Spirit Pact Hundred Scenes Record

Chapter 10 Narwhale

Darkness is not nothingness.

Karen drifted in a coma, his consciousness like a fragment sunk in the deep sea, sometimes lifted by the undercurrents, sometimes plunged into deeper darkness. He felt cold, he felt pain—burning abrasions on his back, wounds on his arms and legs, and a deeper emptiness from the depletion of his psychic energy, as if a large piece of his soul had been ripped out.

But there is another kind of warmth.

A small, golden, fluffy warmth clung to his chest. The warmth was weak, trembling, conveying fragmented thoughts: fear… pain… Karen… wake up…

Dawn.

The name was like a small lamp, lighting up the dark ocean of consciousness. Karen struggled to swim towards that light. The pain became clearer, every wound in his body protested, but he forced himself to open his eyes.

My vision was initially blurred.

The wooden ceiling swayed, with a few flickering oil lamps casting a dim light. A complex mix of smells filled the air: the dampness of wood, the slightly fishy odor of grease, some kind of spice (perhaps for insect repellent), a faint musty smell, and… the smell of alcohol?

He lay in a simple hammock, beneath him on rough but clean linen. The hammock swayed gently to a regular rhythm—it was a ship, and he was on a ship. The Narwhale.

Fragments of memory flood back: falling, piles of sacks, the eyes of a red-haired girl, and then darkness.

Karen tried to sit up abruptly, but a sharp pain in his back made him gasp and fall back into the hammock. At the same time, he felt something moving in his arms.

He lowered his head.

Xi Guang curled up on his chest, her golden fur slightly disheveled, her amber eyes half-open. Upon seeing him awake, she immediately let out a soft, tearful whimper. The cub tried to nuzzle him, but moved cautiously, clearly also injured.

"It's alright..." Karen said in a hoarse voice, raising her hand to gently stroke Xiguang's head. The touch was warm, the fur soft, which reassured him a little.

"Oh, you're awake?"

A voice came from the side.

Karen turned his head sharply—the movement was so fast that he felt dizzy again. He squinted, adjusting his eyes to the dim light, and made out the person who was speaking.

It's that red-haired girl.

She sat on a wooden crate not far away, leaning against the cabin wall, one leg bent, her arm resting on her knee. A lantern sat beside her feet, its orange light illuminating half her face: about sixteen or seventeen years old, her skin a wheatish tan from years of outdoor activity, with a few faint freckles on her cheeks. Her red hair was cut to shoulder length and hastily tied back with a leather cord, a few stray strands falling across her forehead. Her eyes were a clear green, like the tenderest leaves in a spring forest, now looking at Karen with a curious and assessing gaze.

She changed her clothes—still in a leather vest and trousers, but now she wore a thick wool coat over them, the front open. A short knife and tool bag still hung at her waist, along with several small leather pouches Karen didn't recognize, tied with thin ropes.

"Don't move," the girl said, her voice clear and crisp, with a certain accent—not the one from near Dustlight Town, but lighter and with slightly drawn-out vowels. "You fell from at least thirty meters high. Although you landed on a pile of goods, you may have fractured ribs, your back is covered in scrapes, and your left arm is dislocated—the dwarves put it back in place, but you still need to recover."

Karen took a slow breath and felt a dull pain in his left shoulder joint. He looked down to check himself: he was wearing a rough but clean linen shirt, and his trousers were still his own, but the dusty and bloodstained parts had been cut off and replaced with patches of a different color. The wound smelled of herbs—someone had treated it.

"Thank you," he said in a hoarse voice.

The girl shrugged, jumped off the wooden crate, and walked to the hammock. Her movements were light and nimble, like a cat's. "Don't thank me too soon. The wound was treated because the captain doesn't like people dying in the cargo hold; it's bad luck. And—" Her gaze fell on Xiguang, her green eyes filled with even more curiosity, "—we need to find out who you are first, and what this little thing is."

She reached out her hand, wanting to touch the sunlight.

Xiguang immediately bared its teeth and emitted a low warning sound. Its golden fur stood on end, and despite its weakness, it instinctively assumed a defensive posture.

The girl's hand hovered in mid-air, neither forcibly approaching nor retracting. She stared intently at the dawn light, her gaze focused, as if observing some rare species.

"A lightwing lion cub," she said softly, not as a question, but as a confirmation. "And it's injured—its wings are torn, and its abdomen is burned by Azure Flame. Where did you get it? No, I should ask, how did you manage to jump off a cliff at least thirty meters high with a severely injured lightwing lion cub while being pursued by the Azure Flame Order, landing right on the cargo pile on our ship, and still survive?"

Her questions came like a machine gun, each one hitting Karen right where she least wanted to talk.

Karen paused for a few seconds, his mind racing. He needed to give a credible answer, but he couldn't reveal too much—he didn't know how much he could trust these people.

"My name is Karen," he finally said. "Karen Everett, from Dustlight Town. As for it..." He patted Dawnlight's head, and the cub relaxed a little, but its eyes remained warily fixed on the girl. "I found it by chance; it was injured, and I... wanted to help it."

"I wanted to help it," the girl repeated, her tone tinged with obvious doubt. "So you're going to jump off a cliff with it? Do you know what's down there? A sea of ​​clouds. If no boat catches you, you'll be smashed to pieces, or fall into the depths of the clouds and never come back up."

"I had no choice," Karen said, her voice tinged with genuine exhaustion. "The cult is hunting us. They've activated a containment barrier; our only chance of survival is to break free."

"The Order." The girl chewed on the word, her eyes sharpening. "Why are they chasing you? Possessing unregistered spiritual objects is against the rules, but usually it wouldn't be this... a huge fuss. Three airships, a combined barrier—this is almost like hunting down an A-level wanted criminal."

Karen's heart tightened. How could he explain? About his spirit runes, about the resonance body, about Roland's words, "We will meet again"?

Just as he hesitated, the hatch was pushed open.

The dwarf walked in.

He was indeed a dwarf—about up to Karen's chest (if Karen could stand), but his shoulders were almost as broad as his height, and he was as muscular as a wall covered in leather and metal. His thick, reddish-brown beard was braided into two thick plaits, bound with brass rings, and hung down to his chest. He wore a thick leather apron, stained with grease and metal shavings, and carried not a wrench, but a steaming ceramic cup.

The dwarf's face was hidden behind thick hair and eyebrows, but his deep-set, sharp blue eyes, like two gems hidden in a rock crevice, were scrutinizing Karen.

"Awake?" The dwarf's voice was deep and hoarse, like two stones rubbing together. "Perfect timing. The captain wants to see you."

He handed the ceramic cup to Karen. Inside was some kind of dark brown liquid, steaming and emitting a rich aroma with a bitter herbal scent and a sweet honey fragrance.

"Drink it," the dwarf commanded. "It's a special healing soup made by the dwarves. It can relieve pain, speed up bone healing, and even replenish some strength—you look like a rag that's been drained dry."

Karen took the ceramic cup and hesitated for a moment. But the dwarf's eyes told him that this was not a negotiation. He carefully took a sip—the taste was strange, bittersweet with a spicy aftertaste, but after drinking it, he did feel a warm current spreading from his stomach, slightly dispelling the cold and pain in his body.

"Thank you," he said again.

"Don't thank me yet." The dwarf walked to the hammock, crossed his arms, and stared at the shimmering light. "My name is Grom Anvil, the ship's craftsman on the Cloud Whale. This is Lydia, the cargo keeper, lookout, cook, and troublemaker." He gestured towards the red-haired girl.

Leah glared at him, but did not refute him.

Grom continued, "Kid, you're in big trouble. The Azure Flame Order isn't someone to mess with; they won't rest until they get what they want. And—" His gaze fell on Karen's wrist, hidden by her sleeve, but Karen instinctively pulled her hand away, "—you have residual psionic energy on you, a very peculiar kind of psionic energy. I sensed it when I was changing your clothes earlier; it was faint, but the structure was very…strange."

Karen's heart sank. Had they discovered it? No, if they had discovered the spirit runes, their attitude wouldn't be so... relatively peaceful. Grom had only sensed a lingering trace.

"I worked as a scribe in Dustlight Town," Karen said, deciding to be partially honest. "I copied a lot of spiritual texts, so maybe... I picked up some psychic energy?"

Grom snorted, clearly unconvinced, but didn't press further. "Whatever. The captain wants to see you. Can you stand up?"

Karen tried to move, the pain in his back and left shoulder making him wince, but it did feel better after drinking the soup. He carefully moved down from the hammock, his feet touching the wooden floor. The swaying of the boat made him stumble, and Leah reached out to steady him.

Her hands were strong; she gripped his arm, supporting his weight. "Take it slow. The ship needs time to adjust while sailing."

Xiguang jumped down from the hammock, limping, but followed closely at Karen's feet, her amber eyes watching Grom and Leah warily.

"This little guy has to go too," Grom said, turning towards the cabin door. "The captain said he wants to see both of you."

They left the cargo hold and walked along a narrow passageway. More cargo was piled up on either side of the passageway, secured with ropes and nets. The air was thick with a mixture of smells: spices, leather, metal, damp wood. The ship rocked rhythmically with the swaying, and the planks creaked underfoot. Occasionally, sailors passed by, all dressed in practical, durable clothing, tools or weapons at their waists. They nodded to Grom, but cast curious or wary glances at Karen and Leah.

They climbed a flight of stairs to the upper deck.

A night breeze swept over me.

Karen saw the Narwhal in its entirety for the first time.

This is a colossal ship—or rather, a ship transformed from a massive skeleton. The main skeleton is indeed that of some ancient whale, exceeding a hundred meters in length, with a graceful, streamlined shape, its surface covered with thick oak planks and bronze reinforcements. The ribs curve into the arched structure of the hull, filled with tough leather and canvas to form semi-enclosed decks. The prow is shaped like a whale skull, with two hollow eye sockets inlaid with enormous crystal chandeliers, currently emitting a soft yellow light that illuminates the sea of ​​clouds ahead.

The deck was spacious, but piled high with cargo: bundles of cotton, wool, and leather; wooden crates covered with tarpaulins; and several enormous metal cans chained together. Narrow passageways were left between the cargo as sailors moved about, checking ropes and adjusting sails—three enormous triangular sails stretched out from each side of the hull, now billowing in the wind and propelling the ship through the sea of ​​clouds.

And the sea of ​​clouds itself...

Karen stood on the ship's railing, her hand gripping the cold railing, looking down.

Below was neither land nor ocean, but an endless, churning sea of ​​silver clouds. Like liquid metal, the clouds gleamed coldly in the moonlight, flowing slowly, occasionally revealing their deepest darkness—the void, the bottomless abyss between floating realms. The Cloud Whale sailed on the surface of this sea of ​​clouds, its hull cutting through the mist, leaving a long, gradually fading contrail.

The sky was a deep purplish-black, and the stars were clearer and denser than those seen in Dustlight Town. In the distance, the outlines of other floating islands were faintly visible, like black behemoths suspended in the air, their edges outlined with silver by the moonlight.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

A voice came from behind.

Karen turned her head.

A man stood beside the mainmast, hands behind his back, watching them. He was around fifty years old, with short, graying hair and deep wrinkles etched on his face by the wind and waves. He wore a dark blue captain's coat, the buttons undone, revealing a linen shirt underneath. A simple, long knife hung at his waist, its scabbard heavily worn, indicating frequent use.

But what is most striking are his eyes—the eyes of a sailor, eyes accustomed to gazing into the distance, with dark gray pupils, like the sea before a storm, calm yet unfathomable.

"Captain," Grom nodded in greeting.

Leah also straightened up a bit.

The captain walked over, his steps steady, seemingly unaffected by the ship's rocking. He first glanced at Karen, his gaze lingering on her pale face for a moment, before settling on Xiguang.

Xi Guang felt the gaze and tensed up, but this time she didn't bare her teeth. She just looked at the captain warily with her amber eyes.

"A light-winged lion cub," the captain said softly, his tone carrying an emotion Karen couldn't understand. "It's been many years since I've seen one. The last time I saw one was twenty years ago, high in the clouds over the aurora zone."

He crouched down—a slow, careful movement, without any sudden shifts. He reached out, not to touch the light, but to open his palm, palm up, and place it a meter away from the cub.

"I won't hurt you," the captain said in a low, gentle voice.

Xi Guang stared at the hand, then looked up at Karen. Karen nodded gently. The cub hesitated for a few seconds, then carefully took a small step forward, bringing its nose close to the captain's palm and sniffing.

It remained vigilant, but also did not exhibit aggression.

The captain withdrew his hand, stood up, and looked at Karen. "My name is Heinrich, captain of the Cloud Whale. Grom told me that your name is Karen, from Dustlight Town, that you were being hunted by the Azure Flame Order, and that you jumped off a cliff with this injured Lightwing Lion cub, landing on my ship."

His statement was bland, without question, simply confirming the facts.

Karen nodded. "Yes, Captain. I'm sorry... we didn't mean to trespass on your ship."

Heinrich waved his hand. "The intrusion has already happened; an apology is pointless. The question is: what's next?"

He walked to the ship's railing, gazing at the distant night sky. "Although the cult's airships were temporarily blocked by the barrier, they won't give up. They know you jumped out, so they'll definitely expand their search area. The Cloud Whale is fast, but sailing in the open sea of ​​clouds, it's a very obvious target. They'll find us sooner or later."

Karen's heart leaped into her throat. "Then... will you hand us over?"

Heinrich turned to look at him, a flicker of something in his deep gray eyes. "Hand you over to the Cult? And then watch them dissect and study your little lion, lock you up in the dungeon and interrogate you? No." He shook his head. "I've dealt with the Cult before, and I don't like their way of doing things."

He paused, then continued, "But I can't support you all for nothing. The Narwhale is a trading ship, not a charity. Everyone has to work to get food and to be entitled to stay on the ship."

Karen immediately said, "I can work. Copying, recording, organizing invoices... anything."

“And the lion that’s taking care of you,” Heinrich added. “It’s too conspicuous. Even as cubs, the psychic energy of the Lightwing Lion is quite distinctive. The Order must have recorded its energy patterns; ordinary concealment arrays probably wouldn’t have fooled their advanced detectors. You have to make sure it doesn’t unleash its psychic energy out of control. Ideally… keep it in the cargo hold and out as little as possible.”

Karen looked down at Xiguang. The cub seemed to understand, its ears drooping, conveying a sense of grievance: it didn't want to be locked up...

"I'll take good care of it," Karen promised, though she wasn't entirely sure herself.

Heinrich looked at him for a few seconds, then nodded. "Alright. Grom, get him a hammock in a corner, near the cargo hold, so he can easily look after the lions. Leah, you teach him basic shipkeeping—lookout, cleaning, cargo inspection. Start with the simple things, and assign him more strenuous tasks once he's healed."

Grom and Lydia responded simultaneously.

"As for you," Heinrich said, looking at Karen one last time, "remember three rules: first, obey orders; second, don't cause trouble; third, don't pry into things you shouldn't know. If you violate any of these, I'll throw you overboard—regardless of whether it's an Order airship or not. Understand?"

"Understood," Karen said.

Heinrich nodded, turned to leave, then stopped. "By the way. Your injuries will take a few days to heal. In the meantime, have Leah bring you your meals. And—" He pointed to Karen's wrist, though it was hidden by his sleeve, "—you'd better learn to control that thing. The psionic fluctuations may be weak, but to some people, they're as conspicuous as a lighthouse in the dark."

Karen froze.

The captain knows? He knows his spirit mark?

But Heinrich didn't say much, and went straight to the helm at the stern, leaving Karen standing on the deck, the night wind making his back feel cold.

Leah patted him on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll show you where you sleep. And," she bent down to Xiguang, "the cargo hold is actually quite big, little guy, and I secretly hid some jerky, you can share some."

Xi Guang's ears perked up.

Just then, a shout came from the lookout tower:

"Port side! A point of light is approaching!"

Everyone turned their heads at the same time.

In the distant night sky to port, three tiny dots of light were rapidly growing larger—the navigation lights of the airship. They were arranged in a triangular pattern, their course clear, pointing directly at the Narwhale.

Roland's airship has caught up.