86: Chapter 86 A Purification Like Moonlight: She Overdrawn Her Spiritual Energy to Save All the Wounded

"Hold him down!"

Vian's roar exploded inside the Medical Station like a delayed-fuse grenade.

The navigator in the third bed jerked up from a coma—not waking up, but suffering a neural spasm triggered by Chaos corruption.

Their back hit the bedframe with a dull thud, the bandages on their right forearm tore open, and blood trickled down from the shrapnel wound, though it wasn't a normal red.

The skin around the wound was turning gray at a speed visible to the naked eye, and patterns spread outward from the edges of the injury, their trajectory completely defying human anatomy, as if an invisible blade was carving twisted designs under the skin.

"Shitou! Come in and lend a hand—hurry!"

Yang Shitou was passing the door with hot water for changing dressings when he heard the shout, slammed the basin onto the floor, and rushed inside.

"What's going on—damn it!"

"Chaos corruption, carried by the shockwave."

Vian ripped open the sleeve of the wounded man's right arm; the gray-purple patterns already had two more branches than ten seconds ago. "Hold his left shoulder, don't let go! He tore the bandages and shifted the shrapnel fragments; another half-inch and it'll pierce the radial artery!"

"I'm holding it!" Yang Shitou gritted his teeth, his entire one-hundred-and-sixty-pound weight pressing down on the wounded man's shoulder, his arm muscles taut like tempered springs. "His strength isn't right—it's even freakier than Captain Locke when he's drunk! Vian, tell me the truth, is this corruption contagious?"

"It's not contagious by contact in the first stage, but there are only forty minutes left before it spreads to the brainstem."

"What happens after forty minutes?"

"You don't want to know." Vian scanned the adjacent beds. "The ones you brought in this morning—has the skin around the wounds on the two beds next to him changed color?"

Yang Shitou paused, turned to look at bed one and bed two, and his pupils constricted sharply.

"They all have it." His voice was as dry as a dusty loudspeaker. "Damn it—all four of them have it."

"Are you sure?"

"I carried them in one by one, how could I not be sure!" Veins bulged on Yang Shitou's neck, sweat from his forehead dripping into the wounded man's collarbone. "The shrapnel wound on the militiaman in bed one, the neck burn on the engineer in bed two, it's all that gray-purple stuff! Vian, what do we do?"

Vian didn't answer. She pushed open the door to the operating room and rushed in.

Alice was organizing the instruments used for the morning's debridement. Vian placed the portable Psyker energy detector on the instrument tray; the numbers on the reading screen were already jumping into the red zone.

"Three minor injuries, one severe injury—the Chaos shockwave penetrated the outer wall defenses and burrowed into their unhealed wounds. The gray-purple patterns around the severe injury of the navigator have already spread three centimeters, while the patterns on the three minor injuries have just formed, but they are spreading faster than the severe one. The wounds are small, the anchor points are shallow, and the speed at which the corruption spreads in the superficial fascia is one and a half times that of the deep layers. According to standard diffusion rates—"

"How much time does the worst one have left?" Alice had already stood up.

"Forty minutes, at most."

"The other three?"

"Currently about an hour and a half, but the anchor depth is changing, and the rate could double at any time."

Alice's pace toward the ward didn't change, but Vian noticed the fingertips of her right hand, hanging at her side, splayed slightly—this was the instinctual reaction of a Psyker healer when approaching a source of corruption; a Psyker field had already condensed into an invisible isolation layer at her fingertips.

Walking to the side of the third bed, Yang Shitou was still pressing down hard on the navigator's shoulder; the wounded person's whites of their eyes were already rolling upward, a precursor to Chaos eroding the optic nerve.

"Let go of him." Alice said.

"But he—"

"Let go. If you don't let go, I can't cleanse him."

Yang Shitou had been listening to Lin Mo's orders for nearly two years; he knew the difference between an ordinary request and an indisputable tone.

The moment he let go, the wounded man's back jerked upward again—but it hung suspended in mid-air.

A layer of silver-white Psyker light spread from Alice's open palm, like an invisible hand pressing down on the wounded man's entire upper body, gently pressing him back onto the bed.

The light was colder and whiter than moonlight, and when it touched the gray-purple patterns around the wound, it sank silently, like mercury seeping into gravel.

Yang Shitou watched, stunned, and asked in a hushed voice, afraid to startle that layer of light: "She doesn't treat external injuries like this usually—what is this?"

"Purification Art." Vian's gaze never left Alice's fingers. "The highest-level Psyker medical technique of the Astral Knights. There are no more than three people in the entire legion who can use it."

"Three? How many people are in the entire legion?"

"In your eyes, perhaps many. In my eyes—now only she remains." Vian's voice suddenly softened. "The other one died in the Siege of Terra."

Yang Shitou didn't ask anymore. He watched the silver-white light seep under the skin, precisely navigating between the fat layer and the superficial fascia, devouring only the gray-purple patterns without touching healthy tissue by even a fraction.

It was an invisible scalpel with a blade only one cell wide.

"Vian." Alice's voice was very calm, a stark contrast to the light churning in her palm. "Bring a cloth to cushion my knees. Don't put out the oil lamp; I need to watch the speed at which the patterns fade to judge the anchor depth. Bring the medical records for the other three beds as well; I need to cross-reference the wound locations to arrange the purification order. Also—go tell Wang Defu to clear the entrance to the Medical Station; no one is allowed to walk back and forth during the purification. The vibrations from the rammed earth ground will interfere with the precision of the Psyker field."

"How much does the vibration affect it?"

"The resonance of the Arsenal's forging hammer striking the anvil, transmitted here from the rammed earth road, has an amplitude of about 0.3 millimeters. It has no effect on ordinary people, but for a Psyker field that is decoding Chaos patterns layer by layer—it's a phase deviation of one-thousandth of a second. That is enough to make a purification incision go astray."

When Vian handed over the cloth, she glanced at the detector readings. The corruption anchor point was half a centimeter deeper than the standard first stage.

In the Astral Knights' field hospital, an anchor point of this depth would require a purification chamber, auxiliary stabilization equipment, and the cooperation of at least two certified Psyker healers.

In Blackstone Town, Alice had only her own Psyker energy, an oil lamp, and this cloth Vian handed her—not for wiping sweat, but for cushioning her knees.

The Purification Art requires the operator to be as close to the ground as possible, allowing the reactive force to be absorbed by the earth; if standing, all the recoil would press down on the spine.

"Is your Psyker energy reserve enough to cleanse four people?" Vian spread the cloth on the floor beside the bed.

"Enough."

"I'm not asking about willpower—I'm asking about your remaining Psyker energy reading."

"The reading is enough. My willpower is twenty percent higher than the reading." As Alice knelt down, the flame of the oil lamp flickered, casting fluid shadows on her profile. She closed her eyes: "Purification begins. Start the timer."

Silver-white Psyker energy gathered from her palm and permeated downward along the gray-purple patterns of the wound. The patterns, like frost meeting warm water, slowly faded—not burning away, but reverting.

The essence of Chaos corruption is information distortion at the Psyker level, replacing the genetic code of healthy cells with non-Euclidean geometric code from the Chaos realm.

What Alice was doing was decoding layer by layer, flipping the tampered cell information back to its original state, one by one.

The gray-purple color retreated inch by inch from the edges of the wound: one millimeter, two millimeters, three millimeters. The wounded man's breathing gradually shifted from rapid to steady, and the tremors of the eyeballs beneath his tightly closed eyelids slowed down.

The curtain of the Medical Station was suddenly pushed aside. A wind wrapped in the smell of rust and sweat poured in—it was Locke.

"Where are they?! I heard—" He saw Alice kneeling by the bed, the silver-white light in her palm illuminating half the tent like moonlight. His voice stopped abruptly, as if his throat had been choked.

Yang Shitou stood up and gestured toward the outside with his chin.

The two of them walked out of the tent one after the other. Wang Defu was already waiting at the entrance; this veteran of twenty years of border defense had finished patrolling the west wall for Locke that afternoon and rushed over immediately upon hearing about the incident at the Medical Station.

He didn't go in—having been a soldier for twenty years, he knew when one should not barge in.

He was squatting five steps away from the Medical Station, using the tip of his dagger to draw marks only he understood on the rammed earth, waiting quietly.

"How is it inside?" Locke's voice was very low, as if blocked by half a brick.

"All four are infected. She's cleansing them one by one." Yang Shitou squatted on the earthen platform, wiping the dust off his hands.

"Just her? Vian can't help?"

"Vian said she can't help—that's called Purification Art, there are only two people in the entire Astral Knights who can do it. The other one is dead." Yang Shitou paused. "Captain Locke, let me ask you a question. Have you ever seen someone on the battlefield pull out their own life to save others? Not the kind where you rush up to block a bullet, but kneeling on the ground for half an hour in exchange for someone else's life?"

Locke didn't answer. He unhooked his canteen, took a swig, and then placed the canteen on the step at the entrance.

"What are you doing?"

"In case the person inside comes out and needs a drink." Locke wasn't a man who could say pretty words. "I can't help with what's inside, but leaving a canteen of water is the least I can do. Old Wang, you keep watch here; I'm going to go tell the families of the other three."

"Tell them what?" Wang Defu looked up, his dagger still stuck in the dirt.

"Just say—someone is saving them."

"Be clear." Wang Defu pulled the dagger out and sheathed it back into his leg binding. "The families of the wounded don't want to hear 'someone is saving them.' They want to know who is saving them, what method is being used, if there's any certainty, and how long it will take at the fastest. If you are vague for even a second, the families can conjure up ten worse scenarios in their heads. I've been a soldier on Hope Star for twenty years; what I've seen the most isn't people dying in battle—it's people being killed by rumors."

Locke looked at him for two seconds: "Then you say it. I'm not good at explaining."

"First, the Psyker medical officer of the Astral Knights is performing a purification surgery; second, the corruption was discovered early, and all four are in the first stage; third, the first wounded person's injuries are already fading, and the remaining three are in line; fourth, if they want to know more, they should wait outside, and no one is allowed to go in—going inside interferes with the Psyker field and will only slow down the progress. Just these four sentences, don't add a single extra word." Wang Defu stood up and patted the dirt off his knees. "Let's go, I'll go with you. With that mouth of yours, you'd explode first if you got anxious."

Locke wanted to retort, opened his mouth, and realized he was right. The two of them walked toward the militia dormitory one after the other.

Inside the tent, the first purification case was complete. The gray-purple patterns around the navigator's wound had completely faded.

Alice gently withdrew her hand, and the silver light in her palm slowly extinguished. When she stood up, there were indentations from the cloth on her knees, and her legs felt a bit numb, but she didn't rub them.

Tiny beads of sweat on the back of her neck shimmered with a faint silver light under the oil lamp—it was the trace amount of residue remaining on the surface of her skin after the depletion of her Psyker energy.

"The second one." Her voice was as steady as it was before the purification.

Vian scanned the back of her neck with the detector: "Remaining amount is sixty-two percent. Imperial standard mandates a mandatory four-hour rest when it's above forty percent."

"The premise of the Imperial standard is that there are at least two rotating healers and a Psyker replenishment chamber behind you." Alice had already walked to the side of the first bed; the gray-purple patterns on the militiaman's leg were still spreading, four millimeters more than five minutes ago. "Here—I will bridge the gap between standard and reality."

"Until when?"

"Until all four people are cleansed."

Vian stared at her for two seconds: "Have you thought about what happens if your remaining Psyker energy drops below the red line and a fifth wounded person arrives?"

"I have."

"And the answer?"

"For the fifth one, there is you." Alice knelt down by the bed, the knee indentations on the cloth deepening by another layer.

Vian didn't speak again. She walked over and spread the medical records for bed two and bed four beside Alice's hand.

She didn't agree with this plan—Psyker energy consumption exceeding sixty percent could cause irreversible damage to the nervous system—but she understood that unspoken "I have calculated it."

In the Astral Knights, when a medical officer puts you before her backup plan, it's not because she looks down on you; it's because she has reserved the worst outcome for herself.

While purifying the second wounded person, the forging hammer in the Arsenal stopped.

Old Tom finished work early tonight. It wasn't because he wanted to slack off; it was because Yang Shitou had been called out by him just now as he ran past the entrance of the Arsenal.

"Shitou! Why are you running? Did something happen in the square?"

"The Medical Station! Chaos corruption, four people, Lady Alice is cleansing them!"

"All four infected?" Old Tom set the hammer in his hand onto the anvil. "What are the symptoms?"

"Gray-purple patterns appearing around the wounds, like drawn-on designs! The navigator is the worst, they said something about the anchor point being half a centimeter deeper—Old Tom, why are you asking in such detail? You're not a doctor!"

"I'm not a doctor, but I've been smithing for a lifetime!" Old Tom suddenly pulled down the damper of the furnace, and the firelight dimmed by half. "The forging hammer striking the anvil in the Arsenal creates resonance, transmitting vibrations through the ground; the foundation of the Medical Station and the Arsenal are connected by the same layer of rammed earth. Every time I strike a hammer, her Psyker field deviates by one micrometer. She is someone who operates with a blade the width of a single cell; every extra strike I make, her blade wobbles that much more! Tell me, should I have finished work early or late?"

Yang Shitou paused: "I hadn't thought of that."

"That's why you can only be a messenger." Old Tom moved the last piece of quenched armor plate off the anvil, an old injury on his waist making him grunt. "Go, tell Lord Lin Mo that the Arsenal is shutting down all production tonight. The armor plates for the steam trucks can be finished tomorrow. Tonight, the whole town—all the hammering and banging work, stop it all."

"Including the stonemasons on the wall?"

"Stop it all! The chisels on the wall, the iron picks by the canal, the carpenter's saws in the square—tell Locke, have him pass it on." Old Tom wiped the iron filings off his hands and sat down on the stone block at the entrance of the Arsenal. "I'm not leaving. I'm sitting here tonight. Whoever wants to sneak in some work in the middle of the night, they'll have to get past me first."

On the wall, Lin Mo saw it all.

Looking down from the wall, the rammed earth road of Blackstone Town was bleached white by the moonlight. The fire in the Arsenal had gone out, and Old Tom had moved a stone bench to sit by the entrance—he knew from the gesture of waving the hammer that a shutdown order had been issued. Locke and Wang Defu were walking across the square toward the militia barracks, their tall and short silhouettes looking like two blocks of granite cleaved by a blade under the moonlight. The oil lamp light seeping from the Medical Station tent was wrapped in a faint, pale silver—the diffuse reflection of the light in Alice's palms.

Suddenly, a burst of gold exploded before his eyes. It was not moonlight. It was golden light surging from the depths of his consciousness. The mirror of the emperor had activated without warning. There were no data panels, no quantitative metrics, and no mission prompts. There was only a golden humanoid silhouette, sitting upright in a golden void devoid of heaven and earth. The figure held a key that seemed as if it would never be released, and from the end of the key extended an extremely thin thread—the other end of the thread pierced the boundary of the golden light and landed on the roof of the Medical Station tent.

The system log popped up a line of information he had never seen before: — [Cross-timeline synchronization complete. Batch 17 gene marker confirmed. The Compensator's bloodline has activated its first stage. Guardian attention: After the Compensator's Psyker energy consumption exceeds fifty-five percent, the dormant genes in the bloodline will enter a shallow awakening period. Intervention is not recommended. Intervention is not recommended. Intervention is not recommended.]

Lin Mo stared at the text. The mirror of the emperor never repeated itself—saying it three times, what did that mean? "Are you prompting me, or are you warning me?" he spoke to the void. The system did not respond. But on his retina, a line of tiny, faint golden text appeared, visible only to him: The person you chose was not the wrong choice. She does not know who she is. Let her know for herself.

He came down from the wall. He did not take the stairs—the stairs would take an extra twenty seconds to go around to the other side of the square. He slid down the maintenance ladder on the inside of the wall, his boot soles landing on the rammed earth with almost no sound. Locke and Wang Defu had just reached the entrance of the militia barracks, and Locke turned back to see Lin Mo, about to report the condition of the wounded. Lin Mo waved his hand. He recognized this gesture—it did not mean no report was needed, but rather, do not speak yet.

"Old Lin." Wang Defu spoke up. He was one of the few people in town who dared to call Lin Mo "Old Lin." Having served on the border for twenty years, his seniority was even longer than Lin Mo's time in Blackstone Town. "I just finished talking to the family members. The most anxious one is the navigator's deputy, a girl of seventeen or eighteen who has been guarding outside the Medical Station since the day of the crash. I said someone was performing a purification surgery, and she said she didn't trust Imperial officers—" "What did you tell her?" "I said: 'You can choose not to trust Imperial officers. But do you trust someone who has been kneeling on hard mud for forty minutes, with only a cloth towel under her knees?' She stopped talking then." Wang Defu paused. "But Old Lin, to be honest—I've seen Lady Alice's consumption with my own eyes. Having been a soldier for twenty years, I have seen Psykers burn out their last bit of Psyker energy and die on the battlefield. They look no different from ordinary people, but the color of their lips doesn't lie. After clearing the second wounded, her lips had already started to turn pale."

Lin Mo glanced at him. This veteran never spoke pretty words, but his judgment of people was built on twenty years of staking his life on the battlefield. He did not answer, but walked straight toward the entrance of the Medical Station. The silver light in the tent was still shining—it was the peak of the third purification, slightly weaker in intensity than the first two, but the rhythm was undisturbed. Yang Shitou was squatting on the steps at the entrance, muttering softly: "That's the third one." "Shitou, has the light in her hands dimmed?" "It's dimmed a little bit." Yang Shitou looked up. "Lord Lin Mo, are you going in? She just had Vian pass a message saying that no one is allowed to walk around the entrance during the purification—" "I'm not going in. I'll wait here."

When the third purification ended, Alice's hands began to shake. When she put the surgical forceps back on the instrument tray, the tip clicked against the edge—very lightly, but Vian heard it. "Finish clearing everything first." Alice did not wait for her to speak. She stood up and walked to the fourth bed. Around the burn wound of that engineer, the gray-purple texture had spread to four centimeters, the most severe among the four people—the burn area was large, and the exposed subcutaneous tissue gave the contamination more adhesion. When she knelt down, the sound of her knees touching the ground through the cloth towel had a moment's hesitation longer than the previous three times.

"The anchor points of his burn wound are scattered in three independent areas." Vian handed over the record board. "Which one should I clear first?" "Clear them together. Although the three anchor points are in different areas, they are all in the superficial fascia layer, and the source of contamination is the same shock wave. If cleared separately, the previously cleared area will be reverse-contaminated by the uncleared anchor points. One coverage—the consumption will be greater, but it won't leave any sequelae." "How much greater?" "The third one has already made me break through fifty-five percent. After this one is done, it should be around seventy percent." Her lips moved very lightly. "Are you smiling?" "No. I'm thinking—in the Astral Knights, anything over seventy percent must be reported to the Legion Medical Headquarters." Her palm was suspended above the burn wound on the engineer's neck. "Here—" "Here, the person you need to report to is standing three steps outside the tent." "So I don't need to report." Alice said. "He knows. He just came down from the wall, and his footsteps were half a beat faster than usual—he has already calculated my consumption. He didn't come in to stop me, which means he agrees."

Vian was silent for five seconds, then said: "Alice, I have followed you in the Astral Knights for four years, and I have never seen you break through fifty-five percent for anyone." "In Blackstone Town, the difference between forty percent and seventy percent is—" "Two different results, the same choice." Vian finished the sentence for her. "I know. You decided the moment you performed the first purification for the navigator." "If you know, why ask?" "I wanted to hear you say it yourself. To confirm that you aren't acting on impulse." "I am not acting on impulse." The silver light in Alice's palm lit up again—weaker than the previous three times, but steadier. "I calculated it, one by one. The first wounded took forty minutes, I did it. The second took thirty-five minutes, I did it. The third took half an hour, I did it. This one calculates to twenty-five minutes. When done, it will be exactly at the limit. Not more, not less." "How do you know?" "Because before calculating the consumption, I first calculated how much I had left. What was left was exactly enough for four people. It's not a miracle, it's allocation."

The silver-white light sank into the engineer's burn wound. This speed was exactly the same as the previous three times—not fast, not slow, precise enough to be just right. The purification was completely finished. The vital signs of all four wounded returned to stability simultaneously. When Alice withdrew her hand, there was no more silver light in her palm—it hadn't been withdrawn; it was used up. She stood up from the cloth towel, her legs went weak—only for half a second, then she steadied herself. Vian reached out to help. "No need." Alice shook her head. "I'm going to get some air."

She walked outside the tent. The moonlight draped over her, and her silver-white long hair almost blended into the moonlight in the night, with only the tips of her hair glowing with a faint gold. Lin Mo saw that patch of gold by the crenelation of the wall—it was brighter than any time before, like something that had slept for too long had heard a knock at the door and turned over in the darkness. "Are they all saved?" Lin Mo stopped three steps behind her. "They are all saved." "The color of your hair tips is brighter than last time." Alice turned her head. "Every time you look at me, you look at my hair tips first—did you know that?" "I know." "Do you know when you started having this habit?" "After the first time I saw you use your Psyker energy. That time your hair only glowed gold for three seconds, and I thought I had seen it wrong. Later, I specifically confirmed it—every time you use your Psyker energy, your hair tips change color. The closer the consumption gets to the limit, the more obvious the gold becomes." "So you look at my hair tips to calculate how much Psyker energy I've used?" "I'm calculating how much you have left." Lin Mo took the peppermint candy from his pocket and placed it on the stone of the crenelation. The edges of the candy wrapper had frayed into white fibers, having been carried in his pocket for too long, folded and unfolded many times. "Four wounded, the first took forty minutes, the last took twenty-five minutes. You allocated it just right. It's like doing a product budget—distributing limited R&D resources to four prioritized requirements, and when the last one goes live, the budget is exactly used up. Not more, not less." "You compare me saving people to a product launch?" "I am complimenting your allocation." Lin Mo paused. "The highest praise for a product manager is not 'well done,' but 'just enough.'"

Alice lowered her eyes to look at the peppermint candy on the crenelation. The white fibers on the edge of the wrapper shone with a pale silver light in the moonlight, the same color as the light that had already extinguished in her palm. "Just now, Vian asked me inside what would happen if there was a fifth wounded person." "What did you say?" "I said the fifth one has her." "Did you place her before or after yourself?" "Before." Lin Mo answered for her. It wasn't a guess; it was something he saw in the expression Vian had when she walked out of the Medical Station. Alice did not answer. The moonlight spread a layer of quiet silver-white between the two. The sentry changing guards in the square walked past the corner of the wall, and the sound of footsteps was pushed away by the evening breeze. Locke and Wang Defu had already reached the entrance of the militia barracks, and Wang Defu turned back to look this way. Seeing the peppermint candy on the crenelation, he immediately turned Locke's shoulder. "Don't look, go back." "Why?" "Lord Lin Mo's candy has been in his pocket warming up since the afternoon. Look at the white fibers worn out on the edge of the wrapper; it's been folded and unfolded at least three times. He waited all night to put it there. What are you standing there looking for?" Locke glanced at Wang Defu. This veteran never gossiped—if he said it shouldn't be looked at, it really shouldn't be looked at.

Yang Shitou stood up from the steps, his knees clicking. He muttered a couple of words toward the open space at the entrance of the Medical Station and walked toward the communication station. When passing the Arsenal, Old Tom was still sitting on the stone bench at the entrance. "Shitou—how is it inside?" "They're all saved. Four of them." Old Tom was silent for a moment, then took something out of his bosom—a palm-sized piece of iron, the hammer marks smoothed out, carved into the shape of a crescent moon. He had originally planned to find someone to give it to Alice tomorrow; she had saved so many people, there should be some token. But after thinking about it, he put the iron piece away again. "Why did you put it away?" "She is a person who saves people with Psyker energy. A blacksmith like me giving an iron piece doesn't fit." Old Tom stood up and reopened the damper of the furnace. "Go, your night shift isn't over yet." Yang Shitou walked two steps and turned back: "Old Tom—was the shutdown tonight worth it? You still need to rush to install that armor plate on the steam truck tomorrow." "Listen well." Old Tom turned around, pointing his hammer at him. "Don't ask such questions again in the future. She saved four people tonight, four lives. Me missing one armor plate is nothing. Go, finish your shift."

Inside the Medical Station, Vian closed the record panel of the detector. She read the four purification records from beginning to end—at the end of the fourth purification waveform, that ring-shaped ripple appeared again. It was not an instrument error, nor was it residual Psyker energy. It was the same pattern that had appeared in all four purifications: the microsecond the contamination anchor point was eliminated, Alice's Psyker energy waveform did not dissipate directly, but expanded outward to form an extremely thin protective layer, covering about one centimeter of healthy tissue around the wound. It was like someone locking the door from the inside when leaving a room. This was an effect not recorded in any medical literature. Vian wrote a word in the blank space, crossed it out. Wrote another, crossed it out again. Finally, in the bottom right corner of the whole page of records, she drew a symbol she had never used in her medical notes but decided to use tonight: a circle enclosing a crescent moon. Below it, she wrote only one word: Worthy. She put the instrument into the medical kit, and as she stood up, she saw a bottle of Imperial military-standard Psyker energy supplement capsules on the bench at the door. It was her own. There were only three bottles left in the medical kit she carried with her when the Astral Knights crashed. She left one of them here—for the first person to push open the door of the Medical Station tomorrow morning.

Walking out of the Medical Station, under the moonlight, Lin Mo was still standing by the wall, and Alice was sitting on the crenelation stone three steps away from him, holding the peppermint candy that had not yet been unwrapped. She did not eat it. She just held it. In the distance, at the end of the wasteland outside Blackstone Town, a light that did not belong to the moonlight flashed in the clouds. It was not lightning, nor was it a signal light from the Imperial fleet. The thing buried deep in her bloodline turned over. It opened its first eye. — Batch 17 gene marker. The Compensator has entered a shallow awakening period. Guardian, the key in your hand has not chosen the wrong person. The figure that has slept for eight thousand years on the Golden Throne, in this silver-white spread by the moonlight, moved its finger.