I made an attempt to read the comments and grasp what viewers were finding so intriguing about my artwork. Despite my best efforts, by the time I hit page twenty, I abandoned the endeavour due to the monotony of repeating messages and online skirmishes. As I had suspected, my projection's age was the primary source of the buzz. Even the dual swords were largely overlooked. Most commentators were focused on my gray hair, beard, and facial wrinkles.
Yes... I hadn't anticipated such attention. On one hand, it was gratifying, even though I understood it had nothing to do with personal merit — it was merely circumstantial. However, on the other hand, I started to worry about potential repercussions of this sudden hype.
Upon closing the BKDW website, I navigated to the Masks' page. The atmosphere was similar there, but due to the almost complete lack of moderation, the discussion was much cruder and less restrained. As far as I could tell, the Masks were more popular among the youth — they trusted this autonomous and anonymous organization more than BKDW members who, in their eyes, had "sold out to the government." I tried to read what people wrote about me here as well, but quickly gave up. I could stomach the crude language and personal attacks, those were somewhat expected, but most of the comments were written so poorly that they required multiple readings before their meaning became apparent. Finally, when the clock struck ten, I shut the browser and prepared myself some breakfast.
So much had happened recently that my mind felt cluttered, most of my thoughts veering towards paranoia. I knew this mindset would not bode well. I couldn't afford to live in a state of constant nervousness without it driving me mad. I needed to clear my head. Take a walk. Have fresh experiences. Yes, a walk seemed the perfect remedy, but not in the physical world where the "Purity" would cause me constant unease, but in my projected form. Now that I didn't need to hide from other raigs, I could afford to leisurely explore the city without the need for hasty movements or traversing attics and sewers.
For a while now, I'd wanted to calmly observe the clan quarters. At last, it seemed the time had come to fulfill this desire.
As I donned my motorcycle gear armor, I realized this "attire" felt more familiar to me than my typical jeans. Now that I had some money, I could replace it with something newer and better fitting. But this suit, a relic left by Melanie, had been purchased who knows when, by whom, or where, making it impossible to trace the purchase and consequently, the owner. With a new suit, however, there could be an awkward situation if a skilled detective tried to track me down. I had heard stories of people being identified through their gloves, handbags, backpacks, or unusual shoes — determining the time and place of purchase, and then unraveling this chain of events. Looking at myself in the mirror, I lifted the tinted visor of my helmet. I needed to remember this reflection — it was the face of paranoia. It was clear I needed to address my anxiety. I couldn't live my life constantly flinching at every shadow and imaginary threats conjured by my overactive imagination.
Despite such contemplations, I exited my apartment as per usual, in my projected form. I descended into the basement, moved through the sewer system, and surfaced in the cargo port area. I decided to note the need to change my exit point. I had emerged in the port too many times, and such patterns could one day lead to trouble.
The morning port hummed with activity, reminiscent of an agitated beehive. Everywhere, people hurried, vehicles darted about, creating a picture of constant bustle. Even at sea, at the bay's mouth, an array of ships, tugboats, and yachts jostled for space.
In three leaps, I ascended a tall loading crane, momentarily idle, waiting for the next container ship to dock. It was rare to witness such a peculiar traffic jam at sea, with ships queued up waiting. The cause of this was a massive tanker, escorted by several tugboats — a comical sight that brought an involuntary smile to my face.
After observing the commotion in the roadstead for about fifteen minutes, I leapt down. The clan quarters were located on the opposite side of the city from the cargo port. At first, it seemed imprudent to emerge from the sewers here, only to traverse the entire city to reach my intended destination. However, I had long wanted to try running on water in my projected form, and this location was nearly perfect for it. Hangars, multilevel rows of containers, cranes, and docked ships effectively shielded this part of the bay from the city and potential casual observers.
By now, I was no longer worried about other raigs spotting me. I had more or less acclimated to the local realities, and this aspect wasn't as significant as it was during my first month in this world. Nevertheless, due to the unexpected hype that had arisen after my image was posted on the BKDW website, I preferred to avoid any encounters in the Break for the time being, to circumvent unnecessary attention.
I was already familiar with a projection's ability to stand on water and had tested it before. However, those were careful, almost laboratory-like tests. Today, I wished to investigate the projection's behavior on water more extensively.
I selected a spot on the pier close to one of the stairways leading directly to the water. After a moment's hesitation, I mustered my courage and leapt from the six-meter-high container dock directly onto the oncoming waves.
The surface tension of the water easily absorbed my jump. The "landing" was different, not like jumping onto a hard surface. It felt like landing on a trampoline, which reacts to every movement. Before I could adjust to the new sensation, the first wave made me lose my balance and I stumbled along the water's surface. This was definitely not the same as standing in a bathtub... Regaining my footing was quite a task when the surface beneath you bobbed with a half-meter amplitude. I was reminded of a cat trying to remain steady on a dust-ridden carpet being shaken out... It felt strikingly similar! Standing up was so challenging that after about half a minute of struggling, I abandoned the attempt. Pushing off with my hands, I propelled myself about three meters into the air. Eventually, I regained my balance and gently descended onto the crest of another wave. It instantly swept me sideways, as though I were on a treadmill, one that swelled and danced under my feet like a bee-stung fox. I'd never actually seen a bee-stung fox, but it felt like an apt comparison at the moment. What complicated the situation was the water's surface's subtle rebound upon contact with the projection, which wreaked havoc on my spectral sense of balance.
Half an hour had passed, and I had entirely forgotten about my initial plans to tour the clan quarters and relax. I was entirely engrossed in my new pastime: remaining upright on the waves without leaping. This new hobby had captivated me more than an entire month of reaction, balance, and Break adaptation training in the hangar. In those thirty minutes of trying to stand on the waves, I learned more than I had in the entire previous month! Jumping from crest to crest was relatively straightforward, a skill I honed within the first hour. However, standing still, merely walking without bouncing while executing the standard Thibault's circles, was a significant challenge. I might have acclimated to the open sea faster, but near the piers, the waves consistently altered their speed, height, and even direction due to passing ships, tugboats, and moorings. This transformed it into a genuinely complex task.
In the end, I abandoned my walk for the day. Instead, I expended all my prana reserves on training before returning home to rest. Not because I desired sleep, but because rest facilitated quicker energy recovery.
After lazing about for half an hour, I found myself desiring to examine closed forum threads accessible only to registered raigs. I was also curious about the tasks presented to the Knights. As these wishes contradicted my plans, I opted to divert my attention. Sitting at the computer, I downloaded a collection of films and series about robots and machine uprisings. I would never become an expert on all the concepts developed by writers, scriptwriters, and other creative minds, but I decided to delve into at least one facet of this seemingly endless crystal of human imagination. Izao's fondness for this genre of fiction was a great help in this endeavor. After downloading the content, I connected the television and, initiating playback, returned to bed.
Since I intended to catch up on everything Izao had missed during his absence, this decision slightly backfired. The very first series, about an artificial intelligence realizing its "self," was so clichéd and dull that I drifted off to sleep midway through the third episode.
In essence, I spent the entire day just like that, lounging in bed, watching movies, consuming sandwiches, and sipping tea. As sunset approached and my energy was almost fully restored, I returned to the port to continue my training.
At any point, I could have entered an apartment building, located an apartment with a computer, and swiftly logged onto the BKDW forum to peruse the topics that intrigued me, while the owners were away. However, as soon as I accessed the system under my name — on the first day after obtaining unique access — it would have clearly demonstrated my intense interest in the information. That was something I wanted to avoid. Nothing was so pressing that I needed to know it immediately. Therefore, I resolved to log in under my account no earlier than a week later. Kraas had explicitly confirmed that BKDW collaborates with the analytical services of law enforcement agencies and the ducal house. This delay would indicate to their analysts that my interest in new information sources was minimal.
Nevertheless, I must confess there were moments when I wanted to disregard these precautions, venture into the forum's restricted section, and catch a glimpse of the life led by the Knights of Wilflaes. To suppress this urge, I immersed myself in training.
By the following day, I had managed to walk confidently on the waves without stumbling every third step. A day later, I adapted to the springiness of the water surface, which initially hindered my strides. My primary objective was to master movement across the sea surface as if it were standard asphalt or cobblestones. Naturally, this encompassed not only walking, jumping, or running but also fencing! The primary challenge was that no specific movement or action algorithm could be exercised. Waves near the piers could originate from any direction, disrupting rhythm. I had to learn to sense my surroundings entirely, perceive the encompassing space with my whole body, and determine the necessary displacement by the subtlest surface vibration. I had to interact with this world differently than I had previously, fully exploiting all available projection senses and not overly relying on vision, as I had been accustomed to doing. It was akin to being thrust behind the wheel of a large truck equipped with a twelve-speed gearbox, devoid of any instructions or previous experience driving even a small car. Despite this, it was incredibly fascinating. This was not merely a repetition of previously known skills or a recollection of past life capabilities, but rather an exploration of new facets of my abilities. It was exhilarating!
The entire week sped by as if it were a single day. In the end, I managed to flawlessly perform a solo flamenco dance with my sword atop the waves! This dance is one of the most intricate, even when executed on a flat surface. Having completed the final measure, I sensed that I had ascended to a new level of proficiency. No, I did not obtain an extraordinary Knight level or some novel perk from the Break. Rather, I advanced my swordsmanship skill beyond what I had previously attained. My spatial awareness shimmered with fresh nuances, and my focus expanded, enabling me to assess my surroundings holistically, not just the space directly ahead. Vicky had strived for years, albeit unsuccessfully, to instill these skills in me. She, an accomplished swordswoman and a naturally gifted trainer, eventually abandoned this endeavor, resigned to the reality that I would never become a true master. Yet here, dancing solo atop the waves in a foreign world, I finally grasped her teachings, internalized them, and made that significant leap forward.
Whirling atop another wave, I thrust my weapon skyward and shouted:
"I'm a flamenco master!"
Only a tinge of sadness, rooted in the fact that Vicky didn't witness this moment of triumph, lent a hint of bitterness to my near-overwhelming sense of joy in accomplishing what I once deemed impossible.
"I am a master!!!"
Returning home, I celebrated my minor victory in solitude. I spent it quietly, savoring tea and cakes while watching the series I liked. I eyed a petite bottle of champagne on the bar for a while, but I never opened it. My spirits were so high that alcohol was entirely unnecessary.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
I can't recall how long I wrestled with achieving this circular perception... All efforts had been futile, and thus we could never execute the "battle of blind masks," a routine Vicky so dearly wished to perform. I couldn't comprehend how she could fence blindfolded; it appeared miraculous. I had even affectionately called her a witch. And now, I understood! Of course, fencing as effectively blindfolded as with open eyes is cinematic fantasy. However, if the opponent is inferior in skill by a couple of tiers, such a feat is possible. The crux isn't about whether the eyes are open or shut, but that I finally learned to perceive the world not solely through vision. Most people assume humans possess five primary senses to perceive reality: sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste. Those with a slightly deeper understanding add a sixth: the vestibular sense, responsible for spatial orientation, balance, and the perception of acceleration and weight. However, in reality, we possess a more extensive array of sensory perception. For instance, if you close your eyes and attempt to feel the tip of your left pinky finger, it's possible - but it's not touch. It's something else, something known as proprioception.
Proprioception comprises three fundamental sensations. The first is the perception of joint position, accurate to half a degree. The second is the sense of motion, which allows us to regulate our actions. The third is the feeling of force, which enables us to assess resistance to movement, particularly determining the weight and elasticity of objects with remarkable precision.
Up until now, I have overly relied on sight and hearing, assigning them such precedence that other senses were unable to penetrate this barrage of information, thereby minimally influencing my decision-making. However, while dancing on the waves, neither hearing nor sight could paint the full picture of my surroundings. I had to attune myself to what was previously drowned out by images and sounds.
After watching the series and predictably feeling disappointed by its clichéd finale - the customary 'happy ending' in a situation where the world should logically plunge into Tartarus - I had lunch. Curiosity then got the better of me, and I decided to see if I could replicate the solo flamenco, not in the Break, but right here, in the material plane of existence.
From my arrival in this world, I barely paid any heed to the physical form of my new body. Izao was young, slender, and disease-free, and I was preoccupied with exploring the Break. I didn't see much point in routine exercises or attempts to build muscle mass. Regardless of the amount of training, time, and effort invested, any shapeshifter, even untrained, could overpower you single-handedly without breaking a sweat. However, a very belated realization struck me... Yes, I can't practice jumps, shifts, and other specifics of movements in the Break in the material world, but what's stopping me from honing my swordsmanship while my prana is regenerating? Why not revisit forgotten techniques, perfect hand rotations, and so on? Why not enhance my vestibular and proprioceptive senses? Furthermore, I could incorporate watching videos and listening to audiobooks and voiced light novels into these practices. Sure, I wouldn't be resting, so energy recovery would be slower, but the benefits of this approach are still undeniably clear!
Initially, I found an old mop in the storage and trimmed the handle to match my hand size. I understand that it's a far cry from a dueling sword. The grip is dissimilar, the weight diverges, and there's no balance, but none of this is necessary for basic training. The fact that this makeshift bokken is lighter than the "Word," considering Izao's thinness, is even an advantage.
I've read numerous times that successful sword practice necessitates using training equipment heavier than your actual weapon. I'm unsure whether that holds true when learning to cut, but with foils and sabers, the priority is to hone wrist control. If you heedlessly overburden a hand unaccustomed to specific loads, the training won't be effective, and it may even result in strain at best. No one expects an untrained individual to execute a full leg split immediately, shouldering a weight equivalent to a car. The situation here is similar: initial adaptation and systematic stretching of muscles and ligaments are followed by an increase in load.
Centering myself in the room, I executed a few classic initial combinations from the first three circles of Thibault and was pleased with the result. My body responded excellently. Then I tried to perform a cross protection, but as expected, my hand's flexibility was inadequate to reliably cover my legs. That gives me something to work on, which means flamenco, requiring some positions to contort my arm to an extent that would need at least a month of stretching exercises for me, is currently out of the question. This didn't disappoint me much; I could apply simpler dances in the meantime.
Half an hour later, I chose a version of the dance that Izao could easily execute in his body. Nothing about it was challenging. As long as he remembers all the steps, any novice could easily mimic them. This isn't surprising since these are training steps and not the more complex bolero. By the way, I should later attempt the bolero with a sword on the waves. What if I can conquer this pinnacle of skill too?
Initially, I ran through all the cycles several times with my eyes open. Then, I blindfolded myself with a dark band and tried to repeat. And... it worked! I didn't even knock over a floor lamp or touch a single easel. However, the practice made it clear that if I am to wield the sword in the real world, I won't be able to avoid additional physical exercises for the new body. Stretching and flexibility should be prioritized, and strength development could also be beneficial for certain tricks, and this needs attention.
However, practicing "applied" fencing in the physical world could potentially be detrimental. My new body differs significantly from my projection, so developing combat reflexes might result in desynchronization. This means that for me, joining various kendo clubs or sword-training classes is not advisable. But I can certainly train basic movements and combinations in reality. Regardless of your level of expertise, you must consistently perform a specific set of exercises.
For half an hour, I vividly recalled how Vicky first began my instruction. I then took out a notebook and crafted a training plan for a month — avoiding any fanaticism or excessive loads, focusing primarily on stretching, flexibility, and Thibault's basic circles. For me, as Izao, gaining muscle mass isn't practical. The body is too slight and thin, and the benefit would be minimal compared to the investment required. Furthermore, a fencer doesn't require massive biceps. In fact, excessive muscle can often be a hindrance. Regardless, I'll need to engage in some general fitness exercises since the previous owner of this body was stereotypically unfit, unable to perform more than three pull-ups, which is clearly inadequate.
After repeating the simplest steps a couple of times with my eyes closed, I adjusted the exercise schedule to allow more time for stretching, then went to bed. There's just over a month until university starts, and I have a significant amount to accomplish, making a daily routine necessary. I ought to ditch the habit of staying up until three in the morning. Plus, I need to rise early, not well past noon, as is usually the case for me...
The alarm clock! Blast! I've become unaccustomed to this nemesis. I'm immersed in an intriguing dream, and then, at the most interesting point, I'm jolted awake by its wailing, delivering the most aggravating tunes right to the core of my bones. It's not that I intentionally select particularly unpleasant melodies, but any music set as an alarm, for some inexplicable reason, quickly becomes detestable.
Struggling to push myself out of bed, I shuffled to the bathroom, and as I freshened up, I seriously contemplated that waking up at seven in the morning during the holidays was perhaps too early. On one hand, returning to bed seems like a logical idea. On the other hand, as soon as I transfer to the university, I will need to rise at this hour. Between exercising, having breakfast, and catching up on the news, it will already be time for classes to start. I need to get used to it.
Developing beneficial habits that aid in life can be challenging, so the sooner I start, the easier it will be later. This includes routines such as doing morning exercises and eating breakfast while listening to the news in the background. If I didn't possess so much life experience, I would have probably dismissed all of this and returned to bed. Even with my forty-year-old consciousness, I had to convince myself of its necessity, arguing that it would bring tangible benefits and that I'd berate myself later if I neglected the schedule. However, experience suggests that only the first two weeks are tough, and then one gets accustomed. Indeed, there are periods of relapse when the urge to abandon everything arises, but I know I can manage those.
By ten o'clock in the morning, I had completed my "mandatory" program, which, besides training, eating, and catching up on the news, included watching a film or a few episodes of a series about a robot uprising. Then, as I sat down with a cup of tea by the window, casually observing people bustling about with their daily tasks, I pondered my plans for the day.
Enough time had passed since my last visit to BKDW, and if I ventured into the closed section of the raig forum today, it wouldn't indicate heightened interest. All that's needed is to avoid hurrying, to refrain from diving into the first empty apartment with a computer, and to select a network access point with the careful paranoia I've lately developed. This should work in my favor.
I need to select a location that wouldn't be linked to my actual residence. This isn't particularly challenging. I could choose a building in the clan quarter — there, many apartments and even villas stand empty for months, waiting for someone from the clan to arrive in Wilflaes. Although, villas aren't the best option, as they always house staff, even in the absence of their owners. On the other hand, the clan quarters are a long way off, and traveling there just to read the BKDW's internal form seems excessive. Besides, consistently accessing the network from the same place wouldn't be a wise decision... Oh, paranoia, my ever-present companion...
However, network access can wait. At present, I'm more intrigued by something else. Specifically, will I be able to perform a bolero with a sword on the waves, or have my aspirations climbed too high? If flamenco is the mark of a master, then this dance, with weapon in hand and executed flawlessly, is the signature of a virtuoso. I understand that, most likely, it won't come easily, and that I'll need to practice and practice. Nevertheless, the urge to try is so intense that I can almost feel my hands itching. For a long time, I've resigned myself to my apprentice-level status and the fact that "you can't leap beyond your reach." However, yesterday's dance on the waves broke down the barrier and revealed new horizons that I'm eager to explore.
So, after changing my attire, I slid into the Break and headed towards the port. If I had time left after my dance training, I planned to locate an empty apartment with a computer on the way back. I could use it to browse the forum while the owners were at work.
As usual, at this hour, the bustling and vibrant life of the capital's cargo harbor was in full swing. People were scarce, unlike the vehicles: loaders, pickups, trucks, mobile and stationary cranes, tugboats, and ships were plentiful. In general, this location is nearly perfect for training, since the working area is virtually free from random onlookers or passers-by. Dock workers, drivers, technicians, sailors - everyone is engaged, engrossed in their work. Even if there are Knights among them, they have no time to venture into the Break and observe.
Furthermore, I picked a training spot between two container ships, each boasting nearly a hundred thousand tons of water displacement. Someone could only spot me, even while in the Break, from the sea. From the port, I'm shielded by a tall pier and the sides of these sea route giants that rise as high as multi-story buildings.
All the more surprising, then, that after the first ten minutes of training - when I was entirely engrossed in predicting the waves and the intricate footwork of the bolero - I suddenly heard a voice from above:
"Hey! Old man! You won't get anywhere that way!"