Just yesterday, I had contemplated joining the BKDW, but now, not a shred of that idea remained. If everyone there was as overworked as Maya, then they could keep their organization! Additionally, the thought of constantly seeing this girl, to whom my body seemed to have such a potent reaction, would indeed be a formidable exercise in self-control. A constant exercise, for under no circumstances was I planning on starting a serious relationship with anyone. Not for the next few years at least... I could mull over this matter once I'd fully settled here and grown accustomed to everything. Until then, relationships would only serve as a source of needless complications. As for the topic of sex and carnal desires, they could be mostly handled through the projection. I was no stranger to deliberate, long-term celibacy. With my old-fashioned views on honesty and familial relationships, and considering my long business trips away from family, I had developed the knack of keeping fleeting desires under control. When I become a projection, hormones and the other physiological responses of a youthful body cease to influence me. In this form, I am the same as I was in my previous life, capable of sensibly assessing such desires.
Now, in my ethereal form, I calmly pondered over the meeting that had transpired. In the end, I concluded that my encounter with Diana was indeed coincidental. It wasn't far-fetched to bump into a visitor of the capital while dining in a restaurant on the tourist promenade. I didn't think I had been under surveillance since leaving the hospital. Even assuming that I hadn't noticed any tail or undue attention, if that were the case, it wouldn't be Miss Horn, a foreigner in the country, waiting for me, but entirely different individuals.
My regular training location, the port hangar, was no longer safe to visit, and I still needed to find a new site. So, I decided to save time and train right in the apartment. This time, I would focus not on practicing jumps and coordination, but on control. For instance, I know in theory that I can directly influence objects in reality from the shadow world. Granted, this should be a minimal influence, not exceeding a light breath. However, for some reason, I hadn't been able to achieve it. I intuitively knew what needed to be done. The knowledge about this possibility was inherently "embedded" in the essence of the projection, but I was still struggling to actualize it. The problem likely lay in the fragment of Izao's spirit. To affect reality, I needed to create a dense film of spiritual energy in the palm of my hand, and I was failing miserably in this aspect. The outer layer of my projection was simply the energy of the previous body's owner, and this layer proved difficult to control at will. On the bright side, it allowed me to pass through walls much faster than other raigs, but in this case, the shard was more of a hindrance.
Today, after almost an hour of fruitless attempts, I finally admitted defeat. Perhaps, at the second level, I would be able to master this skill, but for now, it was better to put it out of mind and avoid unnecessary stress over these failures. However, to reach this level, I would need to participate in the suppression of at least two Breakthroughs. As soon as this thought enters my mind, any desire to "level up" evaporates instantly. This isn't a computer game where you can always revert to a previous save or, if such an option is unavailable, start over or even quit the game entirely. Each Breakthrough represents a genuine risk of death for a raig, and once you grasp that, it's only natural to think that it might be better to remain at the first level and avoid any involvement with this inexplicable matter. You can never predict what will emerge next. It might be harmless goblins, or it could end up like Bremen...
Having failed to create the necessary density of prana[1] on my palm, I cursed inwardly and moved to the center of the studio room, drawing my "Word." The apartment offered plenty of space. It was big enough to host a duel, let alone a simple training session.
There are numerous forms of swordsmanship, and I was lucky that my wife was a fan of the Spanish style. All other blade schools seemed too polished and rigid, be it Italian or French, which, in the name of functionality, had abandoned the dance-like aspects, transforming fencing into a system of firm, almost scientific rules, linear movements, and strict timing for attacks and defenses... Yes, from a historical perspective, this was justified. These schools had proven their worth, earning a place among the top three. However, for a battle in the Break, where the degrees of freedom of movement multiply and the duel is fought in three dimensions, neither the Italian nor the French school seemed suitable. Yes, adopting either of them as a foundation, it would be possible to develop a system suited to the speed and capabilities of the projection, but at what cost in terms of effort and time? Of course, destreza also has its rules and limitations, like these magical circles[2], but the core of the Spanish dance is improvisation with minimal adherence to fundamental principles. This makes it so much easier for me to fight in the Break.
Years of training, driven by passion and love for the hobby, though not as intense as professional practice, allowed me to develop my own style based on Spanish dance. Moreover, the theatrical aspect of my sessions with my wife prioritized not just functionality, but the aesthetics of the duel. Artistic destreza involves far more movements, dodges, and even jumps than actual combat requires, and it's precisely this distinction that suits the projection capabilities best. Fighting in the Break, following the standard rules of classical fencing, is only viable when faced with an opponent who adheres to the same framework. But as my skirmish with the Koreans demonstrated, there won't be duels following sports rules. Instead, there will be plenty of jumps, high-speed evasions, attacks from above, and utterly unexpected maneuvers.
A routine twist of the hand sends "Word" into its starting position. Unlike other schools, destreza doesn't separate the enemy from his weapon, but regards them as one. The French scoff at this notion, arguing that an opponent's sword can't be wounded by a thrust, but even they concede that controlling it is one of the quickest routes to victory. I don't need to maintain specific stances or position my back and elbows accurately. The positioning of my feet isn't important either. What truly matters is that the tip of my sword is aimed at the guard of my imaginary adversary's weapon. At its core, destreza is a game of control, with the management of distance being paramount. And this is where the greatest challenge lies within the Break — understanding this distance. When is the distance still safe, and when is it not? The speed of the projection, the ability to launch a twenty-meter jump attack, the weightlessness of even the most enormous swords in the hands of the raigs — all these factors nullify the traditional understanding of a safe distance. The main difficulty in adapting my usual style for the Break is learning to not just intellectually comprehend this difference, but to feel it at an instinctive level. However, "fighting an imaginary enemy" has limited utility. Relying solely on imagination makes it difficult to adjust to the unusual, but as the saying goes, if you can't catch a fish, a crayfish is also a fish. Ideally, I need a raig sparring partner, even more than one if possible, but where can I find such?
An obvious answer to my predicament does exist — the BKDW. Perhaps, one day, I'll join this organization under an anonymous identity simply to gain the opportunity to train with other raigs. I harbor no illusions that any of the local raigs could teach me anything about fencing, as this art in this world, due to the existence of shapeshifters, has taken a drastically different trajectory than it did on my Earth. There haven't been any complex techniques or schools built on swift, lightning-fast lunges, cunning slicing strikes, and lethal attacks. To kill a shapeshifter, you need to strike hard and with significant force, preferably dealing as broad a blow as possible. Given the shapeshifters' speed, landing a fatal thrust on a vulnerable spot is nearly impossible. Moreover, light cuts are largely ineffective due to the shapeshifters' incredible regenerative ability and muscular strength. As a result of these peculiarities, local swordsmanship evolved around heavy slashing weapons: two-handed weapons of a million variations, ranging from traditional zweihanders to nodachi and hwando, along with axes, dadao, and more. Such martial arts can hardly be termed as full-fledged fencing. The appropriate words here would be cutting or slashing. Interestingly, destreza, or its oldest form — esgrima, was invented precisely to counter such heavy weaponry. Thus, the locals stand even less of a chance against me than those Japanese kendo masters did against Vicky during our school's demonstration at the Grand Theater. Nevertheless, even a novice partner is better than an imaginary one.
Years of practice can mold a beginner, and those accustomed to the "cutting" style can be reshaped, demonstrating the superiority of "my" style of fencing. However, as of now, my choices are limited, and "Word" dances with an imaginary partner. The practice looks impressive, but it's not very productive. I seem to have hit the ceiling where solo blade training in the Break ceases to yield noticeable gains. To avoid plateauing, I need to seek out another training venue similar to the hangar. On the brink of an imminent Breakthrough, it is crucial to engage in activities that yield the maximum benefit in relation to time spent. Currently, that would mean honing new skills and developing instinctive reactions based on the fantastic capabilities of the projection.
After an hour-long training session, I returned to reality and sat at my computer. My mind was entirely clear, primed for more information gathering. I first focused on discerning the reasons behind Maya's fatigue. Life experience had taught me that persistently pushing people to such a state leads to a dead end, and I was sure the BKDW's organizers were no fools. I spent about forty minutes but couldn't find even a hint of any emergency work or preparations demanding such strenuous effort from the organization's members. Even if we assume that Maya genuinely did escort Miss Horn, it still shouldn't have led to such extreme exhaustion and sleep deprivation. Perhaps the cause is not work-related, but instead tied to personal or familial issues.
Maya is an only child from a single-parent family. Her mother died in childbirth, and her father, a Navy officer, is hardly ever home. She has no siblings, according to official records. Most likely, unafraid for her family's safety, she chose the path of an open Break Knight. Other raigs prefer to hide their identities primarily out of fear of coercion through threats to their families. This fear is reasonable. Killing a raig is a challenging and dangerous task, and even the most prudent and resilient Knight cannot provide round-the-clock protection to their loved ones. Maya wasn't concerned about her father. He was a military man, and any attempts to manipulate her through him would meet resistance from government services and the ducal court. While the former might be evaded, opposing the House on the Hill is more perilous than sleeping among cobras during mating season. The Ducal House of Noviltter is the oldest family of the Wolverine clan. Like their totem, they are unforgiving and prefer confrontation over negotiation. Given that they directly patronize the fleet, any attack on an officer in Novilter is tantamount to insulting the ducal family, bringing with it all the consequent repercussions.
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All three of Wilflaes's open Knights share a common trait: they don't have to worry about their relatives.
Thomas Sivorsky is a sixteen-year-old young man who manages the organization's official website. From what I can discern, he's a fairly proficient programmer, especially given his tender age. He's not very sociable and doesn't much care for the spotlight, yet for some reason, he doesn't wear a mask. His case is straightforward: he has no one to worry about — he's an orphan who was raised in a cadet school.
Max Kraas, who recently turned twenty, is regarded as the oldest raig in the city. A tall, lean, blond young man with aristocratic features and a Roman profile. He's the heartthrob of all women, ranging from young schoolgirls to respected matrons, who are all captivated by his impeccable manners. He's the official head of BKDW and also serves as the raigs' representative to the Novilter government. The latter, however, is a bit of a stretch since, apart from the organization's Knights, of which there are only nine, the remaining raigs do not answer to him. His father is Wilflaes's chief prosecutor, who insisted that Max not conceal his identity. It appears that the organization was founded and has grown largely due to his initiative. If young Kraas inherited even half of his father's intelligence, then BKDW is destined for a promising future, provided, of course, he survives all the Breakthroughs. The senior Kraas is a determined, experienced, and aging man. He has made so many enemies that he certainly won't fear the emergence of new ones due to his son's role as a Knight.
I glanced at the latest news and videos featuring Thomas and Max, and while the former appeared noticeably drained, the latter showed no signs of chronic fatigue. Simultaneously, it should be remembered that Thomas, the BKDW's programmer, is perpetually sleep-deprived. This is his typical state since he's a passionate gamer in addition to his studies and work in the organization. So, where does he find the time for all this? Precisely, at the expense of sleep. In summary, despite my efforts, I was unable to determine the reason for Maya's visibly worn-out state. Furthermore, for the past two weeks, the girl has managed to dodge any cameras so adeptly that not a single photo or video featuring her has surfaced during this period.
Maya's condition isn't something I should be overly concerned about. I had thought that BKDW had somehow managed to predict Breakthroughs, and that one of their open Knight's fatigue was related to the preparations for such a cataclysm, compounded by a visit from a representative of Vienna for an exchange of experience. But that theory doesn't hold up. Neither direct nor indirect data suggest the existence of such prediction capabilities. Unfortunately, even the Makers couldn't forecast when the Break would spew out streams of unknown filth again.
Switching gears from investigating the status of renowned Knights in recent days, I began to comb through the news and rumors on the city's forums. I was curious if any information relating to the corpses in the port hangar had slipped through the cracks. The official media, even the sensationalist tabloids with their crime stories, remained silent on the issue. It felt as if someone with enough influence had managed to classify this incident. But humans are gossipy creatures, and I was certain that many people were involved in the investigation into the death of five individuals, and someone must have leaked something.
And indeed, there was a leak. A forum member familiar with the families of the murdered dock workers posted about the discovery of two workers' bodies in the port. Oddly, it was suggested that the dock workers had drowned! There was no mention whatsoever of the death of the clansman or the visiting Koreans. How peculiar. Who would benefit from spreading such disinformation?
But what if this isn't disinformation at all, and despite my call, the police weren't the first to reach the massacre site? This theory could explain many things, including the lack of media frenzy. Suppose the Skyre clan's vassals were the ones who found the bodies. Many ordinary people worked for the smugglers, so this scenario is plausible, and the dockers' union was closely tied to them. In that case, the bodies of Mateo and the Koreans could have "disappeared" from public knowledge, and the workers could have "accidentally drowned" in a state of intoxication. It's possible that I've been fruitlessly searching for mentions of a massacre. I recalled what I had reported when I called the emergency services. Yes, I hadn't mentioned corpses, only screaming, cursing, and fighting. Therefore, if the police only found the "drowned" dock workers, it's possible that no criminal case, except for violating safety regulations at work, was launched because of the incident. This explanation, incidentally, clarifies the media's silence much more convincingly than the hypothesis of an external prohibition on journalists from publishing such sensational material as a raig-involved massacre.
Intriguing... From a security standpoint, is this situation better or worse for me? I believe it's significantly better. Despite their influence, the Skyre clan's resources are still vastly inferior to the capabilities of the state. It's not certain they would seek revenge; instead, their priority is likely to ensure tranquility and outward calm in the port, allowing them to continue their lucrative business unhindered. Besides, being business-savvy, they would understand that searching for an unknown raig in a city of millions is a futile endeavor from the outset.
Such reasoning substantially lifted my spirits. The prospect of the capital's top investigators probing the massacre had made me somewhat uneasy. However, if my suppositions are accurate, this is no longer a concern.
Peeling my eyes away from the computer, I stretched out and reclined in my chair, gazing up at the ceiling. My mood soared rapidly, as if a burdensome stone of premonition had been lifted from my mind. I didn't feel inclined to undertake any serious activities, neither training nor studying...
Yet, it was too early to head to bed, and roaming around in search of an adventure was an idea too terrible to contemplate. Nevertheless, entertainment could be found within the apartment. I had hundreds of unread books and unwatched films from another world at my disposal, many of which were genuine gems and masterpieces. Moreover, Melanie's computer is a high-end model, enabling me to play games that are completely unfamiliar to me. The only downside is that my favorite genre, role-playing games, doesn't exist on this Earth. Its spot was usurped by countless variants of slashers, where character development, if it exists at all, is minimal and far less influential on the gameplay than the weapons dropped by slain game monsters. Quests aren't as popular here, but shooters and real-time strategies are.
However, sitting down to watch a movie didn't appeal to me. I craved some sort of action, and after a bit of contemplation, I booted up Izao's favorite slasher. The gameplay of this "masterpiece" was as primitive as the back of an axe. You run forward, slice at everything with a sword or an axe, shoot everything that moves with a bow or crossbow, and seek new weapons or enhancements to your current ones. The plot is practically irrelevant; it's present but merely for appearances' sake. The monsters designed to obstruct the protagonist are dim-witted and simplistic, but there are swarms of them, spawning from every corner. Let your guard down for a second, and they'll rip off your head or limbs. It's simple, mindless, but incredibly engaging, sucking you in like a vortex. The colossal, albeit primarily corridor-like levels, can only be saved at the end of each one. If you die midway, even just two steps away from the save crystal, you have to restart the entire level; the game keeps you on your toes at all times. A game that demands not a speck of brainpower but ensnares your full attention - an excellent way to unwind your mind, just as effective as the Break.
I barely noticed as two hours whisked by. I would have continued playing had my back not started to feel numb. The apartment lacked a standard, comfortable computer chair; what was there instead was a cheap, poor substitute. Unsurprisingly, after an extended session in front of the monitor, my back began to ache. Yet another reason to earn money and buy a decent model to replace this instrument of torture.
Immersing myself in the Break, I remained there for about two minutes before returning. Instantly, the back pain was gone. The power of maintaining good bodily health through projection is simply miraculous!
After brewing some tea, I angled the monitor towards the bed and, having selected a couple of movies, I nestled comfortably. I started the player and began to familiarize myself with the local film culture, all while savoring my much-loved beverage. For the evening, I chose a thriller and a light comedy...
From my perspective, neither of the films could be considered masterpieces, but both featured shapeshifters as the main characters. As such, observing them through the lens of local cinema was fascinating for me. Thus, I watched both films with undiminished interest.
Upon finishing, I was surprised to discover that the time was already half past one in the morning. Although I wasn't feeling tired, I decided it wouldn't be wise to disrupt my daily rhythm by staying awake all night. With that thought, I shut down the computer, set the air conditioner to night mode, and got into bed.
My apprehension that I would spend a considerable time tossing and turning proved unfounded. Sleep came to me almost immediately, enveloping my consciousness with the velvet of my dreams.
I was dreaming of something pleasant and light, so an abrupt awakening in the middle of the night, triggered by a strange, distant pulling sensation, was initially met with profound irritation. I yearned to close my eyes, snuggle into the blanket, and resume my dreams, but instead, I sat up in bed. With every passing second, I grew more anxious. This feeling expanded exponentially over about half a minute, then morphed into something far more palpable.
My body was being drawn into the Break against my will. The pulling sensation intensified into a Call. I had never experienced it before, but I instantly recognized what IT was!
I swiftly jumped out of bed and began to put on my motorcycle gear. I was fully dressed before the pull of the Call became irresistible. Then, I yielded and was instantly hurled into the Break, whisked off somewhere with breathtaking speed.
Within the borders of the urban agglomeration of Wilflaes, a Breakthrough was imminent...
[1] AN: Here, this term refers to spiritual energy.
[2] AN: The principle of movement in this fencing style is not linear but circular, where the fencer is the center of the circle, also known as magic circles or Thibault circles.