I had truly messed up in such a foolish way!
All this while, I was under the impression that the next break in reality was at least a couple of weeks away. My calculations would have been accurate if I had remained within the urban agglomeration of Wilflaes. But I had left the capital of Novilter myself and essentially ventured into another region, which had its own countdown between Breakthroughs.
When deciding how and where to exchange money and opting for Orpheidos, I hadn't even considered the shift in regions — the idea simply hadn't crossed my mind. But had I evaluated the situation as a whole rather than in parts, I should have included such a possibility in my plans.
A chill ran through my spectral form.
Each Breakthrough represented a fight, a battle, a precarious dance on a razor's edge. If I had a choice, I would ignore the Call and move away from the port at full speed. Regrettably, I didn't have the luxury to do so.
How could I be so unfortunate?
And why was it happening in the middle of the day instead of the usual night? Yes, I knew it happened occasionally, with about every fifth breakthrough occurring during daylight hours. What a string of absurd coincidences, likely to spell my doom today.
These Breakthroughs were driving me insane!
You make plans, contemplate how to live your life, worry about tomorrow, and then reality shatters, and you risk being killed — a quite possible outcome, indeed.
Unable to resist the Call for long, I surrendered to its will, immediately swept up by the otherworldly wind.
The waves sped beneath me, merging into an indistinguishable deep-blue haze. However, since I hadn't managed to get far from the port, my flight lasted only a few moments.
The otherworldly flow slowed and gently deposited me onto the stone pavement.
In the port area of the city, I stood in the middle of a wide pier designed for large tourist ships. When I first arrived, one of these sea giants was setting sail, but now the pier was almost deserted — apart from a couple of workers coiling up cables and a lone watchman dozing in the shade against the wall of his small booth. The absence of idle people on the pier was a good sign — it meant fewer potential victims.
But why was I alone?
Where were the rest of the Break Knights? Was I expected to defend the city single-handedly?
No, not alone. As soon as I considered the possibility, six dim meteors streaked across the sky, plummeting onto the pavement just a few meters away.
Six raigs.
Why so few?
Of course! Orpheidos and its surroundings were far less populated than Wilflaes, resulting in fewer defenders here.
I hoped that the difficulty of this Breakthrough would be commensurate with previous ones, given that local raigs had managed to keep other-dimensional monsters from infiltrating the material world.
The Knight nearest to me, adjusting his helmet, acknowledged the others with a casual wave of his hand. Spotting me, he froze for a split second. Following that, his sword slid out of its sheath, and he saluted me. His companions mirrored his gesture. I responded with a profound bow.
Five of my soon-to-be comrades in battle wore almost identical gear. Their torsos were armored in an intricate fashion, similar to the heavy armor of the hoplites from the ancient Greek coalition's golden era. Dark bronze cast leggings and bracers, with all joints covered by chainmail rings. The armor of these five varied only by the color of the plumes on their Corinthian helmets and the pattern on their short red cloaks. However, everyone's weapons differed, ranging from a short spear with a leaf-shaped tip to a classic xyphos sword that complemented their armor.
The sixth raig stood out amidst this uniformity. Tall and seemingly robust, with dark skin visible on his armor-exposed palms. A thick robe of sturdy canvas with metal plates sewn on it cloaked his body from neck to knees. He wore a Roman helmet from the era of Marius's reforms, and a white leather mask concealed his face. The weapon in his hands was peculiar — a heavy, long, two-handed blade, not quite a sword but more like a scimitar, except with an extreme curve of the blade. What's it called again? Ah, right, a shotel — I'd seen one in the Cairo Museum. It was a terrifying weapon against unarmored foes, capable of easily severing an arm or a knee with a moderate blow.
Oddly, despite the locals' apparent familiarity with one another — not in terms of real-world interactions but rather as projections — they didn't make any attempts to approach or converse with each other. In fact, they all maintained a deliberate distance.
Were they planning to fight individually rather than collectively?
Until now, I may have underestimated the significance of BKDW as a unifying and coordinating entity. During the Wilflaes Breakthroughs, the organization's Knights always acted as a cohesive force. They served as a support for the rest, a backbone on which others could depend.
Everyone steals glances at me, but nobody approaches or attempts to initiate a conversation. More accurately, not everyone is looking at me. The dark-skinned man, having shifted the shotel from his shoulder, runs his palm along its blade, repeating the motion incessantly. It's clear that he is preoccupied with his weapon, showing little interest in his surroundings.
I evaluate their prana levels. All are of the second tier, not a single beginner — encouraging, to say the least. However, I'm entirely displeased with their apparent lack of interest in even pretending to be a team!
I take a step back to view everyone and raise my right hand to catch their attention.
But before I can utter a single word, the already subdued colors of the Break dim further, and an impenetrable fog rolls in from the sea in a dense, whitish wave. From behind its thick curtain, a mournful bugle call rings out, sending a chill down the spine.
Within a second, an ancient, battered, hole-riddled sailboat that's miraculously still afloat approaches the pier. Its black sails bearing the image of the Jolly Roger hang in tatters, with iron chains serving as ropes. On its deck, a troop of skeletons clutching weapons in their bony jaws stand in silent, orderly rows.
"Ghost Dane"! That's what they call the almost identical legend in this world, reminiscent of the "Flying Dutchman" I'm familiar with.
The sight is so captivating that I freeze, my hand still raised, forgetting what I was about to say.
Another resonant, echoing bugle note drifts over the pier. Then, in utter silence, gun ports swing open. Bony hands maneuver the bronze cannons into position. A faint spark twinkles in the shadows of the gun deck.
I react instinctively to this barely visible light, as do the other raigs on the pier. We all leap five to eight meters upward, as high as each of us can manage. And we do so just in time.
The ancient galleon's cannons erupt in a muffled roar, perhaps muffled by the mist or for some other reason. The cannonballs whistle beneath us, where our feet were moments ago. I can't say if the other raigs' armor would have withstood the hit of such shells. If even one of them struck me, I would certainly be knocked unconscious.
I perform a somersault and land. As I fall, I notice one of the shells strike the guardhouse. Despite the projectile being spectral, it doesn't stop it from shattering the small wooden structure into splinters. The watchman, who had until then been dozing peacefully in the shade, leaning against one of the walls, springs to his feet instantly. His face and hands are smeared with blood; from what I can tell, they're just superficial wounds, the typical cuts and splinter marks. For about three seconds, he looks wildly around, either at himself or the destroyed guardhouse, then, with a frenzied yell, he sprints toward the embankment, flailing his arms. The two workers, who were just wrapping up cleaning the pier, respond similarly: with a string of loud curses, they bolt after the watchman. This may be a fortunate turn of events. Had they stayed, they might have perished, as it's clear that the "Ghost Dane's" weapons are quite capable of inflicting damage in the real world.
So, if I'm not mistaken, a new volley will not occur anytime soon — such ancient cannons require a considerable amount of time to reload. Thus, I can put this threat aside for the time being.
The bugle sounds again, issuing a new command. The skeletons on the deck, which had remained utterly still until now, begin to stir. Simultaneously, the first row of skeletal sailors steps forward and leaps from the side of the ship directly onto the pier, not bothering with ladders.
All of this transpires in almost absolute silence, punctuated only by the intermittent fluttering of black sails and the resonant clattering of bony feet on the concrete pier.
Somehow, I find this Breakthrough rather unnerving: there are merely seven of us, and a hundred adversaries — and that's only those in sight. Who knows how many skeletons are still lurking on the galleon's lower decks. Also, my hopes that the skeletons would be slow were, regrettably, unfounded. True, their movements are somewhat jerky, as if manipulated by a puppeteer pulling invisible strings, yet they don't lumber along at a turtle's pace. The eerie glow burning in their eye sockets is another thing that unsettles me: it's irrationally frightening, repulsive, and incites a desire to flee without looking back.
Suspecting some form of mental manipulation, I activate the "Shield." Immediately, the insidious, nagging sensation of subconscious fear recedes and then disappears entirely.
The skeletons don't run: they saunter in measured, even rows, as if they're not the remains of pirates but the remnants of an ancient legion revived by a proficient necromancer. The blades, previously clenched in their teeth, are now securely held in their bony hands.
However, these are certainly not the skeletons of legionnaires nor the remains of any organized army — their weaponry is too distinct. Cutlasses — these short, heavy blades with pronounced handguards are unmistakable. Occasionally, amidst this uniformity, shortened broadswords glint. These weapons have proven ideal for ship deck battles over centuries.
Once, a very long time ago, these skeletons donned grand waistcoats, but now, almost no trace of this bygone opulence remains. Instead, only subtle hints persist: a not entirely decayed crocodile leather belt with a silver buckle on one, a gold chain with a broken amulet on another, on a third — the remnants of what was once a magnificent hat. Traces like these can be seen on each approaching skeleton.
The Knights, in the meantime, had spread out along the pier, forming two irregular lines. It didn't appear to be a conscious formation, but rather a product of their desire to maintain distance from each other. It seems any notion of covering a comrade is out of the question here. How did they even manage to survive until the second level with such an attitude? Were they simply fortunate, and the Breakthroughs in Orpheidos were significantly weaker than in the capital of Novilter? That's most likely the case. Other ideas as to why, with such "teamwork," the city hasn't been decimated yet, are not coming to me right now.
It so happened that in this spontaneous formation, I was the farthest from the ghostly ship, and the dark-skinned raig in robe-like armor was, conversely, at the front and closest to the encroaching skeletons. Given the situation, I'll maintain this position, leaving the initial clash to the locals.
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As I entertain that thought, a chill races down my left palm.
"Purity"! What are you doing? If I'm not rushing forward, there are reasons. First, I need to assess how much I can rely on these Knights. Secondly, if they let one of the undead pirates slip through their formation, someone has to pick up their slack!
The icy sensation in my hand quickly recedes following this swift line of reasoning.
And don't meddle with my battle, "Purity"! It could end poorly for both of us...
There's no response to my demand, and I'm hoping this silence is nothing more than implicit agreement.
As I was admonishing the wakizashi, events accelerated. The fact that the dark-skinned raig was closest to the enemy was likely no accident. The others probably knew some of his characteristics, and thus assigned him the vanguard role.
"Set-Ha!" With this peculiar exclamation, the Knight, his face veiled by a leather mask, twirled the overgrown scimitar above his head and leapt towards the enemy.
He leapt adeptly, not upwards but forwards, as though skimming over the ground to add the energy of his mass to the strike's force, while simultaneously maintaining defense. The dark-skinned one stood almost a head taller and was several times heavier than the largest of the pirate skeletons. I understood his strategy. And it almost worked. The first skeleton managed to block with his saber, but this didn't save it. The potent blow from the shotel swiftly and effortlessly shattered this barrier and carved into the old bones, bleached by salty winds. Knowing the capabilities of the Break swords, I anticipated the blade would effortlessly cleave through the skeleton and continue its course, wreaking havoc among the ghost ship's crew. But this didn't happen. The ancient bones proved to be much sturdier than they initially seemed. The blade cut into the ribs, intersected the spinal column, then slowed and stuck. The worst part was that the lights in the eye sockets of the nearly severed skeleton didn't extinguish, and it continued to move. The nearby skeletons also weren't idle — their blades, like venomous snakes, lunged towards the momentarily frozen raig.
The dark-skinned man spun on his axis, freeing the blade from the skeletal grip, and quickly sought to increase the distance between him and the enemies. His armor managed to deflect two attacks from the skeletons: the sabers were unable to pierce the metal plates. He blocked another strike with the hilt of his shotel. However, a fourth, slight prick from another skeleton found its mark, and the dark-skinned Knight's prana immediately dropped by about one-fifth.
An especially audacious skeleton darted forward, hoisting its broadsword to strike. But its advance was halted by a swift leap and lunge from the nearest raig, dressed in a cloak adorned with the ancient Greek letter "omega." The wide-tipped spear in his hands thrust straight into the skull, splitting it in two. The glow in the dead sockets was instantly extinguished, and the bones collapsed into a formless pile on the pier, as though someone had removed a pivotal rod from the skeleton.
The deep, resounding note of the bugle sounded, and the skeletons, their bone jaws opening soundlessly, launched a mass attack.
At this point, this skeletal avalanche would have covered us all if the width of the pier had not confined the skeletons. For some reason, the long-dead pirates did not dare to approach the water. The impromptu formation of the six raigs yielded under this attack but held their ground. After retreating no more than five steps, the Orpheidos Knights halted and repelled the first assault. Seven piles of bones lay strewn on the concrete pier after their skulls were impaled, but this attack was not without repercussions for the raigs: every one of them failed to block or evade at least one hit. And the Knight cloaked in a robe bearing the letter "Theta" and wielding a xyphos sword in his hands lost almost half of his energy.
The skeletons were weaker and slower than the raigs, but that was where the good news ended. Observing their movements, I came to a disheartening conclusion - they knew how to wield their weapons. It seemed the fencing skills the pirates acquired during their lifetime were preserved in their bones. The only thing saving the Knights, who were fending off these somewhat slow but skilled attacks, was the disjointed, excessively sharp movements of the skeletons, as if invisible strings truly manipulated them. This made their blocks and strikes less effective, allowing the raigs to leverage their advantage in speed and armor to inflict damage.
Nevertheless, the adversaries were too numerous, and if the current ratio of damage endured persisted, in less than ten minutes, the crew of the old sailing ship would trample the city's defenders into the ground, having lost no more than half of their force. Therefore, it was time for me to step in.
Simply stepping forward wouldn't be the optimal course of action. The fluid formation of the raigs would disintegrate if I attempted to force myself into it. While the other Knights acclimated to my presence, they might miss several unnecessary strikes. Another option would be to ascend and descend on the skeletons, akin to a ballistic missile. While such a maneuver could inflict some damage on the attackers, it would also place me in a dense encirclement, nullifying the benefits of my primary strengths - mobility and the reach of "Word."
Neither the first nor the second option elicited a favorable response from me. I needed to act differently, exploit all the weaknesses of the enemy that the Breakthrough had spewed out, and simultaneously maximize my strengths.
With two elongated sliding steps, I reached the edge of the pier and leaped down to the sea waves. The pier was about two meters high, and my landing was quite smooth. A short run, a leap upward!
Soaring over the pier, I launched a lateral attack on the skeleton formation. The nearest skeleton only had time to turn its skull when it immediately received a strike from "Purity" right under the jaw and shattered like broken pieces of an odd Lego set. The second one reacted faster. His saber attempted to deflect the attack from "Word," but his movements were excessively abrupt, and the sword, inscribing two-thirds of the letter "O" in the air, bypassed the block and pierced the eye socket. The dim lights in the skull went out, and another pile of bones littered the pier.
A kick off the fence and all the strikes from the bone pirates, who had taken the place of the defeated, missed their target, slicing only through the air.
The hit-and-run strategy was the best choice for me in this battle!
Another leap - a wall of bare blades awaited me. Really? Are you prepared? Do you think you can handle me?
Sword Throw!
Nearly a dozen skeletons collapsed onto the concrete with severed legs. No, it didn't lay them to rest - they could still move. But "Word" returned to my palm, and my feet touched the edge of the pier. A flurry of swift attacks followed, and before the enemies could respond by engulfing me with their entire mass, I was back in the waves. Another seven down!
One skeleton didn't manage to slow down in time, or perhaps someone pushed him from behind, and he toppled off the pier, plunging into the sea. As soon as his head was submerged under the waves, the fire in his eye sockets extinguished with a sharp flash, and he sank like a stone, motionless and not even twitching.
Are these skeletal beings afraid of water?
That's just wonderful!
Our chances of victory have just evolved from fantastical to tangible.
I push off another wave.
Sword Throw!
"Cast them into the sea!" I holler to my comrades.
This time, instead of aiming to annihilate the legless skeletons, I focus on kicking them into the water.
Darn it!
One of them proved to be quicker than the rest, managing to slash my shin with his saber as he fell. My prana immediately dipped by one-sixth.
I need to be more vigilant!
The bugle blares once more. My view from the waves is obscured, but based on the sounds, the skeletons are repositioning, likely in response to my newfound strategy.
Consequently, I shouldn't be predictable. I maneuver close to the pier and, with a brisk run, reappear at the rear of the pirates, almost alongside the sailboat. Indeed, the pirate's backsides are quite close here, a mere ten steps away.
Sword Throw!
The sword whizzes through the air with a signature whistle, spinning ferociously at the height of the skeletons' necks. Four skulls are launched into the air before the others react by ducking.
"Word"! Return!
As soon as I catch the sword, noticing movement above my head, I tumble away from the unexpected threat.
A skeleton lands with a bone-jarring thud where I had stood moments ago, having leaped straight from the ship's deck. This one is peculiar: his skull is adorned with an almost untouched black bandana, a metal hook substitutes his right hand, precisely as depicted in conventional pirate imagery; in his left palm, he holds not the usual saber or broadsword, but a long thin sword, somewhat reminiscent of the Chinese Jian straight blade. A boatswain's whistle dangles on a silver chain on his chest.
I roll back and unleash a double attack from my grounded position. The lunge with "Purity" is parried by a downward block of the sword, and the metal hook deflects "Word" aimed at his eyes.
An undercut. I miss! And now the Jian, like a swooping crane, strikes from above. I position "Word" defensively! Alas! It's a feint, not a full-blown strike. A swift swing with "Purity" spares me. I create some distance, but the adversary doesn't even consider letting me go. He speeds up, and the sword in his bony hand whirls as if not one, but a dozen of them exist at once.
The serrated triple attack with "Word" crumbles against this steel barrier. Another barrage of strikes - and yet again, only the cacophony of clashing blades. Metal glimmers, and I stagger back. I was fortunate: only the very tip of the Jian reached my chest. It's a minor wound, but it rings like a funeral bell. The foe might be weaker and slower, but the centuries-old experience of the ghost ship's boatswain trumps all my skills. He's simply a better swordsman than me.
Another second, and my only recourse would be to defend. Had his right hand held a second blade instead of a hook, he would have sliced me to pieces within ten seconds! I attempt to capitalize on an overly erratic move from the adversary and narrowly escape a strike to the neck. It was another feint.
I'm unable to defeat him...
While that pirate boatswain has me pinned, the rest of the skeletal formation is gradually, yet persistently, closing in on the Orpheidos Knights.
This is intolerable! A powerful leap backwards, around ten meters, carries me past the edge of the pier. During the flight, I manage to perform another Throw, and the sword does not let me down, putting three standard, long-deceased sailors to rest.
Instead of pursuing me, the skeletal boatswain shrugs and leisurely makes his way toward the general melee.
This cannot be permitted! He will mangle the local raigs into a pulp faster than they can utter "mother"!