Chapter 195

Chapter 195

The speed of the fall increased rapidly, with stars whizzing past him in colorful streaks. Evan heard a whistling wind in his ears, like the howling of countless undead or the roar of ocean waves.

He tried to stabilize himself, channeling all his spirituality into action, gathering the purple mist at his fingertips into a vast net of threads, hoping to slow his descent through its resistance.

But as soon as the net unfurled, it was torn apart by the surrounding starlight, the spiritual threads dissipating into the sea of stars, leaving only a sharp pain spreading from his fingertips through his entire body.

During the fall, fragments of images flashed before Evan’s eyes: the Golden Lane in the Sala Empire’s homeland, Sara standing on a castle terrace, a sealed letter pinched between his fingers, his expression cold; the Rotting Leaf Valley on the Fourth Island, Kalu raising a stone axe in a standoff with Colonial Force soldiers, the surrounding rainforest ablaze; the underground cellar of the Palm Leaf Club, a spirit binder wearing a skull mask manipulating countless threads of the dead in battle with a Supernatural in colonial uniform; and the deck of the Old Shark, Old Shark standing at the bow, gazing at the distant horizon, a silver flask in hand, his expression forlorn.

These were scenes he had experienced or heard of, now interwoven in the dream, leaving him dazed.

He suddenly realized that this lucid dream might not be a coincidence, but the result of his spirituality resonating with the surrounding supernatural environment after his advancement.

The people in those scenes, the unfinished matters—all clung like threads to his spiritual core.

The fall grew faster, the darkness below denser, and Evan felt his consciousness gradually blurring.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay awake. He thought of Sara’s letter, his original purpose for advancing, and his desire to return to the homeland, to Sara’s side.

A fierce determination rose from the depths of his heart. He channeled his spirituality again, this time not forming a net, but concentrating all of it into his fingertips, creating an extremely thin, resilient purple thread that stabbed into the darkness below.

As soon as the purple thread touched the darkness, it emitted a blinding light, as if tearing a rift in the void.

Evan could clearly feel the pulling force weakening slightly.

Seizing the opportunity, he infused more spirituality into the thread, which grew longer and brighter, like a bridge connecting the sea of stars to the darkness. Just then, a familiar fluctuation came from the thread’s end—the fluctuation of a Sea Heart Stone fragment!

Evan’s heart leaped with joy. He hadn’t expected to sense the Sea Heart Stone fragment in such a dream.

Following the fluctuation, he saw a tiny, faint blue light deep in the darkness—the glow of the Sea Heart Stone fragment.

He tried to manipulate the purple thread with his will to approach the light, but just as it was about to touch it, the light burst forth, enveloping him in a powerful blue radiance.

The blue light was so intense that Evan couldn’t open his eyes. He felt his body being wrapped in a warm force, the weightlessness of the fall vanishing, the whistling wind gradually fading.

After an unknown amount of time, the blue light slowly dissipated, and Evan’s vision returned to familiar sights—the storage hold of the Old Shark, the wooden beams overhead, the palm leaves beneath him, and the moonlight streaming through the narrow porthole.

He opened his eyes wide, his chest heaving violently as he gasped for air, sweat pouring down his forehead like rain, soaking his linen shirt. He raised a hand to touch his cheek, feeling the real sensation—not the damp cold of the dream’s mist, but the sticky clamminess of sweat.

He struggled to sit up, looking around. Everything in the room was as it had been when he fell asleep: the silver crucible on the table, the pouches of potion ingredients neatly arranged beside it, the crude wooden dolls still lying quietly on the surface, moonlight casting a long, thin shadow across the floor through the porthole.

“A dream… yet not a dream,” Evan murmured. He could clearly recall every detail of the dream—the damp cold of the mist, the grandeur of the star sea, the weightlessness of the fall, and the interwoven fragments of images—all as vivid as if he had experienced them.

He pulled out his pocket watch, opened the lid, and noticed the silver badge beside it trembling slightly.

He placed the watch on the table, channeled his spirituality, and the purple mist at his fingertips condensed into threads, forming an extremely thin band of light that extended along the table and eventually wrapped around one of the wooden dolls.

The next moment, the doll suddenly moved. Startled, Evan quickly withdrew his spiritual threads, and the doll instantly returned to stillness, as if nothing had happened.

He stood up, walked to the porthole, and pushed it open a crack. The sea outside was calm, moonlight scattering silver ripples across the surface. The distant Twelfth Island had fallen asleep, with only a few fishing lamps flickering in the darkness at the dock. Evan took a deep breath, the sea breeze brushing his face, gradually calming his chaotic thoughts.

He returned to the table, placed the watch back in his pocket, and lay down on the bed, but sleep eluded him. Staring at the wooden beams overhead, his mind replayed the scenes from the dream. He could feel that his spirituality was stronger and more refined than before his advancement, and his precision in controlling the spiritual threads had improved—perhaps an unexpected gain from the lucid dream.

The lingering effects of the potion gradually settled within him. Evan slowly clenched his fist, clearly feeling the surge of power coursing through his veins—a qualitative change brought by Sequence 8, the Puppeteer.

As his fingers brushed across the table, the bronze crucible, which had previously required effort to move, slid half a foot with a gentle push. The grip strength in his palm had nearly doubled compared to Sequence 9, and even his breathing had become steadier and deeper, with noticeable improvements in endurance and recovery.

Even more surprising was the transformation of his senses. The subtle movements hidden in the night mist outside the window, the faint rustling of a traveler turning over in the next room, and even the trajectories of dust particles floating in the air—all were clearly captured by his perception. This was evidence of a simultaneous leap in both physique and spirituality.

This enhancement in strength went beyond mere physical improvement; it stemmed from a fundamental shift in his professional role.

Sequence 9, the Cartographer, was ultimately a purely supportive profession. What Evan could rely on was merely the ability to draw spiritual maps and mark dangerous areas. When faced with conflicts among Supernaturals, he could only rely on pre-planned routes to avoid danger, with no capacity for direct confrontation.

But after advancing to Sequence 8, the Puppeteer, everything changed—he could clearly feel that his mental power had condensed into invisible control threads. With suitable materials to create puppet cores, he could infuse his spirituality into them, manipulating puppets for reconnaissance, defense, and even combat.

Just now, as his fingertips inadvertently brushed over wood shavings on the table corner, his mind had automatically formed an outline of shaping them into a small reconnaissance puppet. This sense of control was something he had never experienced during his Cartographer stage.

However, the joy of advancement was soon tempered by the harsh reality of his circumstances.

Evan instinctively reached for the money pouch at his waist. His fingertips touched the dry fabric; a gentle squeeze yielded only the faint clink of a few copper coins—to gather the potion ingredients, he had spent not only all his gold coins but also the spare Silver Kerens, leaving his wallet so empty that a breeze could blow through it. He let out a bitter laugh, turned the pouch over, and shook it. A few worn copper coins rolled onto the table, producing a crisp yet awkward sound.

Without funds, he couldn’t purchase quality materials for making puppets, nor could he sustain himself in the Blue Light District, let alone advance to a higher Sequence.

His gaze swept over the residual traces of the potion on the table, and Evan’s expression grew resolute.

He recalled that during his transaction at the Palm Leaf Club during the day, he had glimpsed a mission board in the corner of the hall, covered with various bounty tasks. The rewards for those tasks ranged from dozens to hundreds of gold coins, just enough to solve his immediate financial woes.

More importantly, these tasks were of moderate difficulty, perfectly suited for him to familiarize himself with the Puppeteer’s combat style and integrate his newfound power.

“It seems it’s time to take on more bounty missions at the Palm Leaf Club,” Evan muttered to himself, gathering the copper coins from the table, standing up, and adjusting his cloak, a newfound decisiveness in his eyes.