r18novel Chapter 18 The Black Pearl
Chapter 18 The Black Pearl
More than two months have passed.
On the afternoon that Vitellius delivered the identification code, the air in Lucius was thick with acidic fog.
Liu En stood at the workshop entrance, watching the mist condense into fine water droplets on the eaves, slowly dripping down. Vitellius walked over from the other end of the passage and pushed open the door to enter the workshop. The shoulder armor of his half-body power armor brushed against the door frame as he turned slightly, the hem of his deep red robe sweeping across the threshold.
"Here's what you wanted." He slammed a data panel onto the worktable and pulled up a chair to sit down. The robotic arm's elbow emitted a short servo hum. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and tapped it on the edge of the table. "A million-dollar shipment. I had it checked three times. No problems."
Liu En picked up the data panel; the screen displayed a long string of code in a mix of High Gothic and binary. He read it twice, memorized it, and then looked up at Vitellius.
"Has it been tested?"
"It's been checked." Vitellius lit a cigarette and took a drag. The biological pupil of his left eye contracted slightly in the smoke, while the blue halo of his right mechanical eye remained steadily locked on Liu En's face. "That retired old man from the port authority recorded it in the system himself. Ship name 'Black Pearl,' Gothic-class cruiser, registered owner 'Cohen Severus,' built at the Phil Maxim Shipyard in the Lucis Foundry World. This information was already filled in, and it's verifiable in the system. Once you get the ship, everything will proceed according to this registration."
Liu En paused slightly, then nodded. He had vaguely mentioned the name "Black Pearl" to Vitellius before, though he had remained noncommittal when asked about the ship's name—but the other man's memory was clearly excellent. Vitellius noticed the change in his expression, tapped the data panel lightly with his finger, making a soft sound, and then flipped through a few more items.
"Of course, this information isn't just something you can look at and forget. The identification code also contains shipyard records: Phil Maxim's Second Dry Dock, Imperial Standard Cruiser Construction Sequence. This has already been filled out for you; it's a long-closed military storage dock. The records management is a mess, and no one can find out about it. It's a game of unspoken rules; everyone does it this way."
"What about the ship's hull information?" Liu En asked.
"Ship type, construction location, construction year, hull size, basic weapon configuration, including the serial number that must be engraved on your ship's nameplate—all of it has been entered into the Imperial Maritime Database. If you want to change it, you'll have to go through the change application process after you get the ship, which will cost you money and time." Vitellius exhaled a puff of smoke, his mechanical eyes zooming out slightly. "But I suggest you don't bother. As long as this information can be matched by the system during port inspections, no one will give you a second glance—unless you plan to ram this ship into the Ark World, or fly the Black Legion's flag in the sky."
Liu En didn't press the matter. He knew that the pre-entered data was actually the standard Gothic-class cruiser parameters he had pieced together from Marcus's data. Vitellius was well aware of this, but simply didn't point it out.
"And this too." Vitellius pulled a second data panel from his pocket. "This is the manufacturing specification for the transponder with this identification code. Pass it on to your friend and have him follow it. If it's wrong, the feedback system will report an error during port inspection, and that will cause a lot of trouble."
"What kind of feedback system?" Liu En asked.
"Standard Imperial procedure." Vitellius flicked his cigarette ash. "Every legally registered ship needs to be equipped with a miniature transponder. When the port sends an inspection signal, the transponder, if activated, will respond, naturally reflecting the identification code back."
Liu En carefully put away both data tablets. He thought the matter was over, but Vitellius didn't get up and leave. He finished his cigarette, stubbed it out on the edge of the table, and then took out a third data tablet from his pocket—much thicker than the previous two, with the Temple's tamper-evident seal still affixed to the edge.
"There's one more thing." Vitellius's voice lowered, his biological eye's pupil contracted half a circle, and his mechanical eye zoomed in, scrutinizing Liu En's reaction. "I missed a question earlier."
Liu En waited for him to continue.
"I've managed to buy the identification code."
He paused, then tapped the thick data plate with his mechanical fingers.
“But,” Vitellius raised his eyes, his biological pupils contracting to almost pinpoints, “your ship—a cruiser, armed. Not a small transport ship. Even if transport ships are regulated, they can still operate; with a little money and the right connections, most ports turn a blind eye. But armed cruisers are different. The Empire controls privately armed vessels more strictly than it controls aliens. You have a five-kilometer-long behemoth with macro cannons and torpedoes roaming the star system; do you think the Ministry of Justice and the Imperial Navy will just ignore it?”
Liu En was silent for a moment. "So?"
"So—" Vitellius flipped open the thick data panel, the screen densely packed with text. He swiped a few times with his finger, stopping at one page. "This document was sent along with the identification code."
Liu En leaned closer to take a look. At the very top center of the screen, the heading, written in gold-embossed High Gothic script, read: "Commissioning Agreement for Auxiliary Ships of the Lucis Casting World Field Fleet."
"This is..." His voice trailed off.
"Tell your friend, or rather, tell yourself." Vitellius waved his hand, not dwelling on the matter. "The ship's name, type, owner, and place of construction are all registered in the system. By taking this identification code, you're essentially agreeing to a rule: the Black Pearl must enter through Lucis's spaceport and then proceed to Phil Maxim's Forging Temple to sign this agreement. The details of the agreement are all here."
He tapped the screen line by line with his mechanical fingers.
"First, you must pay 20% of the Black Pearl's trade proceeds as tax annually, and you are also obligated to share technical data. The Temple will conduct audits every cycle. You know the consequences of violating these rules."
"Second, when the Foundry World is at war or preparing for war, it has the right to issue a requisition order for the Black Pearl. The scope of requisition includes, but is not limited to: the ship itself, all crew members, onboard servitude and technical personnel, and all attached equipment and supplies. All losses during the requisition period will be compensated by the Foundry World according to standard terms, but the compensation amount will be post-war—if you are still alive."
"Third, if you receive a Star Language summons from the Forging World while outside, you must return within the specified time limit. The Temple will assess the time limit based on the distance. Failure to return within the time limit will be considered defection, your identification code will be immediately cancelled, and you will be wanted throughout the Empire."
After finishing his reading, Vitellius leaned back in his chair and exhaled a long puff of smoke. The biological pupil in his left eye returned to its normal size, while the focus of his right mechanical eye was zoomed out to its maximum, as if observing Liu En's overall posture and reactions.
"To put it bluntly, this is an official trap." His voice carried a calmness born of someone accustomed to shady deals, like someone who'd seen it all before. "They sell you a ship's identification code for a million, and the Lucis Temple can just use it to replenish their supplies. Then they get the right to use an armed cruiser for free—you run trade or scientific expeditions, they collect taxes. In wartime, they requisition it, ship and crew included. No need to maintain crew, no need for routine maintenance, no need to pay berth fees. Is there a better deal in the world?"
Liu En stared at the agreement, remaining silent for a long time.
The only sounds in the workshop were the white noise of the ventilation system and the faint hum of the machines in standby mode. Vitellius didn't urge him on, but continued smoking, his mechanical fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table.
"I know what you're thinking," Vitellius finally spoke, his voice low. "You're wondering if you can avoid signing. I'm telling you—you can. You can throw this identification code away now, and pretend it never happened. You'll still be a Level 3 Apprentice Technical Priest, continuing to dismantle parts in the wreck warehouse. Nobody will know you were ever here."
He flicked off his cigarette ash.
"But if you want to use this ship, its name, type, owner, and place of construction are all already registered in the system. There's no turning back now. Without signing the agreement, your ship is just a flying target within the Empire's territory, and the Ministry of Justice's gunboats won't ask you a second question."
Liu En raised his head and looked at Vitellius. His gaze was calm, without hesitation or struggle.
"I'll sign."
Vitellius's biological eyes widened slightly—it was genuinely unexpected.
"Are you sure? This isn't some small-scale installment plan; this is tying ships and people to the empire's war machine."
"I'm sure." Liu En's voice wasn't loud, but it was steady. "Do you know why I want this ship?"
Vitellius shook his head.
"I just want to realize my dream of reaching for the stars," Liu En said. "Besides, even if I don't sign, will Lucis stop fighting? Will Chaos stop coming? If the orcs attack one day, and the Imperial Navy and the Mechanicus conscript men, where can a third-tier novice priest like me hide? Agreements are just paper, war is a knife—when the knife comes down, who cares which piece of paper you signed?"
He paused, and that little nest-like smile reappeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Besides, I was prepared. From the moment I first set foot in space, I knew there was no true freedom in this universe. Now that I've bought it and filled in the name and type of ship, I have no regrets."
Vitellius stared at him for several seconds, then shook his head and stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the table. Liu En's image was reflected in the biological pupil of his left eye, while the blue halo of his right mechanical eye slowly contracted and then expanded—perhaps it was some unique way he expressed helplessness.
"You're incredibly audacious, unlike most craftsmen," Vitellius said, pushing the thick data plate and identification code towards him. "Here you go. The parts of the agreement that require your signature are marked in red. But you should review them yourself. Once you've sailed the ship back, go to the temple to deliver the documents yourself, and then they will inspect the ship and file them."
Liu En took the data board and placed it on the worktable.
"And one more thing." Vitellius stood up, brushing off the wrinkles in his robe. The deep red robe, under the dim light, resembled a patch of congealed blood, and the gear and skull emblem on his chest flickered. "Now that your ship is part of the field fleet, it needs a proper designation. A spot has already been reserved for you in the identification code—'Belonging to the Fifth Field Fleet of the Lucis Casting World, Auxiliary Ship.' When the ship arrives at the spaceport, someone there will handle your commissioning procedures."
He paused, then said:
"Now you know why I urged you to get promoted, right? If a second-tier craftsman signs this agreement, the deacon in the personnel department will think you're joking. A third-tier apprentice technical priest is at least a clergyman, so signing it is more respectable."
Liu En nodded. "Thanks."
"No need to thank me, just remember to owe me a favor." Vitellius opened the door, his shoulder armor rubbing against the doorframe as he turned slightly. "Note: The identification code has an expiration date. If it's not activated within three years, the system will automatically delete it. Also, that agreement—if you want to back out, you can still do it before the ink dries. Once it's entered into the system, there's really no going back."
"I won't go back on my word."
Vitellius glanced at him but said nothing more. The mechanical arm closed the door, and the sounds of footsteps and the metallic clanging of power armor gradually faded into the distance.
Liu En sat at his workbench, opened the thick data panel, and read through the agreement page by page. Every clause was written in the most rigid imperial legal terminology, cold and devoid of any warmth. He wrote "Cohen Severus" in the signature field, in High Gothic, his handwriting slightly smoother than before.
Then he stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the streetscape of Zhongchao was perpetually gray. He went over the contents of the agreement in his mind again.
Twenty percent tax. War requisition. Order to return to the stars. Ship name, type, owner, and place of construction are already nailed to the Empire's archives.
He could accept all of this. Not because he liked being bound, but because he knew that in this universe, no ship is truly free. At least, his name was listed as the "owner" of the Black Pearl.
The next morning, Liu En followed Vitellius into the side wing of the Fair Maxim Temple—the Office of Personnel and Clergy. What followed was as planned: assessment, stamping, and a new badge.
At four o'clock in the afternoon, Deacon Cornelius stamped Liu En's application form and handed him a new badge. Below the gear and skull emblem was inscribed the words: "Corn Severus, Third-Order Apprentice Technical Priest, affiliated with the Lucis Forging World."
Vitellius stood in the corridor waiting. When he saw Liu En come out, he glanced at the badge on his chest and nodded. "Alright. Now when you go out and meet people, at least you won't be treated like an apprentice."
Liu En touched the badge; the metal felt cool to the touch. "Thanks."
"No need to thank me, just remember to owe me a favor." Vitellius patted him on the shoulder.
Three days later, Liu En led fifty mechs to the spaceport.
During the two months he waited for the identification code and prepared for promotion, he created more than forty more machine servants, bringing the total to fifty, including the original six. They were all painted with dark red paint and had the gear and skull emblem of the Mechanicus etched on their chests.
The process of renting a transport boat was simpler than I had imagined. The port officer glanced at his third-class trainee technical priest badge and simply asked, "How long?" I replied, "One year," to which the officer raised an eyebrow. One-year charters were rare in Lucis, but not unheard of—there were always some enthusiasts willing to travel far to scavenge for treasures in the junkyards.
Fifty machine servants silently boarded the transport boat and secured themselves in the cargo hold. Liu En gave the life support and propulsion systems a final check and entered the coordinates of the abandoned dump area.
The journey took nearly a month.
The bustling lights of the inner perimeter of Lucis gradually faded into the distance, and the starlight grew dimmer with each passing day. Signals from cargo ships, patrol boats, and shuttles became increasingly sparse, until finally only silence remained. Outside the porthole was endless blackness, with only the occasional twinkling of starlight in the distance.
On the twenty-third day, the outline of the first piece of wreckage appeared on the sensor.
Liu En slowed the transport boat down and began to approach the edge of the abandoned dump area. Through the porthole, he saw the bow of a destroyer slowly rolling in the darkness, its armor surface riddled with micrometeorite impact craters, all the portholes shattered, and its internal structure exposed to the vacuum.
He continued deeper. More and more debris appeared. Some were entire ships, some were fragments, drifting in space for decades or even centuries, maintaining a silent distance from one another.
Occasionally, signals from other ships would flash across the edge of the sensor—just like him, oil scavengers, treasure hunters in this graveyard. Those signals would appear and disappear instantly, never initiating contact. Liu En ignored them and continued sailing deeper into the area, spending three days finding a relatively secluded airspace in the middle of the accumulation zone.
An asteroid about two kilometers in diameter floated here, surrounded by several large pieces of debris, forming a natural barrier. He parked the transport boat on the shaded side of the asteroid and ordered the servants to set up shielding plates—large metal plates he had shaped in advance, coated with wave-absorbing material, irregularly shaped, looking like armor plates peeled off from a wrecked ship.
From the outside, it looks like just a pile of ordinary space debris; no one would notice that a transport ship and a person working are hidden behind the barrier.
Everything is ready.
Liu En put on his power armor and walked out of the airlock.
Vacuum. Silence. Eternal darkness.
A distant star, a dim point of light, illuminated the edge of this steel graveyard. He floated in the shadow of the asteroid, void beneath his feet and void above him. Fifty mechs stood ready behind him, their optical lenses glowing a faint red light in the darkness.
The field unfolded. Consciousness reached. He began.
The standard keel of a Gothic-class cruiser is 4,800 meters long and consists of more than 300 sections of high-quality steel forgings. Liu En constructed an integrated model in his consciousness, with atoms drawn from higher-dimensional space and condensing layer by layer in the void beside the asteroid.
There was no noise, no sparks. Only atoms silently arranged themselves, growing metal from nothingness.
The first section of the keel appeared. Its gray surface gleamed coldly under the starlight. Then came the second and third sections—they weren't pieced together, but formed as a single piece, a continuous structure at the atomic level, without any seams.
After working for a while, he stopped to rest. A deep weariness welled up from within, like a blunt needle scraping against the inside of his skull. He closed his eyes, allowing his consciousness to completely withdraw from the field, thinking of nothing. After a few minutes, the weariness subsided somewhat, and he continued.
On the fifteenth day, the 4,800-meter-long steel keel was completely suspended in the void. He input the identification code into the newly sculpted transponder using binary encoding. The transponder, like a silent heart, was embedded in the middle of the keel, its outer shell fused with the keel.
Liu En floated at one end of the keel, watching the beast's spine stretch into the depths of darkness. He had no time for lamentation. In the days that followed, his life became a fixed cycle—shaping, resting, and reshaping.
The skeleton, bulkheads, pipelines, fuel tanks, reactor, engine, shield generator, weapon system, armor, internal facilities... he had to stack each one layer by layer from the atomic level.
The fatigue of consciousness came more and more frequently. The field of vision hadn't expanded, but his consciousness could extend further. Moreover, he had learned to continue working despite the pain, and he had also learned to completely empty himself during rest. The transport boat's cabin was cramped and confined; the air circulation system had malfunctioned once, which he repaired in a few minutes. Food and water were shaped from atomic matter in higher dimensions.
Several months have passed.
The Black Pearl floated intact in the darkness of the abandoned dumping grounds. The five-kilometer-long hull, thousands of cabins, and tens of millions of tons of materials were all built by him, one atom at a time.
Liu En floated in the air hundreds of meters away from the ship and finally truly "saw" it.
It wasn't a blueprint, not data, not a model in his mind. It was a real, complete, five-kilometer-long interstellar cruiser, right in front of him.
Its bow extended hundreds of meters to his left, its stern disappearing into the darkness to his right. The golden double-headed eagle emblem on the hull gleamed with a dark gold luster in the starlight, and the tip of the adamantine ram reflected a cold starlight. It was too large, so large that his field of vision could not simultaneously encompass both the bow and the stern.
He stood there, looking at his ship across hundreds of meters of empty space.
He activated the power armor's thrusters and slowly flew towards the ship. He passed through the hangar's airlock and entered the interior. The corridor lights were not yet on, but the power armor's visor provided night vision. He walked through the empty passageway, the metal floor beneath his feet transmitting vibrations with each step in the vacuum.
He walked to the bridge and sat down in the commander's seat. The seat cushions were shaped to fit his body perfectly.
"The Black Pearl," he said softly.
There was no response. The ship hadn't started moving yet. But the moment he sat down, an indescribable feeling spread throughout his body from the seat—not warmth, not vibration, but something akin to "belonging." This ship was something he had built from atoms, each atom positioned and bonded by his consciousness. From the keel to the armor, it was all his creation. It had become an extension of his body.