My Talent's Name Is Generator

Chapter 1033: The Plan

A few hours passed before Commander One finally sent someone to find me.

By then I had already explored a considerable portion of the armada. The fleet itself fascinated me far more than I expected.

At first glance the ships looked similar to ordinary vessels sailing across an ordinary ocean, but that illusion quickly disappeared the moment I began speaking with the souls living aboard them.

Many of them were old. Not old in appearance but in existence.

One old elemental soul I met while wandering through a market type district built on the upper deck of a transport vessel casually informed me that he had been operating his shop for nearly three thousand years. An aqua female managing a repair dock claimed she had witnessed the rise and fall of seven different armadas stretching across ten thousand years.

One particularly grumpy blacksmith informed me that he had stopped counting his age after the first millennium because "it stopped being impressive."

The strangest part was how normal all of them seemed.

They joked, argued, worked, complained and lived. Death had not transformed them into some enlightened existence.

They were simply people. Very old people. The more I observed, the more I realized the Null Realm functioned less like an afterlife and more like another civilization entirely.

Food stalls existed everywhere despite the fact that nobody actually required food. Restaurants remained crowded. Taverns remained full.

Entire industries existed around cooking. Eventually curiosity got the better of me.

"You don’t actually need to eat, do you?" I asked one of the cooks.

The woman laughed.

"Need to? No."

She pointed toward a nearby table.

"Want to? That’s different."

Apparently souls could still taste. The difference was that starvation no longer existed. Neither did thirst. Or aging. Or disease.

The concept felt bizarre.

A civilization where nobody naturally died. Yet they still behaved almost exactly like mortals.

That question eventually led me toward another subject.

Soul Passing.

The moment the term was mentioned, every conversation became slightly more serious. I first heard it from an old sailor who had apparently spent over two thousand years aboard various Dex vessels.

"What happens when a soul disappears?" I asked.

The old man looked toward the silver sea for a long moment. Then shrugged.

"Nobody knows."

That wasn’t the answer I expected.

"What do you mean nobody knows?"

"I mean exactly that."

He leaned against the railing.

"Sometimes a soul just vanishes. No warning, no reason."

The sailor continued.

"Some people disappear after a hundred years. Others after ten thousand. Some never disappear at all. Nobody knows what decides it."

The surrounding sailors listening nearby all nodded.

One of them spoke up.

"My grandfather vanished."

Another pointed toward himself.

"My wife."

The old sailor shrugged again.

"Most people believe it’s the soul moving on."

"To another life?"

"Maybe."

That answer appeared often.

Maybe.

Nobody actually knew. Nobody had returned to explain what happened afterward. The uncertainty had shaped their entire civilization. The more people I spoke with, the more I realized that almost every powerful soul shared the same ambition.

Strength.

Eventually I asked why.

A middle-aged woman working security aboard one of the ships answered immediately.

"Because Saints don’t disappear."

That got my attention.

"What?"

She pointed upward.

"The stronger your soul becomes, the more stable it becomes."

The woman lowered her voice slightly.

"There are stories."

"What kind of stories?"

"Saints who appealed directly to Wardens."

"What happened?"

"They were granted permanence."

I stared at her. The woman nodded.

"They no longer fear Soul Passing." Now that was fascinating. No wonder everyone pursued power. For the guarantee that one day they wouldn’t simply vanish into whatever came next.

The realization explained much about the Null Realm. The obsession with advancement.

The respect Saints received. The authority Wardens possessed. Everything suddenly fit together.

Several more hours passed before I was finally summoned.

Commander One received me inside a surprisingly ordinary office aboard the flagship.

A desk. Several chairs, maps, documents. No grand throne or elaborate decorations.

"I’m beginning to understand why Commander Seven enjoys causing problems."

I sat down.

"I’ve done nothing."

The look she gave me suggested she disagreed. Then she slid a projection across the desk.

"Your route."

My attention shifted immediately. The map displayed a section of the Prime Territory.

Several routes were highlighted.

"So how exactly are you getting me inside?"

Commander One leaned back.

"The normal routes are impossible. The Eternals monitor every official checkpoint."

The map shifted.

New routes appeared.

"Illegal routes aren’t much better."

Several disappeared.

"Most smuggling networks are already compromised."

More vanished.

Eventually only one remained. A single thin line connecting two locations.

My eyes narrowed.

"What’s that?"

"A transfer zone. Prime Territory receives goods from neighboring territories every day."

That made sense. Even immortal civilizations required trade.

"The Eternals inspect most shipments."

"Most?"

A small smile appeared.

"Nobody can inspect everything."

Now we were getting somewhere. She expanded the map. A strange location appeared.

A giant structure floating above the Soul Sea.

"What is that?"

"The Crossroads. Think of it as a neutral exchange hub. Goods arrive from different territories and then get redistributed."

I studied the image. The structure looked enormous. Larger than many cities.

"The Eternals allow this?"

"They need it."

"So I just walk through?"

Commander One laughed.

"No."

That would have been too easy. She pointed toward a specific section of the Crossroads. A series of maintenance tunnels hidden beneath the structure.

"Someone will meet you here."

"A contact?"

"Yes."

The projection zoomed further. A single name appeared.

Morrow.

"Who is he?"

The commander became quiet for a moment.

She sighed.

"Unofficially he moves people, information, artifacts and occasionally entire organizations across territorial boundaries."

"And he’s reliable?"

"He is."

That wasn’t exactly reassuring.

Commander One shrugged.

"Reliability is relative."

I looked over the route again.

"So what happens?"

"We take the armada toward the Crossroads."

She pointed along the route.

"You leave the fleet before arrival."

Then toward the maintenance sector.

"Morrow receives you."

Then toward Prime Territory.

"Morrow gets you inside."

I nodded slowly.

Commander One folded her arms afterward.

"One more thing."

"What?"

Her expression became unusually serious.

"The Prime Territory isn’t the armada. Your soul feels different. People will notice. And the Eternals will notice even faster."

That part was less ideal.

"So avoid attention."

I looked at her. She looked back.

Then both of us glanced toward the damaged section of the flagship visible through the window. Neither of us said anything.

After several seconds she sighed.

"Actually forget that."

I smiled.

"Good idea."

The commander closed her eyes briefly. For some reason I had the feeling she regretted helping me almost as much as she regretted meeting Commander Seven.