied with this entirely sound line of reasoning. A voice in my head persistently whispers: "This is a conspiracy — the information has been purposely erased!" I'm almost tempted to consult a psychologist, as I seem to be conjuring up conspiracies spanning hundreds of years. However, I wouldn't dare go to one. I couldn't possibly explain my situation without divulging my secrets, and most psychologists are charlatans anyway. Well, barring the sensums who practice this profession, but I'm not about to approach them. Been there, done that. Merely recalling the unknown force that pulled me out of the Break gives me goosebumps. It appears that my encounter with Tu Chong has bred a new phobia — I now fear even the weakest sensum. I hope this fear fades, as I already have enough phobias to contend with.

Returning home without a hitch, I quickly undressed, set my alarm for seven in the morning, and retired to bed. I can maintain this daily routine for about a week, but it's best not to overdo it. The library trips aren't as essential now, anyway. I've exhausted all available open sources. Further research into de Vivar would require delving into monographs, specific academic papers, and the like. Honestly, it's not my top priority. Besides, do I really need it? I've already deduced that the Maker, with near certainty, didn't identify me as a historical figure, but merely had an epiphany.

Just as I was drifting off to sleep, a sharp, unexpected thought pierced my mind, banishing sleep entirely.

Wait! If it was just an epiphany, then the facts don't add up! I'm not the reincarnation of Sire Campeador! Can the Makers' inspiration be flawed? I can't comprehend this...

A truly intriguing question: is a sensum's intuition invariably accurate, or can there be lapses? From what I recall from Izao's memories and my own brief experience in this world, gifted individuals on the level of Tu Chong rarely err when it comes to their talent's flashes of insight. The situation becomes utterly perplexing. I'm at a loss.

The figure of de Vivar isn't something that even a professional historian might easily recognize, as it left a very faint footprint in historical records. Yet, the theory of an intuitive revelation doesn't hold water either, as I'm not the reincarnation of this bygone king, and the Maker couldn't have made such a mistake. That night, my thought process felt like a futile attempt to piece together parts of a steamship and an electric locomotive in the hopes of creating an airplane. Sleep eluded me, despite my best efforts. Neither meditation nor self-hypnosis nor any other methods seemed to help.

The sound of my alarm brought a peculiar and illogical sense of relief. This restless night filled with disjointed thoughts and irritability was finally over. Yes, I was exhausted and distinctly out of sorts, but a new day had dawned — that was a relief in itself.

Stumbling against furniture and barely able to lift my legs, I trudged to the bathroom and tried to rejuvenate myself by alternating between hot and cold showers. It revitalized my body but did little to organize my thoughts. After completing my morning routine and brushing my teeth, I donned a bathrobe and headed to the kitchen. Instead of breakfast, I simply made tea, having no appetite whatsoever.

Mug of hot tea in hand, I passed by my computer. The morning news could wait; I had no interest in watching it, and I doubted my ability to process it correctly in my current state. Eventually, I found myself at the windowsill. Climbing onto it and settling in comfortably, I experienced a hint of relaxation. I find this spot in my home comforting, perhaps even more so than my bed or my computer chair. Observing strangers down below, scurrying about their morning routines, oblivious to my existence — there's something oddly soothing about it.

So there I sat, blankly gazing downwards while sipping my fragrant green tea, losing track of time. My contemplative trance was broken by the sight of a familiar figure in a tracksuit crossing the alley below. The shapeshifter boy, punctual as always. His appearance indicated that I had been idly sitting here for quite a while. Wasn't it about time I collected my thoughts?

I needed to consider one issue: when should I arrive at the meeting? Should I be early, precisely on time, or "late"? Should I observe the other attendees arriving, or should I give off an impression of trust?

Punctuality is a safe choice, likely the most neutral one. However, it doesn't offer any distinct advantages. Arriving early to stay incognito and observe the others might not seem "elegant" or "noble," but it could provide additional food for thought. There's a downside, though: if they aren't fools, they'll quickly deduce what I was doing should I arrive later than the agreed-upon time. This would risk losing their trust — hypothetical trust, of course.

As I suited up in my motorcycle gear, I mulled over this topic, growing increasingly convinced that arriving early was the best approach. This option offered a chance to present myself in a more favorable light, potentially outweighing the benefits of the other choices.

Lowering my visor, I took a look at myself in the mirror. My appearance seemed satisfactory, so it was time to head out.

Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!

I arrived at the construction site from the east, making a sizable detour that required almost two minutes of full-speed travel. This time, I entered the stadium bowl not via the roof but through the main entrance, where substantial cladding work was being done. It was my second time inspecting this building up close, and it gave me the impression that the stadium would end up being quite impressive and comfortable for spectators. However, I'm not an architect or a builder, and my casual observation could very well be mistaken.

There was one less team working in the stadium bowl and on the future field than the day before. I wasn't sure why, but it was actually better for me. It will be less concerning about where the "Word" might fly if I decided to practice the "Throw."

With a subtle movement, I adjusted my sleeve, stealing a glance at my watch. There were precisely fifteen minutes remaining until the scheduled time. My timing had been calculated perfectly.

I immediately found a suitable spot for my intended activity, as the field was entirely visible from the entrance. In its southern section, where the goal posts will be installed, numerous iron rods about a meter long protruded from the concrete base. They were arranged closely together, no more than half a meter apart.

Reaching this spot in three leaps, I landed on one of the rods. In reality, maintaining my balance on such a small point for more than ten seconds would have been impossible. However, in the Break, where the wind doesn't affect me and my body is nearly weightless, such a feat is not challenging: I just needed to adjust and accept how simple it was.

Rising onto my toes, I spun around my axis. The exhaustion from my sleepless night began to take its toll, and to prevent myself from staggering, I had to aid my balance with a wave of my hands.

[1] TLN: One of the Slavic knights from the picture linked in the previous chapter.

[2] TLN: One of the Slavic tribes, a sub-ethnicity.

[3] AN: Reference to Jarlaxle Baenre, a drow elf, adventurer, and leader of the mercenary band Bregan D'Erth.

[4] TLN: Another one of the three mentioned in [1]. Dobrynya's character is more noble and diplomatic, while Alyosha Popovich is easygoing and talkative.