Short run, jump! How I am in love with this sensation, almost like flying! Pushing off the support of the shelf and up again. It's been only a couple of seconds since I was standing on the concrete floor, and now I'm balancing on a wire under the roof of the hangar where cargo airships were repaired several decades ago. From my current position to the ground, it's almost twenty-seven meters. I've been able to do this for a month now, a whole thirty days! And still, I am amazed. Well, not entirely accurate, four weeks ago I wouldn't have been able to do this, and it's not about the strength or the abilities of projection, but rather about the habit...
Moreover, you can safely subtract the first week, back then I wasn't even thinking about projection, I was more focused on relearning how to walk. I only started cautiously studying the effects of Break after getting used to my new body, and the post-mortem stress was weighing heavily on me. At first, I thought it was all over, that I had completely lost it! Yes, during the first few hours, I was quite disoriented, and even now, sometimes I get the feeling that everything around me is unreal, a product of a sick mind, and not... reality.
The reality in which there is no Viktor Pavlovich, a forty-three-year-old operator of a mobile group of military correspondents, but there is a young man Izao Viallant, who recently celebrated his seventeenth birthday, or rather, Izao himself didn't get to celebrate it... yes... The boy didn't make it to his birthday just a couple of days, just like me, who didn't make it to my forty-fourth birthday, exactly the same. Is it a coincidence or not? Sometimes I think that such coincidences don't exist, and then I remember that I have witnessed much more absurd and strange twists of fate in my life.
Take, for example, my death. It's unbelievable how I managed to go through the NATO invasion of Libya and the Egyptian turmoil on the brink of civil war, and then the Syrian conflict, albeit in separate incidents. And to die in my hometown, in the fitting room of a clothing store, from a banal heart attack. It's like a joke... A sad one, though. I won't even bother telling anyone about it, of course. Death is death, but I didn't become a fool from these experiences. I understand the dangers of being too talkative, especially on such a sensitive topic.
And now, the most terrifying part... Taking a deep breath, I jump down from the height of a tenth-floor building onto the concrete floor. Yes! I managed not to close my eyes! Overcoming the instincts ingrained by evolution is not easy, I must say. There seems to be no physical body, only a projection, but the feelings are the same. That's essentially why I'm training here, learning to suppress the instincts that nature has bestowed upon me, far away from anyone who could see me in my Break form, under the roof of a massive hangar that the dockworkers have turned into a sort of dump.
It's really hard to get used to it. It takes two seconds to ascend, but almost ten seconds to descend. Everything is different in the Break. The projection reacts strangely to gravity, as if I weigh only a tenth of my actual weight. I don't feel any air resistance when I move consciously, but during accidental falls, the air slows me down like water. And there's always a gentle breeze blowing in my face, no matter which way I turn. I don't even need to breathe. I tested it once - I calmly sat in the Break for four hours without taking a single breath. But I can still breathe freely if I want to. It doesn't harm me, but it doesn't help either.
So, what is my task for today? It's been the usual for the past few days: to cross the hangar in the shortest time possible. The current record is nine seconds for one hundred and fifty meters, filled with garbage, broken equipment, and damaged containers. I switch my watch on my left wrist to stopwatch mode. Before pressing the "start" button, I survey the projected route. Despite weeks of training, I am still far from having an intuitive understanding of the abilities bestowed upon me by the projection. Therefore, before I begin my movement, I mentally plan out the route. Of course, in a combat situation, I won't have the luxury of doing so, but for now, I allow myself this indulgence as I have no intention of getting involved in anything dangerous for as long as possible. Of course, a Breakthrough can occur at any moment and disrupt my preparation plans. However, based on statistics, a Breakthrough happens once or twice a month in the same region, and the last one occurred in Wilflaes, Izao's hometown, just a month ago, indirectly leading to my arrival in this world. There is one caveat though: the phenomenon of the Break itself entered this world less than six months ago, and I understand that the statistics gathered in such a short period of observation hold little value. Nevertheless, I hope I have enough time to prepare.
So, I have prepared an approximate route. Let's start!
With a short run, as far as the piles of junk allow, I propel myself forward and upward. I could simply jump up to the ceiling and cover the entire distance by jumping on the ceiling beams, or run along one of the walls, which would be even easier, but what would be the point of training if I were to make it that easy? Therefore, an additional challenge is that I must refrain from using such simple options. Soaring through the air for twenty meters in a single leap, I grab onto a fragment of a television antenna protruding from a crooked trailer that used to serve as a technical room but has now been cleverly transformed by dockworkers into a secret moonshine distillery. I grab hold and change the direction of my flight. This change is necessary to avoid crashing at full speed into the "parked" tractor lying on its side. I don't know who brought it here and why, but it has been here for a long time, appearing completely broken but actually still functional. A sign scratched into the tractor's left door, a tail wrapped around an oar, warns any curious individuals to stay away from this supposedly broken machinery. The Skyre clan of the Arvikol lineage doesn't leave their marks without reason. I inspected this tractor a week ago and found nothing interesting in it, except for four very professionally set traps. If I weren't in Break, I would have undoubtedly fallen into one of them during my inspection. Yes, I would have fallen for it, even with the experience of detecting and avoiding mines and booby traps that I gained in Palmyra. However, those who have been involved in illegal transportation for many centuries have the right to their own secrets. I actually even like these Skyres; they have carved out their niche in controlling the smuggling of river and sea routes in Lemuria, but unlike their land-dwelling cousins, they don't engage in drug trafficking, murder, or human trafficking. They may be water rats in essence, but they have their own unique sense of honor.
Leaving the tractor behind my left shoulder, to maintain my speed, I push off the crane chain hanging from the ceiling with a swift palm strike. Performing a somersault to avoid the football goalposts that somehow ended up in this place, I land on a rare clean patch of floor amidst the garbage. I land and immediately continue my movement towards the target with a new jump. Two more changes in direction, bypassing the pipe dump, and my palm touches the wall of the hangar.
Time? Eight and fifteen hundredths. Excellent! Approximately eighteen and a half meters per second over rough terrain. Damn, I still can't get used to it. It's almost seventy kilometers per hour! And the best part is, I can definitely sense that this is far from my limit. I can go even faster!
Should I repeat or move on to the next exercise? Glancing at my watches, I reset the result. The watches... quite a marvel, a limited edition Cisco model for survivalists. And the marvel is that there isn't even such a company in this world, let alone these specific watches. They don't exist in this world, but they exist as a projection on my hand. However, the sleeves of my robe are long enough to conceal them if such an occasion arises. Well, it's just my luck that I chose this role for the costume party celebrating the New Year! Other raigs look impressive; knights, warriors, and heroes - and here I am, dressed like some kind of homeless person in gray rags and a dark cloak. And I can't explain to anyone that I'm dressed as a Jedi because nothing resembling the Star Wars saga has been made in this world. No one knows that my projection is a reference to Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan's teacher, and moreover, I actually resembled the actor who played him. I did...
Now I resemble an ordinary schoolboy, well, rather a student, fragile and delicate. In whom there is more from his father, most likely a Japanese, than from his mother, a Frenchwoman, a tall beauty with blond hair and eyes as green as the sea. Although Izao has his mother's eyes, yes, they are beautiful. I wish I had eyes like that in my previous life. Ah, the girls would have fallen for me in droves just by looking at them. But that's beside the point, I suppose. The only person I never lied to was my wife. I never lied or cheated in our twenty-two years of marriage. And there were plenty of opportunities - an endless ocean of them. No, it's not about love. The youthful passion faded quite quickly, after the birth of our second child. But respect, yes... our twenty-two years of marriage were built on respect and friendship. They were... No, there's no point in dwelling on the past. To Vicky and the children, I am dead. To my former world, I am a corpse. Well, at least I managed to raise the children well. Our eldest finished university, found a job, and moved out long ago. And our youngest daughter got married successfully, and everything is going well for her. I shouldn't think about it... I can't live in the past... Otherwise, I'll be overwhelmed by such depression again that I'll jump out of the window, not in the Break, but just like that, from the seventh floor, headfirst, just to make sure.
But what is happening to me? Fate has granted me a second chance, a new life in a young and healthy body. And the abilities I possess are such that many Marvel heroes would quietly envy. Even Qui-Gon would give up his own sword for my current capabilities, and yet here I am, crying as if to breed mold and dampness. The reason, it seems, is that I was happy in my previous life, with a beloved job, children, and shared hobbies with my wife. I feel miserable because what I have lost is not worth the gained youth or abilities. Happiness is such a fleeting thing... Lost...
Returning to my current body. Yes, it is youthful, fragile, and small, but the projection... When I enter the Break state, I appear as I did in the final second of my previous life, wearing the same clothes and carrying the same items, with one exception. I didn't bring my usual blades to the fitting room back then; I planned to equip myself with them just before the party. But here they are. Two handles protrude from my belt: one is familiar, my favorite replica of Colada El Cid[1], but the other, I still can't get used to it... Not the usual dagger tucked into my belt, but a Japanese wakizashi, a legacy from Izao, his "spiritual blade." Or, as the clergy would say, a "projection of a spiritual weapon." According to the church, a projection is not a spirit, and a Break is not a "Breakthrough of the spiritual dimension into the real world." And it's not just the Christian church that claims this, but all religious leaders are in agreement. And considering that the head of each religion in this world is a sensum of the Creator level, there is no reason to doubt their words. They know what they are talking about.
However, they don't object to the name that society and the media have given to people with abilities similar to mine - Break Knights. Pathos, and once again, pathos. On the other hand, I know for sure that in this case, this pathos is justified, and it makes it easier for ordinary people. They feel much calmer when they are protected by "knights" during a Breakthrough. The psychology of the masses, damn it. But are any of these boys and girls really "knights"?! Not a single one of them is older than nineteen, they're essentially children, no matter what anyone says. However, unlike the rest of the world, they understand this and don't call themselves that.
If you think about it, based on my life experience, I'm more than twice as old as any other raig. Yes, they call themselves raigs, and I know why...
Stop! Enough. Less thinking - Break is insidious. Once you focus on something, it soon becomes the only thing that matters to you. I need to stop thinking about unrelated topics when I'm in projection. It only seems simple to break free from Break's influence. In reality, I'm not yet so accustomed to being in a state of projection that I can shake off this fixation with just a desire or an act of willpower. However, there is a much simpler way out.
Choosing a spot free of debris, I reached it in one leap and, regaining my balance, transformed myself. In an instant, I'm human again. I'm using this kind of transformation outside my home for the first time, and only because I know for certain that there isn't a single video camera or tracking system in this hangar. I've checked it a long time ago.
After transitioning back from Break to the physical world, two completely different feelings always wash over me. The first is a sense of loss. You were just a step away from being a superhero, and now you're just a regular person. The second feeling is the opposite: an otherworldly relief, the realization that you exist, and you're not just a product of someone's twisted imagination. You need to breathe, and real blood flows through your veins - an indescribable feeling of life.
Due to the dim lighting in the hangar, as well as the fact that my face is covered by non-shattering tinted glass, for a moment, I feel completely blind. I wanted to lift the visor of my motorcycle helmet and dispel this feeling, but I resisted the urge. Even though there are no cameras here, and no one will accidentally notice me, I have no intention of breaking the carefully crafted rules of secrecy. In addition to the face-concealing helmet, my body is protected by a "turtle," a full armor for off-road racing enthusiasts, with faded inscriptions that make the identification impossible. It's a peculiar inheritance from Izao's mother's wild youth, coincidentally found by me in one of the many chests she left behind in the apartment after her departure. And even though wearing such an outfit without a motorcycle nearby might seem strange to a casual observer, no one will be able to recognize the young man named Izao in it. And that's a good thing because I have no intention of giving anyone even the slightest hint that Izao Vaillant is a raig. From the projection, no one will be able to identify me, as even though my face is not concealed in Break, it belongs to the version of me who died in another world, and it cannot be linked to Izao in any way.
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Once again, I catch myself not getting used to the fact that Izao Vaillant is now me. I constantly think of myself in the third person. I wish I could go to a psychiatrist, let them fix it, but I understand that this problem cannot be solved in such a way, and only time can heal it. And even if psychology could help with my predicament, of course, I wouldn't go anywhere to "get treated." The appearance of the Breakthrough effect in this world a few months ago, and consequently, the raigs, completely changes the long-established balance of power. Each Break Knight is a potential danger to those at the top of the social ladder. Because here, to a large extent, the cult of power reigns, only slightly retouched by laws and unspoken social agreements, and raigs... It is difficult to kill us, very difficult, and in the Break, it is impossible for the forces that govern this world. But raigs... raigs can kill anyone, silently, imperceptibly, and unstoppably, by cutting with their blades. They destroy not the body, but the very essence of a person, their soul. And there is no protection from this, no hiding from a creature that can not only move at the speed of a racing car but also pass through walls and any other physical obstacles. Moreover, it is completely invisible and imperceptible, because only someone who is a raig themselves can see others beyond the Break.
Yes, when leaving Break, people like me become ordinary, and any shifter, even a puppy, can easily deal with a raig. But the thing is, we are capable of instant transition between body and projection. So, even in the physical world, the only way to kill Break Knight is with an unexpected and lethal blow or in a way that he doesn't even realize he's being killed. Wounds, even fatal to a human but not instantly lethal, can be healed with a shift. This applies to viruses and any diseases as well.
And yet, as long as I'm human and not a projection, I'm vulnerable. That's why I absolutely don't want anyone to even suspect for a moment that I am Izao, the Break Knight.
More precisely, I am vulnerable in the projection state, but only to other raigs or Breakthrough creatures. However, this is taken for granted by me, as protecting the world from this threat is the duty of the Knights.
After taking a couple of breaths, I once again slipped into the world of shadows and meanings, becoming a projection. To be more precise, according to the official interpretation, I became a projection of the inner spiritual warrior of Break onto the surrounding reality, as the clergy say. To me, it's too complicated - a projection is just a projection.
Before starting the main exercises planned for today, I warmed up by jumping on the ceiling beams and wires. Each time, I get better and better at it. And even the fear of heights, carried over from my past life, manifests itself less and less, which brings me joy. After gaining a burst of energy and a good mood from jumping right under the ceiling, which somewhat resembles flying, I jumped down to the floor and, after a brief hesitation, touched a plywood sheet with my hand.
I touched it and applied a little pressure. It feels like dipping my hand into jelly, there is resistance, but it's easily overcome. The plywood sheet stands vertically, leaning against a warehouse shelf, quite large, about two by three meters. Not limiting myself to just my palm, I close my eyes and take a step forward. Unlike jumping, passing through physical objects is not a pleasant experience. No, this process doesn't come with any painful spasms, but it's far from enjoyable. I'm fortunate because I have one and a half souls, which makes it much easier for me compared to others. The half of Izao's spirit that I inherited forms the outer layer of my projection, creating a sort of film that allows me not only to pass through objects more easily and much faster than the locals, but also grants me a few additional abilities that other raigs don't have. For instance, I have two swords while everyone else has only one – quite a nice bonus. Although the second blade, the wakizashi, in my opinion, is a flawed weapon in many ways, especially when paired with the main heavy rapier, I'm less pleased with it. Why flawed? Well, because it lacks proper hand protection, and this short blade has far fewer parrying options compared to the familiar and beloved Spanish dagger. Nevertheless, even with this drawback, having a second weapon, even if it's a wakizashi, is definitely a huge advantage. Besides, this sword is only slightly longer than a dagger, and I'm gradually getting used to it, although the process is not as easy as I would like. But it's progressing, and that pleases me, considering that my fencing skills are far inferior to those of my now ex-wife. If there's someone who wouldn't have any trouble changing blades, it's her. But I'm not her, and it's difficult for me.
Passing through the plywood sheet, I shivered. It feels as if you're covered in some kind of slime, but this is a deceptive impression - I'm still clean, nothing sticks to the projection, and nothing stains it. Most likely, these sensations are nothing more than psychosomatics, which manifests itself even in this pseudo-spiritual form. An unpleasant training, but it is definitely necessary. So after taking two steps, I closed my eyes and stepped into a concrete column. Only half a meter of concrete, one step, but this step lasted about three seconds. Brrr! It's disgusting, of course, but there is definitely progress. It used to be worse. Compared to others, it's even excellent, I saw from a distance how one of the Break Knights passes through a brick wall of a similar thickness, so it took him almost half a minute. My plans were to learn as quickly as possible to leave my apartment in the form of a projection precisely through the wall, and not just passing through it, but plunging into the wall, going in the depth of a brick as long as possible and getting out of it as far as possible, so that no casual observer could connect what he saw with the place of my actual residence. Because of that, I turned around and continued my training.
After completing ten passes through the concrete, I stopped and listened to my sensations. Yes, I was not mistaken. The more I repeat this exercise, the less this unpleasant aftereffect bothers me. Perhaps with time, I will completely rid myself of it! But to achieve this liberation, I must continue my training. Such a thought immediately dampened my spirits once again.
Maybe I shouldn't fixate on it, but alternate the passes with improving my balance? This idea seemed reasonable to me, and, turning away from the detested column, I pushed off with both feet, soaring five meters up in an instant. Performing a somersault in the air, I caught hold of a dangling wire from the ceiling and, like Tarzan swinging from vine to vine, propelled myself towards the opposite edge of the hangar. No matter how you spin it, I am getting more accustomed to being a projection. Just a week ago, I wouldn't have been able to pull off such a trick. I would have stumbled somewhere halfway, that's for sure. However, falling from any height doesn't harm me; otherwise, I would have long departed to another realm! I remember my first fall, I thought I could jump across the street from roof to roof, but I didn't make it. Oh, how I screamed as I fell! It's a good thing no one in the physical world can hear my cries, or I would have been thoroughly embarrassed. It was fortunate back then that there wasn't a single Break Knight within a two-block radius, otherwise my incognito would have been undoubtedly shattered.
While I am still getting used to my newly acquired abilities, it would be preferable for no one in the city to know about the initiation of the new Break Knight. It won't be possible to hide the appearance of a newcomer during the first Breakthrough, but until then, let no one suspect a new raig in me. I have no interest in drawing unnecessary attention to myself! Yes, I have inherited Izao's memories, but I am not entirely confident in my ability to convincingly portray a seventeen-year-old boy. This thought truly frightens me, as the consequences could be dire if someone suspects me as a stranger from another world. Especially considering that the institution of the Holy Inquisition has not yet been abolished in this world. Not only is it still in existence, but they are exclusively recruiting sensums into their ranks. This knowledge does not in the least increase my desire to have any dealings with this organization. Of course, I have a contingency plan in case my true spiritual age is revealed. That plan is to claim reincarnation. Yes, I remember my surprise upon learning that such a thing is possible here. It may not happen often, but it does occur! Over the past century, there have been three fully confirmed cases and over a dozen that were not fully proven but bore a striking resemblance to the truth. But even if I manage to "brush it off," the revelation will not come without consequences for me. My past is filled with countless adventures, and I would very much like to live this new life, bestowed upon me by unknown forces, as peacefully as possible. And lying in my current situation would certainly not lead to the best outcomes. Hm... With that thought, my hand involuntarily fell upon the hilt of my sword.
My swords are not just ordinary pseudo-spiritual weapons, they have their own "talents".
In a leap, I swiftly draw the blade from my belt and deliver a slashing strike, severing the wrist of an imaginary opponent. Then I jump onto the taut rope between the walls and, balancing on it, execute a triple attack. I start with arrebatar, followed by medio tajo, and conclude with the mandoble series.
In the palm of my hand, like a laser pointer in the hands of a magician, a blue strip of steel dances. It is a replica of the famous sword Colada El Cid, somehow ended up with me in this world. It has become my spiritual blade, but now it bears a different name and is called "Word". And it is because of it that lying has become a major problem for me... Because as soon as I lie, rust appears on the blade, and the more lies I allow myself, the more fragile the sword becomes, and when it breaks, I will die. It's not the best prospect, and it's the main reason why, since my arrival in this world a month ago, I have been living as a recluse, trying to avoid crossing paths with anyone. I am incredibly lucky that I ended up with Izao on his graduation day, and now it's vacation time. Otherwise, I don't know how I would have dealt with the prohibition imposed by "Word", but now I have time to prepare.
Moving into a defensive position, I deflect a couple of imaginary attacks and, unable to hold on to the rope, I fall down. In the midst of the fall, I manage to sheathe my sword and land on my feet. Yes, I still have a lot of work to do on my sense of balance! And what's particularly frustrating is training in fencing alone, without a partner - it's not the most promising activity. But I have no choice, I don't want to reveal myself to other Break Knights just yet, so I train like this, simultaneously developing my imagination.
I wanted to repeat the retreat to the defense on the rope, but as soon as I jumped back on it, I heard approaching voices. Almost immediately, the rusty metal door, which hadn't been oiled in a long time, screeched loudly on its hinges, and three people entered the hangar.
I recognized one of them, he's a frequent visitor to the hangar. If I'm not mistaken, his name is Mateo. He looks relatively young, about twenty-five, slim but muscular, always wearing a worn-out light green t-shirt and denim shorts. A colorful tattoo adorns his shoulder: a gray mouse gnawing on reeds, the emblem of the Skyre clan. And the fact that the mouse on his shoulder has three tails indicates that this shapeshifter is at the third stage of control. This seemingly carefree and indifferent young man is actually quite influential in the port, the deputy official representative of the clan in the city. It is he, as far as I understand, who is responsible for all the hiding places in this hangar, as well as the installed traps. Seeing him here at this time was quite ordinary, he often comes here, but I have never managed to notice him hiding or taking something.
Unlike Mateo, the other two were completely unfamiliar to me. A strange pair, both not just young, but rather boys no older than Izao. Judging by the similarity of their faces - brothers, perhaps twins. However, I'm not good at recognizing the faces of Asians, but thanks to Izao's memory, I can say for sure that they are Koreans, not Japanese or Chinese. Unlike the shifter, they are dressed in strict business suits, which surprisingly fit them quite well and even flatter their slightly plump figures. An odd pair, what could they possibly need in a place like this?
In two leaps, I approached the unexpected "guests" and settled on the ceiling beam above them. People and shifters alike cannot detect me in Break. High-ranking sensums might be capable of such a thing, but I could easily identify them by the characteristic color of their aura and would have left long ago if any of this unfamiliar pair possessed sensum abilities. In principle, I don't care about them, let them come if they want. But it's such an unusual company, and my curiosity, so to speak, flared up.
In silence, the trio went deep into the hangar for about forty meters and stopped right next to the overturned tractor, which only heightened my curiosity. No, I didn't care who was hiding there. What interested me was how Mateo would dismantle his traps. They were too cunning and multi-leveled.
[1] TLN: https://espadasdetoledo.com/images/stories/virtuemart/product/Colada_del_Cid_en_laton_rustico_y_pu%C3%B1o_de_madera_44.jpg