Chapter 1: The Rustless Emerald Cat

There is no water in the Tidal Star Sea.

For navigators setting foot in these waters for the first time, this is the hardest common sense to grasp. What surges here is only light. When the currents are calm, the surface is a rolling silver-gray mist; but when the undertows riot, the sea splits into blinding crimson and abyssal emerald.

The crimson storms are highly corrosive. Those clippers cobbled together from flimsy wooden planks need only be licked by the red tide on their hulls to quickly rust, peel, and ultimately sink into the abyss without a sound, taking their sailors with them.

The "Emerald Lighthouse" is the sole exception.

This towering stone spire on the edge of the Star Sea emits a soft yet unwavering halo year-round. No matter how the red tides wash against it outside, the masonry of the tower has never peeled away in the slightest.

"Click, clack."

In the observatory at the top of the lighthouse, an "Astrolabe" made of brass operates rhythmically. Gears of all sizes interlock, projecting a complex, three-dimensional nautical chart.

Standing before the Astrolabe is the master of this lighthouse.

He is a cat. Yet, you cannot find a single strand of ordinary orange or white fur on him. His coat exhibits a wondrous hue—a "pickle green" that looks like the finest jade after ultimate tempering.

His name is Pickle Cat, but the survivors of these waters prefer to respectfully call him "Teacher Cat."

Presently, Pickle Cat is wearing a well-tailored dark trench coat, holding a steaming cup of peppermint tea. His gaze sweeps lazily over the dancing light spots on the Astrolabe, his long tail swaying unhurriedly behind him.

"The currents today are almost falsely quiet," he takes a light sip of tea, his emerald whiskers trembling slightly.

Just then, a hurried metallic flapping sounds from the silver-gray mist outside the window.

An automaton bird, constructed from precise silver gears and alloy feathers as thin as cicada wings, plunges headlong through the half-open glass window. It performs a clumsy somersault in the air before landing steadily on Pickle Cat's shoulder, emitting a "tick-tack" sound like an old typewriter.

This is his "Newsboy," dedicated to catching the whispers of the wind deep within the Star Sea that travel faster than the ocean currents.

Pickle Cat sets down his teacup and skillfully pulls a slender, perforated brass paper tape from the bird's abdomen. Holding the tape against the light of the lighthouse, he quickly scans the dense perforations.

With just one glance, his originally lazy pupils instantly contract into two sharp vertical slits.

"Surface temperature is normal, but three breaks have appeared in the 'gravity web' of the deep-water zone..." Pickle Cat murmurs to himself, turning and striding toward the Astrolabe.

He extends a slender claw and swiftly dials a few core gears. The Astrolabe emits a low roar, and the originally flat nautical chart instantly dives, revealing a three-dimensional projection beneath the surface of the Star Sea.

At the very bottom of the projection, a dense, impenetrable black shadow is silently floating upward. That is not a hidden reef; it is a living creature—an "Ancient Leviathan" massive enough to capsize the entire sea, currently stretching its spine in the abyss.

The navigators on the surface remain completely oblivious; they are even cheering wildly for a few faint flashes of green light, desperately hoisting full sails.

"Greedy little fishes, you haven't even smelled the blood of the storm."

Pickle Cat sighs. He walks to the console of the observatory and, without hesitation, pulls down the thickest bronze lever.

"Rumble—"

At the pinnacle of the Emerald Lighthouse, the massive crystal core begins to spin violently. A beam of green light—thicker and purer than ever before—pierces the mist and thrusts straight into the gloomy sky, casting a colossal halo upon the once-calm sea.

This is the lighthouse's highest-level warning.

Pickle Cat picks up his somewhat cooled peppermint tea again, quietly watching the sea surface that is beginning to boil outside the window. There is not a trace of panic in his emerald-like eyes.

"The wind is rising. Let's hope you still remember that when the storm comes, the first thing to do is to reel in your greed."