The Imperial Marshal’s Darling at the Tip of His Heart - Chapter 9

The cold, rough metal piping pressed against his back. Even through his thin jumpsuit, it sent a shivering chill through his body.

Yun Shu curled into the depths of a discarded engine. In the darkness, the only sounds were his heavy, suppressed gasps and the muffled thumping of his heart, which hammered against his chest like a drum.

Every breath felt like swallowing razor blades. The sensation of crystals grinding deep within his lungs was becoming increasingly distinct.

In the distance, he could faintly hear the members of the Snatchers—their frustrated cursing and the chaotic rhythm of searching footsteps. They seemed temporarily lost in this massive metallic labyrinth, having not yet approached his current location.

He was safe for now, perhaps for only a few minutes.

Yun Shu tremulously opened his palm. There lay the storage chip he had risked everything to brutally intercept from the Snatchers’ communication line. Its edges were still stained with the grime he had picked up during his frantic flight.

This was likely his only chance to pry open a crack of information in this desperate situation. He needed to read it—now, immediately.

But he had no equipment.

His damaged optical computer had long been discarded. Around him was nothing but cold steel and omnipresent darkness. He scanned his narrow hiding spot with anxious eyes.

The interior of the abandoned engine was filled with snapped cables, scorched circuit boards, and long-defunct control panels. Suddenly, his gaze fixed on a small, half-hanging metal cover plate covered in dust directly above him.

From the edge of the plate, several colored cables dangled down. The specifications of one interface looked somewhat similar to the physical port on his chip. It appeared to be a backup line for a peripheral sensor from before the ship was decommissioned. Perhaps it still held a trace of residual power?

It was a minuscule hope.

Yun Shu painfully stood on his tiptoes, enduring the agonizing pain in his chest to reach the cables. He carefully identified the colors and thickness of the wires. Relying on his profound knowledge as an architect, he quickly determined which lines might transmit data.

He pulled down the target cable and stripped a small section of insulation to reveal the metal core. Then, he took the chip again and carefully aligned its metal contacts with the exposed core.

Without proper tools, he had to use the most primitive method. He squeezed them tightly with his fingers, forcing the metal-to-metal contact to be as close as possible to complete an extremely unstable physical connection.

It worked.

The moment the contact was made, the tiny indicator light on the chip flickered weakly. There was indeed a negligible amount of residual electricity in the line.

Almost simultaneously, Yun Shu closed his eyes and concentrated his entire mind. He had no screen and no output device. His only reliance was his extraordinary brain and his ability to directly perceive data streams—the ultimate trump card of a top architect, and a forbidden technique that severely drained mental energy and exacerbated his illness.

His consciousness spread out like fine silk through the contact points between his fingers, the chip, and the cable. He attempted to capture and interpret the faint data echoes that might be flowing through.

Hum—

Disorganized electrical noise was the first thing to strike his perception. His head felt like it was splitting, and his temples throbbed violently. He forced his mind to remain steady, acting like a precision filter to strip away useless interference and search for any rhythmic data fragments.

One second, two seconds, five seconds.

Just as he was about to cough up blood again from the mental exhaustion, several fragmented and distorted data shards finally flickered into his perception.

[…Noise… Target… Static… Suspected entry… Sector B7… Engine array…]

[…Static… Obsidian… Patrol… Coordinates… Distortion… Approaching…]

[…Noise… Marshal’s Order… Tighten perimeter… Priority… Static… Life-sign tracking…]

[…Intermittent… Tartarus… Strong interference… Passage… Noise… Forbidden…]

The information was shattered, mixed with a vast amount of useless code and noise. However, Yun Shu’s brain operated like an overclocked processor, instantly piecing the fragments together to reveal a terrifying reality.

Ling Yao’s troops, the Obsidian squad, had locked onto this area, Sector B7’s engine array, and were using life-sign tracking technology. They were tightening the circle. He was like a hunted beast whose hiding spot would soon be exposed.

What shook him even more was that the name “Tartarus” appeared again in the fragments. This name, which he had overheard from the Imperial intranet, was also circulating in the Snatchers’ communications. Though the information was incomplete, it hinted at some kind of “passage” existing there.

What kind of place was that?

A sense of crisis washed over him like ice water, momentarily overriding his physical agony. He couldn’t stay here anymore. He had to move immediately.

He abruptly let go, and the chip and cable fell to the ground. A wave of intense dizziness hit him. He had to steady himself against the cold pipe to keep from falling. A strong metallic taste of blood rose in his throat, which he forced himself to swallow back down.

He had to leave. Now.

He forced his frail body out of the hiding spot, observing his surroundings with the alertness of a startled bird. In the distance, the noise from the Snatchers’ search seemed to have lessened. They might have changed direction, or perhaps they had been driven off or eliminated by Imperial forces.

But the invisible killing intent felt even stronger. Ling Yao’s net was silently tightening.

Based on the fragmented information he had just acquired, he gauged the direction from which the Imperial patrol was likely approaching. He chose the opposite path, leading deeper into the abandoned core of the shipyard. The terrain there was more complex, and the wreckage of massive reactors and dense pipe systems might better interfere with life-sign scans.

He pulled his hat low, shrinking himself into his oversized jumpsuit, and moved quickly and quietly under the cover of shadows and debris. His steps were unsteady, but he didn’t dare pause for a moment.

He could feel it—a cold, systematic scanning pulse, like an invisible searchlight, sweeping across the area over and over. It was gradually filtering out interference and focusing on him: the sole, exceptionally weak source of a life signal.

Temporary Command Center, Assault Ship “Night Owl”

Ling Yao stood before a massive holographic sandbox, which precisely displayed a 3D structural map of the abandoned shipyard.

Several pale blue dots representing his Obsidian squads were advancing in standard tactical formations, combing through the search area like a fine-toothed comb. A flickering, faint red spot was locked in the engine array area toward the center-right of the sandbox, moving extremely slowly toward the core.

“The life-sign tracker has filtered out seventeen non-human biological and low-power prosthetic signals. The target’s signal signature match is 98.7%. The energy level is extremely low and continues to decay,” the technical officer reported calmly. “Based on movement speed and trajectory analysis, the target appears to be attempting to reach the ruins of the core reactor, likely hoping to use the high residual energy and complex metal structures there to interfere with tracking.”

“A final struggle,” Ling Yao commented indifferently, though his gaze never left that slowly moving red dot.

The weakness of that signal exceeded his expectations. it was like a candle in the wind, liable to go out at any moment. It was hard to imagine that the ghost who possessed such sharp eyes and cunning methods was actually this frail.

“Marshal, the target is about to enter a Class C danger zone. The structure there is highly unstable, and the radiation index exceeds safety limits,” the adjutant warned.

“Have the assault teams slow down. Maintain the pressure but do not get too close. Avoid cornering him and causing a structural collapse. Ensuring the target’s survival is the priority,” Ling Yao ordered.

He wanted a living prisoner, not a corpse buried under rubble.

“What about the Snatchers?” he asked.

“They have been driven from the area. Three killed, five captured. The rest have scattered. Preliminary interrogation indicates they received an anonymous high-priced bounty to capture the target alive, but they know little of his specific value.”

An anonymous bounty?

A cold light flashed in Ling Yao’s eyes. Besides the Empire and Xilan, was there a third party interested in this sickly architect? Things were becoming increasingly interesting.

Just then, another report arrived.

“Marshal, the encrypted files regarding Yun Shu, the Chief Biological Architect of the Xilan Federation, have been partially decrypted!”

Ling Yao turned immediately. “Report.”

“Yun Shu, President of the Xilan Federation’s Supreme Academy of Sciences and Chief Biological Architect. He holds national-treasure status. He is only twenty-eight years old but has made revolutionary achievements in genetics and energy-matter conversion. It is reported that he suffers from an extremely rare malignant Crystal Erosion Disease, which has entered the terminal stage. Xilan’s internal assessment suggests that without effective intervention, his life expectancy may not exceed three standard months.”

“His last public appearance was two months ago. Since then, he has been in a state of ‘deep research’ and has not left the Xilan capital planet. Wait,” the intelligence officer’s voice paused with a hint of surprise. “There is a highly secretive additional record at the end of the file from our sleeper agent in the Xilan high command. It shows that approximately ten standard days ago, Yun Shu’s personal medical team secretly applied for a large quantity of high-strength neural stimulants and consciousness stabilizers. The purpose was unclear, and the approval level was the highest.”

The timing matched perfectly with when the “ghost” began frequently testing the Empire’s network.

Ling Yao’s gaze sharpened instantly. All the clues finally connected.

A national-treasure scientist with only three months to live was using forbidden drugs to find a glimmer of hope to cure himself and his country’s terminal affliction. He was overdrawing the last of his life to infiltrate an enemy nation alone, targeting the Empire’s highest secrets: the Initial Gene Sequence and even the forbidden land of Tartarus.

Quite a man, this Yun Shu. Truly the backbone of Xilan.

No wonder he was so difficult to deal with. No wonder his eyes were so resolute.

This was no longer just a game of catching an intruder.

Ling Yao looked at the red dot on the sandbox, still moving slowly and looking as though it might vanish at any moment. His expression became complex. There was admiration for his opponent’s intellect and perseverance, but also a cold calculation based on the Empire’s interests.

A genius who held Xilan’s highest technological secrets and harbored great hostility toward the Empire could not be allowed to return. Capturing him alive was far more valuable than destroying ten Xilan interstellar fleets. He might even be the key to unlocking the mystery of the Turbid Core.

“Notify the forward squads,” Ling Yao’s voice grew cold with an unquestionable command. “The target’s value is extremely high. He must be captured alive. If met with violent resistance, use of non-lethal force for forced sedation is authorized. I want to see a living, speaking Yun Shu.”

“Yes, Marshal!”

The order was swiftly relayed. On the sandbox, the light dots representing the Obsidian squads began to move more cautiously, yet more resolutely.

Under the massive shadow of the abandoned reactor, Yun Shu leaned against a cold pipe and coughed up blood mixed with blue crystalline shards once again. He looked up at the even darker entrance ahead. A flash of despair crossed his eyes, only to be replaced by an even deeper tenacity.

He could feel it. Those cold, predatory eyes had pierced through the layers of obstacles and completely locked onto him.

There was nowhere left to run.

But he still did not give up. As long as he had one breath left, as long as his brain could still think, he would never give up.

He took a deep breath of air filled with radioactive dust and staggered, step by step, into the deepest darkness.