Spirit Pact Hundred Scenes Record

Chapter 6 Exposure

For the next two days, Chenguang Town was like a flying insect trapped in a spider web, struggling in vain as the constraints tightened.

Karen arrives at the archives promptly every morning and leaves in the evening, playing the role of a dutiful but insignificant scribe. The weariness on his face is just right—everyone in town wears a similar expression: worry about the unknown fate, fear of the cult's oppressive control, and a numb acceptance of the ever-approaching countdown of the "three-day deadline."

But there was something else in Karen's exhaustion.

He must constantly maintain a "barrier" of psychic energy. This is not a physical barrier, but a continuous, subtle projection of attention—he must sense the psychic state of the dawn and, when the cub unconsciously releases fluctuations, use his own will to "envelop" those ripples, like cupping a candle flame in his hand to prevent the light from leaking out.

It was difficult. Karen didn't even know how he had managed it. He could only attribute it to that strange connection, that spiritual bond that transcended ordinary spiritual contracts, forged when he was healing Xiguang. But maintaining this state was incredibly taxing: he ate very little, slept only intermittently, and the dark circles under his eyes deepened day by day. Occasionally, while copying, he would suddenly space out, his pen tip spreading a small blot of ink on the parchment—that was Xiguang turning over in her sleep, her spiritual energy surging slightly, and he had to immediately concentrate to soothe her.

Meanwhile, the dawn in Migris is slowly returning.

The herbs took effect; the burns on its abdomen began to scab over, and new flesh grew from the tears at the base of its wings, enveloping the repositioned light-energy skeleton. The cub was awake for longer periods, gently "touching" Karen with its consciousness to convey simple emotions: hunger, thirst, or simply to confirm that Karen was still nearby.

Karen secretly brought food: dried meat strips broken into pieces and soaked in water to soften; some berries, the juice of which dripped onto Xiguang's lips. The cub ate very well, chewing carefully with its tiny teeth, its amber eyes fixed on Karen, the dependence in its gaze growing deeper each day.

But they didn't actually talk. Karen dared not—every telepathic exchange created psychic ripples, faint yet potentially fatal under the cult's increasingly tight surveillance.

The cult's search has never stopped.

Every day, soldiers patrolled the town, registering the contracted spirits from house to house. Karen had witnessed these scenes from her window: old spirit bond masters would bring out their companions of decades—a hawk with dull feathers, a rock-armored hound with a limp gait, or even a whistling wind grass with drooping leaves growing in a ceramic pot. The soldiers would place rune-engraved metal rings on the spirits, record information, and brand them. Some spirits would resist, letting out angry roars or mournful cries, but they were quickly subdued by the soldiers with short staffs wreathed in pale flames, writhing in pain.

Karen had only witnessed the branding process once, from afar. It was at the blacksmith's shop, where the salamander, bound by the blacksmith's contract, was pinned to the ground, and a soldier pressed a red-hot branding iron against the scales on its neck. A hissing sound filled the air, smoke rose, and the salamander let out a piercing scream, the air thick with the smell of burnt blood. When the iron was lifted, a twisted, pale flame mark remained on the scales.

The blacksmith knelt on the ground, his fist pressed against his mouth, his shoulders trembling violently, but he did not utter a sound.

That night, Karen sat beside Mig for a long time, her fingers unconsciously stroking Xiguang's soft fur. The cub seemed to sense his emotions, nuzzling his palm with its head, conveying a warm and comforting message.

"I won't let them brand you like that," Karen said softly, her voice barely audible in the quiet archives. "Never."

The deadline is approaching, early morning.

When Karen pushed open the door to the archives, she immediately sensed something was wrong.

There was a strange "smell" in the air—not olfactory, but psionic. A subtle, persistent buzzing, like countless metallic bees flapping their wings in the distance. It permeated every inch of the air in the government building, making Karen's skin tingle slightly, and the pendant hanging on her chest radiating a distinct warmth.

He walked to the window and looked down.

In the plaza, the three black iron airships still stood, but today their posture was different. The pale flame emblem on their prows was twice as bright as usual, its glow spreading through the morning mist. Several dark red energy lines stretched between the airships, forming a complex, slowly rotating geometric pattern. Suspended in the center of the pattern was something—a fist-sized polyhedral crystal, completely transparent, with a pale, fluid substance flowing inside.

Detection device.

Karen had read a similar description in her father's notes: "Psionic Resonance Arrays are mostly used for large-scale leyline mapping or high-sensitivity psionic tracking. The core is a resonance crystal made from 'spirit fragments', which can capture psionic fluctuations as low as 0.3 standard units within a ten-mile radius and mark 'abnormal fluctuation patterns'."

A standard unit of 0.3 is roughly equivalent to the unconscious babbling of a newborn spirit in its sleep.

Karen's palms were sweating.

He turned and strode quickly to the fourth row of bookshelves, crouched down, and reached into the drawer. Xi Guang was awake, his amber eyes like two small lamps in the dim light. The cub sensed his tension, its ears perking up, conveying an inquiring message.

"It needs to be exceptionally quiet today," Karen whispered, her fingers gently pressing on Xi Guang's head. "No matter what happens, don't release any psionic energy, don't move, don't make a sound. Just like... just like you don't exist. Can you do that?"

Xi Guang stared at him for a few seconds, then slowly closed its eyes. The spiritual energy fluctuations around it began to recede, shrinking back into its body like the receding tide, until only the most basic, weak circulation necessary to sustain life remained. This was an instinct, a camouflage technique used by wild spirit creatures when encountering predators—to minimize their presence and blend into their environment.

Karen breathed a slight sigh of relief. But he knew it wasn't enough. The sensitivity of the detection artifact was terrifying, and Dawn's injuries were still in the recovery period; her psionic control couldn't be perfect.

Karen felt like she was sitting on pins and needles all morning.

He forced himself to sit at the table and copy, but his handwriting was more sloppy than usual, with more mistakes and omissions. The buzzing outside the window continued incessantly, like background noise, or some kind of countdown. The government office was unusually quiet; the clerks spoke in hushed tones, and their footsteps were deliberately light, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Around noon, the first wave of impact arrived.

It wasn't a search, but rather some kind of "scan".

The buzzing suddenly intensified, turning into a sharp, teeth-grinding shriek. Karen felt an invisible wave sweep over his body, penetrating the walls, the bookshelves, and his flesh. The pendant on his chest instantly became scalding hot, almost making him scream. He bit his lip hard, gripping the edge of the table with both hands until his knuckles turned white.

The scan lasted about ten seconds.

The whistling stopped, and the buzzing returned to normal.

Karen slumped in his chair, panting heavily, his back soaked with cold sweat. He listened intently—Migri was completely silent; the Dawn maintained an absolute stillness. For now, it was safe.

But at 2 p.m., the second wave of scans arrived.

This time it was even stronger. The howling sound was like countless needles piercing his eardrums; Karen felt a splitting headache and his vision blurred. After the scan, he slumped onto the table for a long time before he could finally lift his head.

He noticed that the detection array outside the window had changed.

The dark red energy lines spun faster, and inside the central multifaceted crystal, a pale fluid began to surge irregularly, like boiling water. Fine, luminous patterns appeared on the crystal's surface, extending, branching, and combining, ultimately pointing towards—

Government Affairs Office.

No, to be more precise, it refers to a specific area within the government offices.

Karen's heart sank to the bottom.

He looked toward the door to the archives. Below the crack in the door, a faint, dark red light flickered—the boundary line of the "anomaly zone" marked by the array. They were marked.

Hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

It wasn't just one or two people, but an entire group. The sound of boots pounding on the stone slabs was heavy and rapid, mingling with the scraping of armor. The footsteps stopped outside the archives room.

There was no knocking, no questions asked.

boom!

The door was violently kicked open, and the door panel slammed against the wall with a loud bang.

Six black-armored soldiers filed in, spreading out in a fan shape to block all possible exits. Their weapons were already drawn—not ordinary longswords, but short-handled, staff-shaped weapons with complex energy circuits, their tips inlaid with pale crystals that were now emitting an ominous light.

Roland was the last to enter.

He was still not wearing a helmet; his short, iron-gray hair stood on end, and his light gray eyes, like the surface of a frozen lake, swept across every inch of the archives. His gaze lingered on Karen's face for a moment, without any emotion, before shifting away and landing on the fourth row of bookshelves.

Karen stood up, the chair legs scraping loudly on the floor. "Captain, this is—"

"Quiet." Roland didn't even look at him, raising his right hand.

He held a palm-sized metal disc in his hand, its surface engraved with runes, and a small, identical polyhedral crystal embedded in its center. At this moment, the disc was emitting a rapid, pulsating red light, each flash accompanied by a sharp ticking sound.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

The frequency of the sound is getting faster and faster.

Roland walked toward the fourth row of bookshelves, and the red light on the disc intensified. He stopped in front of the bookshelves, looked down at the reading on the disc, then slowly raised his head, his gaze landing precisely on the wooden board where Miguel was hidden.

"Psionic reading: 7.2 standard units, fluctuation pattern matches 'Lightwing Lion - Larva'." His voice was as calm as if he were stating the weather. "The residual spirit rune characteristics are consistent with the out-of-control fluctuations that erupted in the warehouse area three days ago."

He put away the disc and drew the long sword from his waist.

The sword was drawn without a sound, but the pale flames flowing along its blade illuminated the dimly lit archives. It wasn't real flame, but highly concentrated azure flame energy that distorted the surrounding air, making even the light seem eerie.

"Unauthorized concealment of an unregistered spiritual object, and it is a dangerous species wanted by the Order." Roland's longsword pointed in the direction of Mig, the tip of the sword less than ten centimeters from the wooden board. "According to Article 42 of Chapter 7 of the Spirit Vein Security Law, the sentence is: the spiritual object shall be immediately confiscated, and the person who concealed it shall be executed for the same crime."

Behind him, two soldiers stepped forward, their staff-shaped weapons aimed at Mig, the pale crystals at the tips beginning to charge, emitting a low hum.

Karen's mind went blank.

Execution. Execution for the same crime. These two words echoed in his mind, but strangely, he felt no fear, only a numb calm. He watched Roland's retreating figure, the longsword burning with pale flames, and the soldiers' impending attack.

Then he moved.

He didn't know where he got the courage or the speed. Like a pebble launched by a slingshot, he rushed towards the fourth row of bookshelves, spread his arms, and stood in front of Mig.

His back was pressed against the bookshelf, and he could feel the faint trembling of the sunlight behind the wooden board. The cub awoke, and fear surged through the connection like icy water, almost drowning Karen's consciousness.

But he did not back down.

He raised his head and looked directly into Roland's light gray eyes.

"It's not a dangerous species." Karen's voice was hoarse with tension, but every word was clear. "It's just injured and needs help."

Roland's eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly, as if he were somewhat surprised that this seemingly ordinary scribe would step forward. But the icy look in his eyes did not melt in the slightest.

"Get out of the way," he said.

"No."

Final warning: Get out of the way, or you'll be guilty.

Karen's lips trembled, but he shook his head. "You can't hurt it."

Roland fell silent. He flicked his wrist, and the pale flames on his longsword surged, illuminating the entire archives in a ghastly white light. A wave of heat washed over Karen, and she felt her face burning, but she didn't back down an inch.

Behind him, in the Migris, the light of dawn trembled more and more violently.

The cub's fear had reached its peak. It didn't understand what was happening, but it could feel the malice of the humans outside, the flames on the sword that made its soul tremble, and Karen's determination—and despair—standing in front of it.

No...don't hurt Karen...

A faint but clear thought pierced through the fear and crashed directly into Karen's consciousness.

Then, a scraping sound came from behind the wooden board.

Xi Guang struggled to stand up.

"No," Karen screamed inwardly, "Don't come out, don't move, please—"

But it was too late.

The barrier around Mig was pushed open from the inside, and a claw—covered in golden fur and wrapped in bandages—reached out and gripped the edge. Then, Xiguang's head popped out.

It looked better than it had three days ago, but was still weak. Its amber eyes were filled with fear, but deep within them burned a light Karen had never seen before: a protective instinct. It propped itself up on its front paws, crawled out of Migrir, and stood unsteadily at Karen's feet. Then it raised its head and let out the loudest roar it could muster at Roland and the soldiers.

The voice was immature, like the first roar of a lion cub, lacking any intimidation. But it unleashed its full psionic power—not as an attack, but as a declaration, an instinctive declaration of protection for its territory and its companions.

Golden light burst forth from it, illuminating Karen's pale face, the soldiers' surprised expressions, and the fleeting, cold understanding in Roland's eyes.

"As expected," Roland said softly, as if confirming something.

Without hesitation, he thrust his longsword toward the dawn.

The pale flames on the blade tore through the air, emitting a sharp whistling sound.

Time seemed to slow down.

Karen watched the sword tip approach, watched Xiguang try to dodge but was slowed by his injuries, and watched the shadow of death growing larger and larger in the cub's eyes.

His mind went blank, and only one thought echoed in his mind:

Don't kill him!

Then, he experienced an unprecedented, excruciating pain in his right wrist.

It wasn't the pain of flesh and skin, but a tearing sensation that seemed to explode from the depths of his bones, as if something was about to burst forth. He looked down and saw silver light surging, gathering, and— beneath the skin of his wrist.

break out.