8. Still Alive [Modern Warship in a Cultivation World] (Patreon)

“Xiao Momo! Keep steady, I will try to put the fire out!” The young boy screamed at the dragon-like creature he was riding. The creature roared, trying its best to fly despite the excruciating pain it felt, but it was too late.

They hit the water so violently that even using the last reserves of his internal energy, the boy couldn’t maintain consciousness.

It’s so dark and cold… So quiet. At this rate… I will probably…

As the cold seeped in, he felt an arm reaching for him, undoing the bindings and pulling him away from the creature’s sinking back. He felt the inexplicable warmth of a human in the dark, icy water, even as he slipped into oblivion.

Just… Who are you?

“Who… are…” The boy muttered faintly in his sleep. He felt a soft, strange cushion beneath him. With a sudden burst of panicked energy, he snapped his eyes open, only to be blasted by the unnaturally bright white light from a panel in the ceiling.

“#%^#^#$^” He heard a stream of urgent, unintelligible noise: a language he couldn’t place. There was a sudden rush of hurried footsteps nearby as he stirred. Someone rushed out of the room, and a weird, rhythmic beeping rang from a strange, small box on the table next to him.

The stale air, the metallic walls, the strange devices, it was all something out of an Imperial Bard’s song of the afterlife. He looked around to see other devices displaying a foreign script in glowing lights. As he focused, he felt the presence of people nearby, yet none of them seemed to exhibit any sign of having undergone internal energy training.

“So is this… Heaven?” he questioned out loud, looking around. He spotted his marital uniform hanging neatly in a corner nearby, and realized the room contained other beds and he was handcuffed. “I guess not…”

“It must be Hell then…” He concluded, accepting his fate and staring blankly at the ceiling, the constant beeping sound the only soundtrack to his judgment.

Then, a voice sounded next to him, speaking words that were strangely recognizable.

“That’s not it either. You are still alive,” a young woman’s voice said. She stood beside his bed, wearing simple, unfamiliar clothing, completely different from the uniforms of the men he’d glimpsed rushing away. “Right now… you shouldn’t worry about a thing and just continue to sleep.” The woman spoke gently, trying to soothe his chaotic state.

“T… the slight rocking… Am… am I on board a ship?” the boy suddenly asked, surprising the young lady. He struggled to find the words. “I… I am… Still Alive…” he repeated, his heart pouring out. Tears immediately welled up and began to tumble down his eyes as he felt the slight, familiar rocking of a vessel and the comforting warmth of the hand the woman had placed over his.

A few minutes earlier, just outside the sickbay, the crowd of high-ranking members of the warship and the two reporters stood ready to rush in and interrogate the survivor, but Lieutenant Sarah and her medical staff formed a firm human barrier.

Imogen stepped forward, putting a stop to the tension instantly. “We don’t want the boy panicking. We need to test if the spoken Mandarin language can be understood. We will send Officer Nolan to softly make contact and gather information.”

“Then may I give a suggestion, Captain?” Officer Nolan initiated immediately. “I believe me going in, an old military man in full uniform speaking his tongue after he’s nearly drowned and carrying an important message, will also cause the young man to panic.”

“What is the suggestion?” Imogen asked, her attention fixed on the tactical problem.

Before Officer Nolan could even voice his idea, Pax stepped forward, his voice stern and clear. “No. We are not sending Jessica in! I refuse!”

“Understand the situation, Reporter Pax,” Officer Nolan retorted, trying to reason with him. “A young lady, approximately his age, would be a far better starting point to connect with him than me. It’s a softer approach.”

Pax was growing annoyed and was about to escalate into a full rage, determined to protect his assistant.

“I… I’ll go,” Jessica volunteered quietly, holding her recorder. She offered a small, brave smile to Pax. “We’ll get the first scoop anyway, right, Mister Holloway?”

Pax looked at her, his expression a mixture of pride and a silent warning: Don’t do this, it’s dangerous.

In the Sickbay, the young boy’s eyes suddenly glazed over with frantic determination. With a surge of unknown strength, he yanked the intravenous tubes from his arm and, with a powerful flex, tore the wrist restraints from the bed frame. He was on his feet in an instant.

“Kya!” Jessica screamed, utterly shocked by his superhuman strength.

The boy snatched his martial uniform from the hanger. He struggled briefly with the door, but recalling the simple action of the medical staff earlier, he copied the motion, and then he was out.

He burst into the corridor, where the waiting high-ranking crew members had gathered. As he moved, a faint, almost imperceptible unknown energy circulated beneath his skin, lending his muscles impossible speed and force. He rushed past every single person attempting to intercept him.

The ship immediately descended into chaos. Sirens blared and emergency red lights flashed throughout the warship.

“CIC, check the CCTV monitors in all areas! The casualty we rescued is on the run!” Imogen’s voice, sharp and urgent, rang out over every radio on the ship, orchestrating the manhunt.

The boy was impossibly fast and agile, using surges of strength to push and shove aside the crowds of seamen blocking his path. He couldn’t understand a word of the shouting, nor the disembodied voice echoing through the corridors from the speakers, clearly ordering his capture. After more than half an hour of frantic pursuit, the boy finally burst onto the main deck.

He stopped dead, his frantic escape abandoned, and simply stood there, mesmerized, looking out at the rising sun painting the massive red moons a hazy orange.

Imogen, Officer William, Officer Nolan, Jessica, and Pax arrived first, reaching the deck’s edge. Soon, crew members from all divisions started arriving, filling the various decks high above and below the boy’s position.

The boy turned slightly, his eyes still on the horizon, and spoke a sentence that cut through the silence. “This Ship… it’s so beautiful.”

“I know it is,” Jessica replied softly. Officer Nolan instantly translated the exchange for the assembled crew.

The boy continued, his eyes searching the water. “Did she die nearby? Did you recover her body?”

Jessica didn't immediately grasp the subject, but realizing he was referring to the creature the boy was strapped to, the dragon-like organism, she understood. It wasn't a piece of equipment; it was a loyal companion of his. “She drowned too fast for our crew to be able to recover her,” Jessica said, a genuine sadness in her voice that the boy registered.

“The ship… It’s very different from our Imperial Navy fleet,” the boy paused, then continued, “Or from all the Allied ships.”

Jessica and everyone else on the deck registered the implication of his words: he was distinguishing them from known factions. Silence descended once more.

“You are severely injured and really need to be back in bed,” Jessica urged, her voice faltering as she wondered if her words were truly conveying the gravity of his situation.

The boy turned fully toward her, a pressed, bittersweet smile on his face. “I will complete my mission no matter how far I have to swim.”

He finished, his gaze sweeping over the massive crowd of sailors and officers looking at him from every vantage point. The morning sunlight, striking him from behind, gave his tired face a halo-like glow. “If my strength fails me… then I will go meet my fallen comrades.”

“Are you going to waste your life that was saved by the hard work of these soldiers? Do their efforts have no meaning to you?” Jessica retorted, the words rushing out before anyone could stop her.

She wasn't a psychiatrist or crisis negotiator, but she couldn't allow a person standing right in front of her to jump to his death. She was a reporter who profited from misfortune, but that didn't mean she would stand idly by.

The boy looked at her, truly seeing the distressed, desperate plea in her eyes. Something stirred within him, and his fierce determination seemed to temper slightly. He smiled faintly.

“The sea breeze reminds me… I am not really a good swimmer,” he conceded, looking back at the crowd showing their genuine concern for him. Taking a deep breath, he asked the most critical question of all:

“Then… I would like to know this ship’s allegiance and mission.”