Soul of Searing Steel

Chapter 950: Luckless

Chapter 950: Luckless

Translator: EndlessFantasy Translation Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

If anyone could name themself, then Creed, the former captain of a Mycroft Expedition Fleet corvette, would not have hesitated to insert every lucky word into his name regardless of whether it would have sounded right—for instance, Creed Fortuna, Creed Luckystar, or Creed Goldenrule.

But in actual fact, if a person’s name really had a suffix, his name would have been Creed Luckless.

Because he was truly luckless.

As his consciousness awakened from a long slumber, his soul quivered as his self-awareness revived. When his ship exploded from being hit by a stray projectile out of sheer bad luck, his unlucky Soul Sphere was sent flying in the blast and was not immediately recovered by the rescue team. It hence wafted into the depths of the Void, and Creed’s soul fell into a coma as the Soul Sphere’s energy which preserved his soul had been used up.

Even so, he felt grateful towards destiny once he awakened.

“Thanks be to the God of Fortune—if there is one. I’m alive!”

What cursed fate? Those things do not exist. Complaining when one is being luckless? If there truly is a God of Fortune and Despair, cursing them would make things even more horrible. Either way, praises cost nothing, and spouting a few would leave nothing amiss.

“Wait...what’s this place?”

Creed, who imagined and felt at ease that he had been recovered by a rescue team, transported back to the Zeta Ram installation and revived, soon realized that things were not as he had imagined.

“Green... nutrient fluids?”

Opening his sore eyes and finding his body unresponsive to his command, Creed tried to take a look at his surroundings, only to find everything dyed with a green filter. It was only after some time that he realized it to be a green layer of nutrients, and that he was submerged in a massive glass container of nutrient fluids.

That was not right!

Alarms promptly rang in Creed’s head. He was a trained expeditionary, and therefore knew that the spring of revival in the main base was not green. Of course, that was not always the case, as the color depended on Commander Radcliffe’s mood at the time and whatever color he wanted. Despite that, even though it could have been green, he should not have been kept in a container!

His eyes widened and Creed’s sight eventually adapted to the light, the blurriness clearing. He could tell that he had been placed in the corner of a room that was built entirely out of white shell substances with a silver floor. Complex biological constructs filled the room, growing out from the shells like furniture. Creed also noticed that his body, which should have been vaporized, had been regrown—the fact that he could open his eyelids and his eyeballs could turn was proof.

Have I been picked up...or taken prisoner by another civilization?

Creed’s mind immediately came up with the possibility thanks to his training, just as he remained aware that it was not a time to panic. The most vital thing to do was to find someone he could communicate with—at the very least, they had preserved his soul and even rebuilt his body, so they might not be entirely hostile. Even if they were, Creed knew that he had no strength to resist. If that was the case, it would assuredly have been better to talk.

Thus, he struggled to lift his stiff hand to hammer the glass container holding him.

Thud-thud-thud!

The vibration conducted was an expected sensation for Creed. The ‘glass’ was sturdy but had a soft touch to it, and it was some special, transparent organic substance rather than silicon, which gave Creed the sensation that it was alive in the instant he struck it.

Soon, the otherworldly lifeforms he had waited for appeared.

“You’re up early... I imagine that you would need another dozen day to regain consciousness.” (Alien Language)

With swishing sounds, a body slowly ‘grew’ in the white shell room. From Creed’s perspective, it was a cluster of flesh filled with tentacles seeping out of the shell, an anemone that finally entangled and solidified into a solid humanoid form.

Though sounding grotesque, Creed’s perspective did not miss much. The main thing was that the tentacles were all silver-white substance, tangling in an orderly pattern that appeared to have an alien but streamlined aesthetic beauty, the simulated humanoid having long, flowing hair composed of tentacles that made it resemble a woman.

“Hmmm... Not bad, it seems like you’ve recovered considerably. My skill has improved again as expected.”

The creature(anemone)’s tentacles quivered, seemingly having checked Creed’s current condition. Then, after thinking a while, it connected itself to Creed in spirit. “How do you feel, Mycroftian? If you feel fine, I will remove the nutrient solution.”

“Alright... probably.”

Creed felt fine, except for slight faintness and the fact hat he was soaked in a container of fluids, which was why he responded quite decisively. However, he promptly regretted it when the nutrient fluids spilled away from a port, and he really stood physically instead of floating around in the tub.

“Ooooouch—say, why is it so damn painful!”

There was a heart-stabbing agony when Creed’s feet touched the ground, an agony that bypassed all willpower to directly form in the mind and the soul. For a single split second, the former expeditionary captain who had not even wailed in pain when he died writhed prone on the ground, unable to hold in the pain. Then, an even greater pain of the soul made him stand up—whether the area beneath his feet or his entire body when lying down was not a question that humans had to think about. Therefore, he could only choose to stand.

It was then that the anemone reached out and touched Creed’s shoulder with a tentacle. From that point of contact, Creed at once felt his pain subside while all his senses returned to normal.

“Looks like my adjustments had some problems.”

Approaching Creed, the anemone reached out and groped around him with a dozen more tentacles, and soon nodded thoughtfully when it found the cause. “I see. Your soul is damaged and in disharmony with the new physical body I’ve created, causing a clash between the body and soul. Having existed independently, your soul is now hurt and damaged... but there are no issues other than that, and my restoration skills are definitely impressive.”

But isn’t that issue a little too serious?!

Creed was astonished. The alien creature was defining it to be akin to ‘a game which has erroneous character modelling, irregular UI and is filled with bugs to the point that ships are flying, but remains a good game because it runs’. In other words, it was warped, and very much like having a set of skills that could have one catch fire accidentally, develop mental problems, or even become inhuman, but was fine just because it was possible to learn it.

What a distorted perspective!

“Pretentious things, Mycroftians.”

Creed had forgotten that he was connected in spirit with the anemone, and both their thoughts were words that transmitted in real time, which was why his retort was relayed as well. In response, the anemone’s tentacles quivered and its spirit ‘glowered’, while it continued. “Each of our infants has to endure mana radiation seventeen hundred times greater than that of standard carbon-based lifeforms at birth. That radiation directly tears apart hereditary genes apart, and only children with the innate gift to absorb magical energies would survive, while those that don’t are considered defects.”

“It’s just pain from soul irregularity, not real damage but a mere illusion—adapt, little fellow.”

“Fine. You’re right.” What more could Creed say? The anemone was right—it was merely some aching from damage, should he not just suck it up? Although it sounded like something that the Commander would say.

Creed at least knew from the anemone’s spirit that it was not hostile and had indeed saved him, even creating a brand-new body... leaving aside how it was made, whether Mycroft’s rescue teams could recover him if the anemone did not take him in counted as grace. Silent for a moment, Creed bowed and thanked the anemone.

“Whatever the case may be, you’ve saved me and I’m grateful for that. However, would it be possible for you send me back to Mycroft? I assure you that my allies would reward you satisfactorily, and I would personally reward you as well. And while it’s a little presumptuous, may I know the name of your trace? You would be granted friendship from Mycroft.” Creed spoke with neither humility nor pride, and while it would not have been a problem for him to kneel in thanks, he remained an officer of the Mycroft Expeditionary—or he believed he was, and would never sully his race and allegiance, even if it was an arrogant attitude.

“Prideful little fellow.” The Anemone unexpectedly showed no interest in that. Instead, the tentacled creature which resembled a human female form sat gently on a shell chair of bizarre design, its spirit presence appearing unexcited but in fact, lazy. “I saved you, but it wasn’t to extend friendship to Mycroft, and not even for my race, but out of utter selfishness. It’s not as if I can’t take you home either, but some major ruckus has occurred within our borders. It’s now tightly restricted, so it’s a pity I don’t have the clearance to leave.”

Probably due to sitting down, the silver-white form of the Anemone changed into a lazy beige just as its spirit presence became soft. “As for my name and species? Guess there’s no harm in telling you—I’m Elma, General Use Individual Number 19090763.”

“As for my race...” At that, Elma’s spiritual presence paused, but soon continued nonchalantly, “Why, I’m an Amos, the single race of the Amos Court.”