Spirit Pact Hundred Scenes Record

Chapter 15 Lydia's Secret

Karen woke up in excruciating pain.

It wasn't just pain in one spot; every bone, every muscle, and every nerve in his body was screaming. He felt like a doll that had been taken apart and barely reassembled, with dislocated joints, displaced internal organs, and his brain feeling like it had been repeatedly pounded by a blunt instrument. Every heartbeat brought a throbbing pain to his skull.

He opened his eyes—or rather, tried to open them. His eyelids felt as heavy as if they were made of lead, and his vision was initially a blurry, yellowish blur before gradually focusing.

He lay on a narrow but clean bed, beneath which lay a rough but dry linen sheet. The room was small, the walls made of whitewashed wooden planks with a few simple shelves nailed to them, holding medicine bottles, bandages, and some medical tools Karen didn't recognize. The air was thick with the bitter smell of herbs mixed with the pungent odor of disinfectant.

Medical room.

The Narwhal's medical room, which Leah had passed by when she took him on a tour, she said that she "hoped it would never be needed."

It seems my hopes have been dashed.

Karen tried to turn her head, but the muscles in her neck were stiff and painful, so she could only move her eyes. The room was empty; the door was ajar, and faint voices and footsteps could be heard outside—the ship seemed to have resumed a steady voyage, the rocking very slight.

He tried to move his fingers. He could, though each knuckle felt like a rusty gear. Then his arm, slowly rising, his elbow making a faint clicking sound. He looked down at his wrist.

The silver spirit runes are still there.

The lines were much darker than before, like faded tattoos, and felt only at the normal temperature of skin. But Karen could feel that its "presence" hadn't diminished—on the contrary, it had become "deeper." It wasn't etched on the surface of the skin, but rather, like tree roots, it extended beneath the flesh, even touching the bone. The structure of the lines had also changed; some lines had become more complex, with more tiny branches that weren't there before.

He tried to focus his attention on perceiving.

His spiritual vision didn't activate immediately—his mind was too exhausted, like a wrung-out sponge. But a few seconds later, blurry images surfaced in his mind: the outline of the room, the faint glow emanating from the medicine bottles on the shelf (some herbs themselves possessed psychic power), several moving points of light in the hallway outside the door (sailors), and…

A warm, golden light shone right beside the bed.

Karen turned her head.

Xi Guang curled up in a small, padded basket at the foot of his bed. The cub was asleep, its body rising and falling gently with its breath. Its golden down was a little messy, but looked clean—clearly someone had groomed it. Its wings were folded to its sides; although they couldn't fully unfold, the tears had healed, leaving only faint, glowing scars. The burns on its abdomen were now just pale pink new skin.

It's still alive. And it's recovering quite well.

Karen felt a warm, bittersweet feeling in her chest. She reached out and gently touched Xiguang's earlobe with her fingers. The cub stirred in its sleep, letting out a soft, contented purr.

Just then, the door was pushed open.

Leah came in carrying a wooden tray with a steaming earthenware bowl on it. She paused briefly when she saw Karen's eyes were open, then quickly walked over.

"You're awake." She placed the tray on the small stool beside the bed, her green eyes filled with worry. "How are you feeling? Is anything particularly painful?"

Karen opened her mouth, her throat so dry it felt like sandpaper was being rubbed, and she could only make a hoarse, breathy sound.

Leah immediately picked up a kettle from the small table next to her, poured a glass of water, helped Karen sit up a little, and brought the glass to his lips. She was very careful, avoiding the abrasions on his back.

The warm water soothed her parched throat. Karen took a few sips and managed to utter, "It's... okay. Dawn..."

"It's fine." Leah glanced at the sleeping cub in the basket. "It recovered much faster than you. Grom said that spirit creatures have strong self-healing abilities, and it seems... it absorbed some psionic residue from the storm? Anyway, it was able to walk on its own this morning, although it's still a little lame."

She picked up the earthenware bowl, which contained a thick, grayish-green paste that emitted an indescribable odor—like overcooked wild vegetables mixed with some kind of mineral powder.

"This is nutritional paste from the ship's doctor." Leah scooped up a spoonful with a wooden spoon. "I know it tastes awful, but you have to eat it. You were unconscious for two days, only able to drink liquids. Grom said your psionic energy was severely depleted, and you almost... Anyway, eat it."

Karen didn't refuse. He was truly starving; his stomach ached with emptiness. He opened his mouth, and Leah fed him the spoon. It tasted worse than it smelled, bitter with a metallic tinge, and its sticky texture made him want to vomit. But he forced himself to swallow, one spoonful, two spoonfuls, three spoonfuls…

After eating about half a bowl, he shook his head, indicating that he had had enough.

Leah put down the bowl and wiped his mouth with a cloth. Her movements were natural, as if she had cared for many patients. Then she sat down on the chair by the bed, clasped her hands on her knees, and stared at Karen with her green eyes.

A long silence.

Footsteps echoed outside the infirmary, occasionally punctuated by hushed conversations. The ship rocked gently and rhythmically, as if navigating calm waters. Karen could feel the spiritual runes on her wrist slowly and autonomously absorbing the faint spiritual energy from the surrounding environment, as if recharging.

"You..." Leah finally spoke, her voice very soft, "What did you do back then?"

Karen looked at her. The red-haired girl's face lacked its usual liveliness or sharpness, replaced by a serious, inquisitive expression. Her freckles were clearly visible in the light streaming through the porthole, and her green eyes reflected Karen's pale face.

"What did you do?" he asked in a low voice.

"On deck. Soothing the jellyfish, and... those tentacles." Leah leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Ordinary contractors, even seasoned spirit contract masters, cannot soothe two completely different spirit creatures at the same time—one is a jellyfish whose contract has been corrupted, and the other is a group of wild, ferocious cloud sea stalkers. This violates the fundamental law of spirit contract studies: a spirit rune, a resonance frequency, can only establish a deep connection with a specific type of spirit creature."

She paused, her gaze falling on Karen's wrist, which was hidden by her sleeve.

"But you did it. You not only calmed them, you... understood them. I saw it. You closed your eyes, and the jellyfish calmed down, and the tentacles retreated. That wasn't a coincidence, it wasn't luck. What did you do?"

Karen remained silent.

What should he say? Should he say he's a person without pulses, but strange spiritual patterns suddenly appeared on his wrist? Should he say these patterns allow him to understand the language of spirits, and even to soothe other spirits through the light of dawn? Should he say he himself doesn't know what's going on, that he just tried it instinctively, and then almost died?

Would Leah believe him if he said these things? Even if she did, how would she see him? A monster? An outcast?

"I don't know," Karen finally said, admitting it was at least partly true. "I just...felt their pain and wanted to help them."

Leah stared at him for a long time. Her expression shifted from inquiry to doubt, to a kind of realization, and finally to a complex emotion that mixed sympathy and empathy.

"You feel their pain," she repeated, her voice even softer. "Not hear it, not see it, but feel it. Through psychic connection, you directly perceive the emotions and states of these beings."

She stood up, walked to the porthole, turned her back to Karen, and looked out at the flowing sea of ​​clouds. Sunlight shone on her red hair, giving it a warm glow.

"In the Wind Whisperer tribe," she began slowly, as if recounting an ancient tale, "we have lived alongside the wind spirits for generations. Not through contracts, not through enslavement, but through... symbiosis. We learn the language of the wind, listen to their whispers, and feel their emotions. The wind tells us news from afar, and we provide the wind with fleeting 'forms' and 'directions'."

She turned around, leaned against the window frame, and crossed her arms.

"The most outstanding members of the tribe are called 'Windcallers.' They can establish a deep resonance with the wind, borrow its power, and even temporarily alter local air currents. I am... the last Windcaller apprentice. I was sixteen years old, before the Order entered the valley."

Her eyes dimmed.

"The cult said we 'established deep connections with wild spirits without authorization' and that we 'threatened the safety of the spiritual veins.' They demanded that all members of the clan undergo a 'purification ritual'—a forced contractual transformation that severed our natural connection with the wind spirits, replacing it with a controlled, rigid 'wind elemental contract.' Some resisted and were executed on the spot. Some succumbed, accepted the transformation, and then... became unlike themselves."

Leah's voice trembled slightly. She took a deep breath and continued:

"My teacher, the tribe's last true Windcaller, used her last strength to send me out on the day the Order stormed the Holy Land. She told me to escape, to escape as far away as possible, not to let the Order capture me, not to let my bloodline and abilities fall into their hands."

She walked to the bedside and lifted the sleeve of her left arm.

On her exposed wrist was a ring of pale blue spiritual markings—not the sharp, regular lines of a typical wind elemental contract, but a softer, freer pattern, like the traces left by the wind across a grassland, like dandelion seeds scattered in the air. The markings were very faint, almost invisible, but Karen could feel the spiritual energy fluctuations emanating from them: light, agile, and full of life.

But around the lines, there are several shallow, white scars on the skin, like burns from something, or marks left by some kind of confinement.

"The Order's pursuit has never stopped." Leah lowered her sleeve, concealing the spiritual runes. "They left tracking marks on me. Although I suppressed most of them with tribal secret techniques, I couldn't completely eliminate them. Whenever I use the Windcaller's abilities, the marks will activate, and the Order can roughly pinpoint my location. So I try to avoid using them, or only use the minimum amount of power."

She sat down again, her green eyes staring directly at Karen.

"Now, tell me the truth. Who exactly are you? Why is the cult going to such lengths to hunt you down? And that thing on your wrist—it's not an ordinary spirit mark, I can tell. Its structure… I've seen similar descriptions in the tribe's oldest records, but those records are incomplete and considered myths and legends."

Karen's throat went dry. He looked at Leah, at the genuine trust in her eyes, the trust born from sharing a secret. She, too, had taken the risk, revealing her greatest secret.

He took a deep breath, raised his left hand, and slowly rolled up the sleeve of his right arm.

The silver runes were fully exposed to the light.

More intricate and refined than before, it's like a living work of art imprinted on the skin. The lines shimmer faintly in the sunlight, and the tiny branches extend like capillaries, covering almost a third of the entire forearm.

Leah gasped. She leaned closer to examine it, her fingers hovering above the patterns without touching them, but her eyes widened in shock.

"This is……"

“I don’t know what it’s called,” Karen said softly. “I’m a pulseless person, at least I was five days ago. I participated in the pulse resonance ceremony in Dustlight Town, and I had nothing on my wrist. Then I encountered Dawnlight, it was injured, I hid it, and the Order came to search… In that critical moment, this mark appeared.”

He briefly recounted what happened in the archives: Roland's sword, the light membrane, awakening, and escape.

"Roland called it a 'resonance body'," Karen concluded. "He said I could establish deep connections with any spiritual entity, unrestricted by the attributes of spiritual veins. But I myself... I don't understand it at all. I just use it instinctively, and each time I finish, it feels like I've died once."

Leah remained silent for a long time. Her gaze shifted back and forth between Lingwen and Karen's faces, as if she were processing this information, or perhaps recalling something.

"Resonance body..." she murmured to herself. "I've seen this term in ancient books, but the record only says one sentence: 'The atavism of ancient bloodlines, the key to resonating with all things.' The tribal elders believe it's just a legend, a myth created by the ancients."

She raised her head, her eyes sharpening.

"Karen, the Order is hunting you down not just because of the Dawn. They want you—they want to study your abilities, to replicate them, or… to destroy them. The existence of Resonators completely overturns their doctrine of 'control, management, and restriction.' If you can freely resonate with any spirit, what's the point of their registration, branding, and grading systems?"

Karen felt a chill. He had vaguely guessed it, but hearing Leah say it so directly still sent a chill down his spine.

"We must cooperate," Leah said suddenly, leaning forward and lowering her voice. "You're being hunted by the Order, and so am I. You're carrying a severely wounded Lightwing Lion cub, and I carry the Windcaller bloodline that cannot be revealed. If we act alone, we'll be caught sooner or later. But if we join forces—"

She paused, a certain light gleaming in her green eyes.

"—Maybe we can survive. Maybe...maybe we can do something, not just run away."

Karen looked at her. The redhead's gaze was firm, devoid of any hint of jest. She wasn't proposing "mutual exploitation," but rather a genuine alliance.

"What about Grom?" he asked. "Will he join?"

A slight smile played on Leah's lips. "The dwarf's hatred for the Order is no less than mine. The Order's 'Spirit Vein Development Team' destroyed his workshop in Ironforge and stole half a lifetime's worth of research. Part of the reason he boarded the Cloud Whale was to avoid the Order's spies. If he knew we were fighting the Order, and that we had a chance of success..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but her meaning was clear.

Karen looked down at the silver spirit rune on her wrist, then at Xiguang, who was fast asleep beside the bed. The cub moved its paws in its sleep, as if trying to grab something.

He recalled the archives of Dustlight Town, the despair of jumping off the cliff, and the madness and pain of the tentacles in the storm.

He was constantly on the run, reacting passively, and struggling to survive.

Perhaps... it's time to take the initiative and do something.

"Okay." He looked up, meeting Leah's eyes. "We'll work together."

Leah smiled, a bright and powerful smile. She reached out her hand.

Karen took it. Her hand was strong, with calluses on her palms from years of holding tools.

The alliance was formed.

Just then, the door to the infirmary was flung open. Grom stood in the doorway, his beard disheveled, his face smeared with grease, and his blue eyes filled with impatience.

"Have you two finished talking?" the dwarf said gruffly. "The lookout has spotted the cult's airships again, three of them, coming from the southeast, less than fifty miles away. The captain is adjusting the course, but we need to be prepared to fight or flee."

He glanced at Karen, then at Leah, his thick eyebrows furrowing.

"Whatever you're planning," Grom said, "you'd better hurry. Time is running out."