9. Morning Of This New World [Modern Warship in a Cultivation World] (Patreon)

Taking a deep breath, The Boy asked the most critical question of all: “Then… I would like to know this ship’s allegiance and mission.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot tell you that,” Jessica replied, her voice filled with a genuine sincerity that belied the tension.

Across the decks, gasps of distress sounded as Officer Nolan quickly translated the refusal. Imogen, poised to step forward and seize control of the situation, was stopped by Lieutenant Sarah, the Chief Medical Officer blocking her path with a grave expression. “Stepping in now will only work against us, Captain. Let the rapport continue.”

“Why we are here… where we are heading… we’d really like to know ourselves,” Jessica continued, letting the honesty of the crew’s predicament carry her words. Her point wasn't truly about the ship, but about shared vulnerability.

“So… are you an enemy? Or an ally?” the boy pressed, taking a slow step away from the railing and closer to Jessica.

“I… I can only tell you this: all of us onboard are humans, just like you,” Jessica finished, as this time she closed the remaining distance and stood directly before him. “I am Jessica Mora,” she said, looking straight into his eyes as she introduced herself.

The boy, momentarily lost in the sight of the assembled seamen, took a deep breath. He spoke his name clearly: “Lu Mingfe.”

He then reached inside his battered uniform and pulled out a small, ceremonial-looking dagger, a move that instantly put the entire ship on high alert. The tension spiked across the decks, and the Guards readied their weapons.

Lu Mingfe ignored the fear, placing the dagger across his outstretched palms. He bowed his head deeply and respectfully toward Jessica. “And for saving my life…” he paused, his voice thick with emotion. “You have my humble gratitude.”

Jessica hesitated, her eyes wide with surprise, then slowly reached out and took the dagger, realizing this was the act of cultural significance he intended.

He smiled, looking immensely relieved now that the exchange was complete. But before another word could leave his mouth, the strain of his injuries and the desperate flight finally claimed him.

Lu Mingfe collapsed right then and there, falling unconscious onto the metallic deck of the Event Horizon.

Pax shouldered his camera, its small red recording light an unwavering eye in the subdued, fluorescent light of the cafeteria hall. He focused the lens on Seaman Carter, who sat wincing while gently flexing his shoulder.

“Just tell me what happened, in your own words, Carter,” Pax requested, his voice low and professional, the dedicated reporter in him fully engaged.

Carter shook his head, a bewildered look still etched on his young face. “It was insane, Reporter Holloway. He just… exploded. One second he’s lying in sickbay looking deader than last week’s fish, the next he’s a blur.”

Another seaman, O’Malley, chimed in, rubbing a rapidly blossoming bruise on his bicep. “I tried to grab him, tried to slow him down when he bolted past. Felt like I’d wrapped my arms around a freight train. Didn’t even slow him. Just got a souvenir for my trouble.”

“He didn’t even look at me,” Carter continued, his voice dropping to an awestruck whisper. “His eyes were… somewhere else. But when he shoved past, it wasn’t angry. It was just… a fact. Like a force of nature. A wall of water doesn't hate you when it knocks you down, you know? It just is.”

Pax subtly zoomed in on Carter’s face, capturing the precise mixture of awe and residual fear in his expression. “And the strength? The restraints?”

“The medical-grade polymer, sir,” O’Malley said, letting out a low whistle of disbelief. “He tore through it like it was tissue paper. And that was with broken ribs and a sprained neck. I mean, what kind of people are they in this world?”

Pax kept the camera rolling for a few more seconds, letting the hum of the ship and the stunned silence answer the seaman's unanswerable question. He finally lowered the camera, the weight of the new reality pressing far heavier than the equipment in his hand.

“The kind we know absolutely nothing about,” he muttered, more to himself than to them. “Thanks, gentlemen. Get some ice on that.”

He turned to leave, his camera securing the first witness accounts of the impossible, super-human power that had just run loose aboard the Event Horizon.

Meanwhile, in her private quarters, Imogen stood before her laptop. Unlike the Captain commanding the ship, she was in a plain T-shirt and dolphin shorts, the military facade stripped away. She replayed the security footage: Lu Mingfe bulldozing through a crowd of seamen in the corridor to reach the deck area.

She had ordered everyone to take a few hours of mandated sleep before reconvening the meeting to discuss strategy. They had been awake the entire night, and clarity required rest. Yet, despite the order, she hadn't been able to fall asleep herself. The terrifying strength of the people of this world played on a constant loop in her mind.

A seriously injured teenager was able to overpower at least forty of our men, Imogen thought, replaying the footage from different angles. Yes, he didn’t kill or actually ‘fight’ anyone but still.

She zoomed in, looking closely for anomalies. She noted the peculiar, intermittent illumination around his body as he was running: a subtle, weird light that seemed to pulse with his movement. That was her immediate point of interest in the footage: the source of his power.

I can’t imagine what a fully healthy adult might be capable of.

She fast-forwarded the video. Since the needles and other medical tools had worked on him, she reasoned that the physiological fundamentals were the same. It’s safe to assume a conventional bullet would have worked just as on any normal human, provided we hit him first.

If that logic holds, their missiles and heavy weapons must be effective. But...

Imogen paused the footage, set the laptop aside, and crawled onto her bed. Her body screamed for the rest she had denied it.

Those Flying Humans and the creatures they were riding... The unknown level of threat is absolutely terrifying.

As the cycle of professional worries and existential dread still churned through her head, she somehow managed to drift into a shallow, fitful sleep. She woke instantly as her alarm began to ring exactly four hours later.

She forced herself up, took a quick shower in the attached Captain’s bathroom, and changed into a fresh, crisp uniform. Standing before the mirror, she took a deep, steadying breath, preparing to wear the mantle of Command once more.

“We have to figure out our strategy to survive in this world,” she muttered to her reflection, the statement a vow, not a query, before walking out the door toward the meeting room.

She arrived at the Meeting room near the Command information Center and found the senior officers already assembled, their faces showing the clear strain of the preceding night but also a grim readiness. The coffee machines were working overtime, the scent of strong caffeine battling the faint metallic tang in the air.

Lieutenant David stood near the tactical display, organizing the data. Officer Nolan was reviewing the security footage on a console, isolating the moments of Lu Mingfe’s burst of speed. Officer William was quietly adjusting the sensor readings, confirming the distance to a looming ship nearby.

Imogen took her seat in the Captain’s chair, instantly embodying the authority the crew desperately needed. She looked across the assembled heads of departments: Navigation, , Defense, Weapons, Medical, Strategy and the two reporters, Pax and Jessica.

She didn't waste a second on preamble.

“Good morning, everyone. We’ve had a brief, enforced rest. The situation has stabilized momentarily, but the fundamental facts remain: we are stranded in an alien warzone, and our contact with the native, a single survivor, Lu Mingfe, possesses capabilities that defy all known physics.”