The Imperial Marshal’s Darling at the Tip of His Heart - Chapter 26

The pure white prison cell returned to a dead silence. Only the persistent ticking of the monitor and Yun Shu’s own heavy, weak breathing intertwined in the air. The icy pressure Ling Yao had brought when he left had not yet fully dissipated; it felt like invisible frost congealing in the surroundings.

Yun Shu collapsed on the medical bed, feeling like a sponge that had been thoroughly wrung dry. Every nerve shrieked in protest. His brain buzzed from excessive exertion and the side effects of the medication, and flickering black spots remained at the edges of his vision.

However, he did not dare to truly relax. Ling Yao’s final warning still rang in his ears, and that cold gaze felt as if it could penetrate walls, monitoring his every move at all times. He knew he had just walked past the gates of death. Ling Yao had saved him temporarily, certainly not out of kindness, but because he still had untapped value. Perhaps the Marshal even needed him as a witness or a tool to deal with the complex internal situation of the Empire.

The four-hour deadline hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles. He struggled to refocus his mind, completing and submitting the preliminary report. Once finished, he was near collapse, and his vision darkened in waves.

The medical officer entered again, silently changing his IV bag and increasing the dosage of analgesics. The cool liquid flowed into his veins, temporarily numbing part of the agony but also bringing a deeper sense of exhaustion and isolation. He was like a piece of carefully maintained precision equipment whose only value was to keep running until the next time it was needed.

He forced himself to rest, closing his eyes to try and recover a sliver of energy under the influence of the drugs. Yet, his thoughts refused to settle. The whispers from the control core, the forbidden coordinates of Tartarus, Ling Yao’s private investigation, the blockade by the Imperial high command, and that mysterious private node; these fragments swirled in his mind, gradually piecing together an unsettling picture.

There seemed to be massive disagreements and hidden struggles within the Empire regarding the understanding and handling of the Turbid Core. Ling Yao, a Marshal who appeared to possess overwhelming power, was not without his own constraints and might even be in a precarious position. And he, a terminally ill prisoner from an enemy nation, had unexpectedly become a tiny yet potentially pivotal piece in this complex game of chess.

It was dangerous, but it was also an opportunity. If the Empire was not a monolithic entity, then perhaps there was room to maneuver. Perhaps he could find a crack through which he could save Xilan. This thought was like a faint glimmer of light in the darkness, weak yet enticing.

After an unknown amount of time, the sliding door opened once more. This time, it was neither Ling Yao nor the military doctor, but an expressionless technical officer accompanied by two soldiers. The officer held a brand-new, more advanced isolation data pad.

“By the Marshal’s order, you are to conduct a preliminary comparison of the energy signature data from the Wuyin Star ruin etchings with unknown historical archives in the Imperial Central Database,” the technical officer said in a flat tone, handing over the pad. “This is the temporary access channel you requested. The comparison algorithm is built-in; you are responsible for execution and result analysis. The time limit is three hours.”

Yun Shu’s heart skipped a beat. A comparison with the Central Database? Ling Yao was actually willing to grant this level of clearance? While it was certainly highly restricted and under strict surveillance, it was still an unprecedented opportunity. He took the data pad, his fingers trembling slightly from weakness.

The connection was established, and the interface popped up. As expected, it was a temporary entry point wrapped in layers of firewalls and monitoring programs. He could only access a specific subset of the database marked “Historical Abnormal Energy Signatures—Pending Classification.” However, he noticed that the encryption protocol of this temporary channel bore an extremely subtle similarity to the pattern Ling Yao used when communicating with that private node.

Was this a technical style commonly used by Ling Yao, or perhaps one within his sphere of influence?

He suppressed the excitement in his heart and began the comparison task. The built-in algorithm was efficient, and massive amounts of data flowed rapidly under the support of powerful computing resources. While monitoring the process, he cautiously extended a microscopic thread of perception, like a tentacle, to explore the barriers of this temporary channel. He was looking for cracks, for any possible vulnerabilities or information remnants he could exploit.

Time passed minute by minute. The results gradually emerged: the energy signature of the Wuyin Star etchings shared high similarity with seventeen incomplete archives marked as “Origin Unknown,” “Pre-Epoch,” and “Extremely High Danger.” The security level of these archives was incredibly high, with very few access records. Furthermore, the most recent attempt at bulk access occurred about four months ago. Although the initiator’s authority code was hidden by multiple layers of encryption, the characteristics of the access pattern were familiar.

Yun Shu’s pupils contracted slightly. That access pattern bore a striking resemblance to Ling Yao’s operational habits and certain behavioral patterns of the private node. Ling Yao had begun secretly investigating these ancient archives related to the etchings four months ago! He had been paying attention to all of this far earlier than he let on.

Just then, a secondary thread of the comparison program returned a result: one of the archives marked “Fragments of the Fallen Star Era-07” contained a minute fluctuation frequency within its energy signature. This frequency actually exhibited a negative-correlation resonance with the unique bioelectric harmonics found in late-stage patients of Crystal-Erosion Disease, such as himself!

It was as if that frequency could slightly suppress or “soothe” the overactive energy of the crystals. This discovery made Yun Shu’s heart tremble violently!

He immediately attempted to retrieve the detailed contents of “Fragments of the Fallen Star Era-07,” but his clearance was insufficient. Access was flatly denied, leaving only a cold prompt: “Requires Supreme Council of the Imperial Academy of Sciences or Marshal-level Special Authorization.”

Hope was within reach, yet it was ruthlessly blocked. But he memorized that frequency, engraving it firmly into his mind.

At that moment, his extended thread of perception seemed to touch an extremely small, periodic delay vulnerability in the monitoring program of the temporary channel. Perhaps it was caused by system maintenance, or perhaps it was a design flaw. This vulnerability appeared once every second, lasting only for a millisecond. It was impossible to use for data transmission, but perhaps it could be used for something extremely simple: dropping a “marker.”

This beacon was harmless in itself and would not steal any information. However, once it landed, if it could be captured by a specific external receiver that was constantly listening and waiting, it could roughly locate the area of the “sea” where the beacon was dropped. In other words, a specific peripheral region of the Imperial Central Database.

This was an extremely risky move. If detected, it would be his absolute ruin. Yun Shu’s fingertips were ice-cold, and sweat slid down silently.

To do it, or not to do it?

Xilan needed a direction. They needed to know what the Empire was hiding. This beacon could be the faint glimmer of dawn that millions of his fellow citizens were desperately waiting for in their despair. He did not have much time to hesitate. The vulnerability cycle was arriving again.

He took a deep breath, using the last of his mental strength. Within that one-millisecond gap, he quietly released the beacon, a tiny speck of dust condensed with Xilan’s highest encryption techniques. The entire process was as fast as lightning, with no abnormal energy fluctuations, appearing as nothing more than a negligible tremor in the data stream.

Almost simultaneously, the comparison task was completed. The result report was automatically generated.

Yun Shu immediately severed all extra perception and collapsed onto the bed, gasping for air as if he had just endured a long, grueling war. His heart hammered so violently it felt as though it might explode.

A few minutes later, the sliding door opened.

Ling Yao entered and picked up the data pad to review the comparison results. When he saw the seventeen high-match ancient archives, his gaze became incredibly sharp. His eyes lingered significantly longer on “Fragments of the Fallen Star Era-07.”

However, he said nothing, quickly scanning through the rest of the report.

“It seems Wuyin Star is not an isolated case,” Ling Yao finally spoke, his voice devoid of emotion. “The existence of the Turbid Core is much older than the Empire’s public records suggest, and much more widespread.”

He set the data pad down, his scrutinizing gaze falling on the exhausted Yun Shu, as if trying to see through him completely. “On page three, item seven of the report that secondary comparison results regarding the negative correlation between a certain frequency fluctuation and bioelectric harmonics. What are your thoughts on that?”

He had noticed it after all!

Yun Shu’s heart leapt into his throat. He answered cautiously, “It is only a preliminary discovery. Correlation does not equal causation. It requires extensive verification. Perhaps it is merely an illusion caused by interference.”

He could not appear too interested in this discovery, or it would arouse suspicion.

Ling Yao stared at him, seemingly trying to find a flaw in his weary expression. After a moment, he suddenly said, “I have partial backups of the detailed data for ‘Fragments of the Fallen Star Era-07’ on my private server. Once we return to the base, you may look at them.”

Yun Shu froze, nearly unable to believe his ears. Ling Yao was actually offering to let him touch a piece of the Empire’s highest secrets?

“On the condition,” Ling Yao’s tone suddenly turned cold, carrying an unquestionable threat, “that you provide something of equal value in your upcoming analysis of the Tartarus data.”

Tartarus! He was finally going to officially touch that forbidden place.

Yun Shu understood instantly; this was Ling Yao’s true goal. He was using “Fragments of the Fallen Star Era-07” as bait to secure Yun Shu’s full cooperation in cracking the secrets of Tartarus. It was a cold trade: each getting what they needed.

“…I will do my best,” Yun Shu whispered, his heart racing at the thought of this dangerous yet enticing bargain.

“Very well.”

Ling Yao seemed satisfied and turned to leave. Just as he reached the door, the terminal on his wrist vibrated almost imperceptibly. An intensely encrypted message lit up the screen. Ling Yao’s step faltered for a fraction of a second. As his eyes swept over the message, his expression darkened significantly, a flash of icy rage and vigilance crossing his features.

Though it was gone in an instant, Yun Shu caught it. That message seemed unrelated to the beacon he had just deployed; it was something else, something more urgent.

Ling Yao did not look back, only dropping a cold sentence: “Get ready. After the next jump, we will be processing the preliminary data from Tartarus. Do not disappoint me.”

The sliding door slammed shut.

Inside the cell, Yun Shu slowly closed his eyes, feeling the low hum of the starship’s engines beginning to preheat for the jump.

Had the beacon been sent successfully? What was the urgent message Ling Yao received? Did it involve internal struggles within the Empire? And what dangers and answers were hidden within Tartarus?

Holding onto his unexpected discovery, the frequency that might suppress Crystal-Erosion Disease and the dangerous bait Ling Yao had thrown, he felt as though he had finally grasped a cold, thin thread of spider silk in the endless darkness, one that might just lead him toward a destination.