Free Web NovelThe signal strength indicator in the communication channel slowly dropped from full bars and eventually stabilized within a safe range.
Dr. Lovelace stared at the light on the console—the small white triangle representing Pavela was moving northwest at a constant speed, its altitude stable and its flight path straight.
Spinal Interface synchronization rate: 99.4%.
Cooling system normal.
Steam pressure normal.
Structural integrity—except for the shallow scratch Julian had made on the waist—at ninety-nine percent.
She watched for another three seconds.
The light didn't suddenly fall.
It didn't deviate from its course.
No more wrong buttons were pressed.
Dr. Lovelace slowly, very slowly, leaned her forehead against the metal panel of the console.
"...It's good that she can come back."
She said muffledly, her voice blocked by the panel and sounding indistinct.
Then she straightened up, took a deep breath, and slapped her cheeks hard.
Her emerald green eyes brightened again, and that never-extinguishing light belonging to Yana Lovelace returned to its rightful place.
"Good."
She turned around.
"Now."
Her gaze fell upon the black furball behind her.
Ms. Etina was attempting to move toward the door at an extremely slow pace.
The speed was so slow that if one didn't look closely, they would think she was just a tuft of black fluff being blown by a draft.
The white feather on her deep purple velvet hat trembled slightly.
"Ms. Etina."
The black Cat stopped.
Dr. Lovelace bent down, slipped her hands under Edna's armpits, and lifted her up entirely.
Ms. Etina's four legs dangled in the air, her tail hung stiffly, and her ears flattened to either side at a visible speed, eventually pressing completely against the top of her head.
Dr. Lovelace held her up to eye level.
Emerald green met amber, but the amber eyes were currently avoiding Dr. Lovelace's direct gaze at an extremely subtle angle.
"Look at me."
Ms. Etina's gaze shifted from the left wall to the right wall, then to a pipe joint on the ceiling, before finally turning back bit by bit, quite reluctantly.
"Meow."
The sound was very small.
"Just now, my pilot—my only, irreplaceable, one-of-a-kind pilot in the world."
"Performed her first real Spinal Interface connection without completing all simulation tests, and experienced an out-of-control takeoff and a free fall."
"Meow."
Even smaller.
"And the cause of all this was you pulling me away with a highest priority warning."
"...Meow."
It was almost inaudible.
The corner of Dr. Lovelace's mouth twitched.
"So, Ms. Etina."
"What exactly was so important that you thought you could drag me away from the cockpit at that moment?"
Ms. Etina's airplane ears lowered a bit more.
If her ears could shrink into her skull, she probably would have done so already.
But she was, after all, the chief assistant of the Seventh Division.
The only Wayfarer of the Path of the Pope in this underground facility.
The head person in charge of managing dozens of Cat assistants and ensuring all equipment operated normally.
She also had her professional integrity.
"Meow."
This cry was more formal than the previous ones.
The tone rose, the end was drawn out, and there was an extremely subtle pause in the middle.
In the Cat assistants' communication system, this combination meant: "Please follow me, there is something you need to personally confirm."
Dr. Lovelace stared at her for five seconds.
Then she put her down.
Ms. Etina's four paws made no sound when they hit the ground.
She quickly straightened her hat, which had been tilted when she was picked up, adjusted the white feather with the tip of her claw, and then walked toward the depths of the corridor with a gait that had regained seventy percent of its majesty. freēwēbnovel.com
Her ears were still airplane ears.
But at least her tail was no longer tucked.
Dr. Lovelace followed behind.
They passed through three corridors, two laboratories, went down a flight of stairs, and arrived at the Seventh Division's Cargo Receiving Area.
This was the only channel for the entire underground facility to exchange supplies with the outside world.
All equipment, materials, reagents, and parts brought down from the surface had to be inspected, registered, and categorized here before being distributed to various laboratories and storage rooms by the Cat assistants.
The receiving area wasn't large, about the size of an ordinary classroom.
Copper pipes and gauges were neatly arranged on the walls, the floor was concrete covered in non-slip coating, and two arc lamps hung from the ceiling, illuminating the entire room.
In the center of the room, three Cat assistants were busy around something.
A box.
A box comparable to a small house.
Dr. Lovelace recognized the material of the box's shell at a glance—triple-layered composite armor steel plates, lined with a lead-based insulation layer, and sealed with silver solder at the joints.
There were no text markings on the surface of the box, only a crest embossed in the upper right corner.
A gryphon with spreading wings, its claws grasping a pair of scales.
The Hohenheim family crest. freёwebnovel.com
A deep red seal was stuck to the side of the box, the wax seal still holding some warmth.
The pattern on the wax seal was identical to the crest but had an extra ring of fine teeth—the mark of the Hohenheim family's internal special channel.
It didn't go through the Imperial Post or military logistics, and it bypassed all official registration systems.
From Victoria to Eisenburg, it was escorted the entire way by the family's private messengers.
Below the seal, a line was handwritten in deep blue ink:
"Please notify Yana Lovelace to open personally, highest priority, urgent."
The handwriting belonged to Marquis Hohenheim himself.
Dr. Lovelace recognized this handwriting. That man always wrote as if he were catching a train, with every letter slanted fifteen degrees to the right, but the final stroke of his signature would always drag out into a tiny extra curve—a habit from his youth that he supposedly couldn't break.
She looked at Edna.
Ms. Etina's ears finally recovered somewhat from their airplane ear state, tilting slightly forward.
"Meow."
Brief, formal, and carrying a hint of relief.
It meant: "This is why I called you away."
Dr. Lovelace didn't speak immediately.
She walked around the box once.
Triple-layered composite armor steel plates.
By Hohenheim family standards, the protection specifications far exceeded the requirements for conventional cargo.
This kind of box was usually only used to transport two types of things: either extremely expensive precision instruments or extremely dangerous experimental subjects.
She noticed four shock-absorbing mounts at the bottom of the box, each filled with hydraulic buffer gel.
Any vibration during transport would be absorbed by these mounts, ensuring the contents were unaffected by external forces.
And then there was the temperature.
She pressed her palm against the surface of the box.
Slightly cool.
It wasn't the natural temperature metal would have in an underground environment, but a deliberately maintained low temperature.
The box had an independent cooling system—she could hear the extremely faint sound of a hydraulic pump operating from the bottom of the box.
"Open it."
The three Cat assistants moved simultaneously.
A grey short-haired Cat jumped onto the top of the box and precisely flicked the release buckles at the four corners with its front paws.
An orange tabby Cat crouched at the side and pulled out the safety pins with its teeth.
The third one—a rather large blue-gray Cat—stood on its hind legs with its front paws on the edge of the box, waiting for the final command.
Ms. Etina nodded slightly.
The blue-gray Cat gave a powerful push.
The lid flipped back.
Cold air surged from inside the box, condensing into a thin layer of white mist under the arc lamps.
Dr. Lovelace looked down inside.
The lining of the box was dark gray anti-shock foam, precisely cut into a shape that perfectly fit the contents.
There was only one item /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ inside.
A sword.
It was held firmly by an extremely complex restraint device made of brass and stainless steel.
A hydraulic clamping system that was still slowly operating.
Dozens of copper pipes as thick as wrists connected the hilt to nodes around the blade, and the needles on the pressure gauges trembled slightly near the redline.
The blade presented a dull black iron luster, its surface covered in fine thermal pipes that protruded like blood vessels.
The blade itself was not sharpened; instead, it featured rows of chainsaw teeth so fine they made one's scalp tingle.
At the crossguard, a small, independent high-pressure boiler was embedded, currently in a dormant state.
But none of these were the main point.
The point was the thermal pipes on the blade—they were not static.
An extremely faint pulsation, almost invisible to the naked eye, was flowing slowly along those protruding pipes.
Like a heartbeat.
Like breathing.
Like the vital signs of some sleeping creature.
Dr. Lovelace's expression changed.
She recognized this sword.
She reached out, her fingertips hovering about three centimeters above the blade.
The air between her fingertips and the blade became viscous, as if something invisible was seeping out of those pulsing pipes, tentatively touching her skin.
Cold.
Not a coldness of temperature.
It was a chill rising from deep within her marrow that made her want to retreat.
Dr. Lovelace did not retreat.
She withdrew her hand and straightened up.
In her emerald green eyes, the glint of curiosity belonging to a scientist had vanished, replaced by an extremely rare, heavy weight.
"Soul-Eater Sword."
"And it was recovered from a battlefield."
She looked down again, her gaze sweeping over the pulsing pipes on the blade.
Every pipe represented a bound soul.
She counted them.
The pulsation frequency of the pipes was inconsistent—some were fast, some slow, some strong, some weak.
Each frequency corresponded to an individual soul characteristic. Just as different people have different heartbeat rhythms.
Eleven.
No.
She looked again more closely. The pulsations in several pipes were extremely weak, almost merging with the adjacent ones; if she hadn't been intimately familiar with the internal structure of such devices, she would have easily missed them in the count.
At least thirteen.
Thirteen souls.
Trapped inside this sword.
Alive.
If the word "alive" still applied to them.
Dr. Lovelace closed her eyes.
They actually did it.
Those bastards.
