Spirit Pact Hundred Scenes Record

Chapter 17 The Trackers Approach

Karen lay in the infirmary for another half hour until the ship's doctor—a taciturn middle-aged woman with a scar on her right cheek running from the corner of her eye to the corner of her mouth—came in to examine him and announced that he could "move around appropriately, but don't try to kill yourself," before he was finally allowed to leave the narrow hospital bed.

He changed into a set of clean clothes that Leah had brought him: a rough but sturdy linen shirt and trousers, a little too big, but fit him fairly well after being tightened with a belt. The abrasions on his back had scabbed over and wouldn't reopen as long as he didn't do any strenuous stretching. His left shoulder joint was still a little stiff, but at least he could raise his arm normally. What bothered him most was the emptiness brought on by the overdraft of his psychic energy, as if a part of "himself" had been permanently removed, leaving behind a weak shell that needed time to slowly fill.

But time is precisely what they lack most.

When Karen carried Xiguang onto the deck, the afternoon sun was blazing, making the main skeleton of the Narwhal's giant whale slightly hot. The deck was bustling with activity; sailors were pushing some less important cargo—mainly large but low-value rough-finished materials—down into the clouds from the ship's side. This was an emergency measure to reduce weight and increase speed; every crate or sack that fell into the clouds meant lost profit, but right now, survival was more important than making money.

Near the mainmast, Leah was directing several sailors to furl some of the sails. She stood on a pile of ropes, her red ponytail billowing in the wind, her green eyes sharply scanning every fold of the sail to ensure it wouldn't get stuck or tear when furling it. Seeing Karen, she nodded in greeting, but her hands didn't stop moving.

At the entrance to the engine room at the stern, Grom was inspecting something with two dwarf-like assistants—there were three other dwarf crew members on the Cloud Whale, all craftsmen or mechanics. A large roll of yellowed blueprints lay before them, Grom's thick fingers moving rapidly across it as he spoke rapidly in dwarven technical terms, almost like an argument. The two assistants nodded repeatedly, then turned and ran deeper into the engine room.

Karen walked to the starboard side, gripped the still-warm railing, and looked towards the southeast sky.

At first, he saw nothing. Only an endless expanse of azure blue and a few wisps of thin clouds stretched into thin threads by high-altitude air currents. The sunlight was blinding, forcing him to squint.

But soon, he noticed.

On the distant horizon, there were three almost invisible black dots. They were small, like dust particles stuck to a blue canvas, easily overlooked if not looked closely. But they were moving, and the direction of their movement was clearly towards the Narwhale. More importantly, they were "flickering"—not a flicker of light, but a kind of visual distortion, as if the space in which they were located was trembling slightly, refracting light in a different way than its surroundings.

The cult's airships. They are no longer hidden.

Karen felt his heart skip a beat. He raised his wrist and looked at the silver spirit rune. It lay dormant quietly, but Karen could feel a kind of "resonance" within it being drawn by something far away, like a gently plucked string, emitting a subtle vibration that only he could perceive.

Tracking. Grom was right, this is a beacon.

"Did you see that?"

Leah's voice came from behind. She had finished furling the sails and walked over to Karen, fine beads of sweat on her forehead. She too looked southeast, her green eyes narrowed into slits.

"Hmm." Karen nodded. "Three black dots, still quite far away, but definitely coming towards us."

"Not three black dots," Leah corrected, her tone serious. "They are three black iron airships fully loaded with armed soldiers, equipped with highly sensitive detection arrays and Azure Flame Cannons. At their current relative speed, they will enter their effective attack range—fifty miles—in at most an hour and a half. The maximum range of the Azure Flame Cannons is about forty miles, but they might send out small pursuit boats, or simply use the airships to accelerate and ram them."

She paused, then added, "The captain has decided to change course. We're skipping the planned trading post and turning northwest, entering the edge of the Emerald Forest airspace."

"The Emerald Forest..." Karen recalled Shadow's words, "The spiritual veins there are disordered; would the Order's detection artifacts malfunction there?"

“Theoretically, yes,” Leah said. “But the Emerald Forest itself isn’t exactly a safe haven. That airspace consists of dozens of floating islands of varying sizes, filled with a dense ‘spiritual mist,’ resulting in extremely low visibility. The spiritual veins are intertwined like vines, creating a chaotic magnetic field that renders compasses and star navigation ineffective. What’s more troublesome is that it’s inhabited by many spiritual creatures adapted to the chaotic environment, some of which… aren’t exactly friendly.”

She looked at Xiguang in Karen's arms. The cub was also staring at the black dot in the southeast, its amber eyes full of vigilance, its ears perked up, conveying an uneasy feeling.

"Furthermore, the ecology of the Emerald Forest is very unique," Leah continued. "The spirit mist can interfere with the perception and behavior patterns of spirits. Even docile spirits can become agitated in the mist. Your little lion might be affected, so be prepared."

Karen gently stroked Xiguang's head. "We'll be careful."

At that moment, a shout came from the lookout tower:

"Southeast direction! Three airships confirmed! Approximately 80 miles away! Course matched! Speed... 30% faster than ours!"

The atmosphere on deck instantly tensed. The sailors quickened their pace, pushing the last few crates of cargo overboard. Someone began inspecting the ship's side defenses—although the Narwhal was primarily a trading vessel, it had several small ballistae mounted on either side of the hull, their barrels covered with rust-proof tarpaulins, which were now being removed to reveal the cold gleam of brass and steel.

Captain Heinrich emerged from the wheelhouse. He held a monocular telescope in his hand, raised it to his eyes, and gazed southeast. After a full half minute, he lowered the telescope, his face still expressionless, but a resolute glint flashed in his deep gray eyes.

"Full speed to the northwest!" His command echoed throughout the ship via a megaphone array. "Fold down all unnecessary sails, engines at full power! Grom, I want you to ignite the backup psionic reactor within half an hour, regardless of losses!"

"It's already in progress, Captain!" Grom roared back from the engine room entrance, his voice drowned out by the sudden increase in the engine roar.

The Narwhale began to turn.

The ship traced a huge arc through the sea of ​​clouds, its contrail transforming from a straight white line into a curved fan shape. The centrifugal force from the turn forced Karen to grip the railing tightly, while Xiguang clung to his clothes. The sails were further furled, leaving only the mainsail and a smaller foresail, barely maintaining basic attitude control. Meanwhile, the three propellers at the stern revved up dramatically, spewing out scorching white jets of air and propelling the ship forward at speeds exceeding its design limits.

The acceleration intensified the turbulence. Karen felt the deck beneath her feet tremble, and the ship's structure groaned under the strain. Although the ship, modified from the bones of an ancient whale, was sturdy, it was not a warship, and such a full-speed run was putting an immense strain on it.

"Back to the cabin!" an old sailor yelled at Karen as he passed by. "It's dangerous on deck! We might have to board!"

Karen hesitated for a moment, but Lydia stopped him.

"Go to the cargo hold," she said. "Take Dawn with you and prepare the necessary supplies—food, water, medicine, and…" She glanced at Karen's wrist, "...try not to use your abilities, but be prepared to use them at any time. The spirit mist in the Emerald Forest might interfere with the spirit runes, but it might also trigger some…unexpected reactions."

Karen nodded and carried Xiguang quickly toward the lower deck.

The cargo hold was more chaotic than usual. Some cargo had been jettisoned for weight reduction, and the remaining crates and barrels were being re-secured, the ropes tightened and creaking as the ship rocked. The air was thick with dust and tension.

Karen returned to his corner. The small basket was still there, but next to it was a rough burlap sack—prepared by Leah beforehand. He opened the sack; inside were several pieces of hard bread wrapped in oil paper, a small bag of dried meat, a water sack filled with clean water, a small bottle of pain-relieving herbal ointment given by the ship's doctor, and a roll of clean bandages.

It's basic escape gear, but it's better than nothing.

He tied the bag and slung it over his shoulder. Xi Guang jumped into the basket, picked up a small piece of jerky, and slowly gnawed on it—the cub seemed to understand the urgency of the situation, and instead of whining, it quietly ate to conserve its strength.

Karen sat down in the hammock, closed her eyes, and tried to concentrate.

The spiritual runes on his wrist still emanated that subtle resonance, like an invisible thread connecting him to the distant airship. He tried to "understand" the essence of this resonance—not fear or anger, but something more fundamental: frequency. His spiritual runes were emitting a specific psionic frequency, and the cult's detection array was capturing this frequency and then tracing it in reverse.

If he could change the frequency...

He focused his attention, imagining the "vibration" of the spirit runes slowing down, becoming blurred, and irregular. It was like a person deliberately changing their gait and rhythm to make it difficult for a tracker to recognize them.

At first, nothing changed. The resonance of the spirit runes remained stable, as regular as a pendulum.

But Karen didn't give up. He recalled the feeling of soothing the jellyfish and tentacles in the storm—not by force, but by "understanding" and "accommodating." He sank his mind into the depths of the spirit runes, to feel those newly sprouted branches, those star-like glimmers of light. They were products of the evolution of the spirit runes, representing new possibilities.

He "touched" one of the tiny lights.

In an instant, a stream of information flooded into my consciousness: not language or images, but a more abstract "concept"—"disguise".

The concept was vague and primal, like a newly sprouted seed, not yet fully grown. But Karen grasped it. He infused this concept with his own will: changing the frequency, concealing himself, like a stone sinking to the bottom of water, like a withered leaf blending into a forest.

The resonance and tremor of the spirit runes... weakened.

Although it was only a tiny bit, maybe five percent?, it did weaken. The feeling of being pulled became somewhat blurred, as if the signal had been interfered with.

efficient!

But Karen immediately felt dizzy. Maintaining this "disguise" required constant mental concentration, like pinching the tip of a needle with your fingers; the slightest relaxation would cause it to fail. Moreover, it was very taxing, and the little energy he had just recovered began to dissipate again.

He opened his eyes, took a breath, and temporarily shed his disguise. He couldn't maintain it indefinitely; he had to use it in crucial moments.

"Did you feel it?"

Grom's voice came from the cargo hold entrance. The dwarf strode over, his face smeared with even more grease, carrying a long, rectangular object wrapped in canvas.

"What do you feel?" Karen asked.

"Course change." Grom sat down beside him, placing his canvas bag on the ground. "We're entering the edge of the Emerald Forest airspace. The psionic environment is starting to become erratic."

Karen sensed it carefully. Indeed, through the spirit runes, he could feel that the flow of psionic energy in the surrounding environment was no longer as smooth and regular as before. Now it had become... "viscous." It was as if countless invisible streams were intertwining, colliding, and canceling each other out. The emotions conveyed by the navigation jellyfish had also become more agitated, not as frantic as in the storm, but clearly very uncomfortable.

"That's good." Grom untied the canvas bag, revealing a uniquely shaped crossbow—larger than a regular hand crossbow, its arm made of some dark metal engraved with fine runes, and its body featuring a detachable cylindrical structure. "The Order's detection array relies on analyzing the regular changes in environmental psionic energy to lock onto targets. The psionic energy in the Emerald Forest is inherently chaotic, like trying to find a specific bubble in a pot of boiling water—it's much more difficult."

He handed the crossbow to Karen. "Here. Dwarven craftsmanship, for short range. The arrowheads are armor-piercing spikes, coated with a paralyzing toxin—not lethal, but enough to paralyze a grown man for half an hour. If you don't know how to use it, Leah will teach you the basics later."

Karen took the crossbow. It was heavy, but felt solid in his hand, and the trigger pull was just right. He had seen crossbows used by the militia for training in Dustlight Town before, but those were rough wooden products and couldn't compare to this one at all.

"Thank you," he said.

"Don't thank me." Grom stood up. "I just didn't want you to hold me back. Also..." He lowered his voice, "Your spirit runes... for a fleeting moment, the fluctuation characteristics changed. Although it was brief, the psionic monitor I installed in the engine room detected an abnormal reading. Were you trying to hide it?"

Karen nodded. "But it won't last long; the drain is too great."

“That’s enough,” Grom said. “We don’t need to stay hidden all the time. We just need to disrupt their lock-on at crucial moments. Once we’re deeper into the Emerald Forest, the psionic environment will be even more chaotic, and the Order’s magic array will be basically useless. The key is…” He looked into the depths of the cargo hold, his eyes grave, “whether we can shake them off far enough before the magic array fails.”

New shouts came from the deck, this time tinged with obvious tension:

"The airship is accelerating! We're sixty miles away! They've noticed we've changed direction!"

Karen and Grom rushed toward the stairs at the same time.

Karen saw it as she climbed onto the deck.

In the southeastern sky, the three black dots were no longer blurry dots, but had clear outlines: a spindle-shaped black iron hull, a sharp bow, and neatly arranged dark red dots on the sides. They were accelerating, their sterns spewing pale flames, like three burning meteors, streaking across the sky and hurtling towards them.

The distance closed rapidly. Sixty miles, for the cult's airship flying at full speed, might only take twenty minutes.

Ahead of the Narwhale, a hazy, green mist began to appear on the northwest horizon.

The mist, like an endless wall, stretched across the sea of ​​clouds, extending upwards and merging with the sky. Vast shadows were faintly visible within the mist—the outlines of floating islands, like sleeping behemoths lurking behind a green curtain. Sunlight refracted across the mist's surface, creating a mesmerizing, iridescent halo, almost unreal in its beauty, yet also exuding an unsettling aura.

Emerald Forest Area.

Their escape route was fraught with unknown dangers.

Captain Heinrich stood at the bow, his long sword slung back at his waist, his hands firmly gripping the helm. His voice, amplified by the sound-amplifying array, was calm yet powerful:

"Everyone, prepare to enter the misty area! Hold your ground, keep your mouths shut, and don't breathe deeply! The mist in the Emerald Forest is hallucinogenic; inhaling too much will cause hallucinations! Lookouts, be extra vigilant; there's something in the mist!"

The ship hurtled toward the green wall of fog ahead.

Behind them, the three black iron airships accelerated again, their pale exhaust trails leaving long trails in the blue sky.

The final race between chase and escape has begun.