Liberi Reader

Anastasio sees those before him as puppets of desire. Regardless of their intentions, he believes their desires will inevitably lead them down the path of evil.

Pascuala sits up and takes the bottle Teach offers her. The bionic seadragon is hard at work across the deck carrying a wooden plank while flapping its wings.

Juana stands at the bow, gazing into the distance. Behind her, Elysium twists his whole body as he strains to turn the heavy helm wheel, like some strange exercise routine.

The high sun shines bright. It hurts a little bit.

Sailors heave heavy balls made from salt and fin dung into the cannons.

Once again, Juana dances with her helm. The rudder carves through the Salt Flat, as if slicing its flesh, while the massive ship tilts and glides across the salt desert at an impossible angle.

Salt cannonballs whistle past, landing only meters from La Conquista and spraying salt everywhere.

The sails push the ancient ship towards the heart of the Flat, where few have tread.

A rumble stirs within the salt cloud. Pascuala peers through her blurry spyglass, straining to identify its source, only for a wind-filled sail to suddenly consume her view.

It is the salt ship that has disappeared from the pursuing squadron.

Javier stops giving orders. He knows no one will listen anymore.

He passes through the crowd and climbs the ship's bow. He sees the towering skeletons just ahead of La Conquista.

The Skeletal Reef: a labyrinth of bones, the pulsing heart of the Salt Flat, a realm of death where no mortal dares tread. Yet, La Conquista sails toward its valleys, dauntlessly, recklessly.

Despite the constant bumps and jolts, Isidro's eyes remain fixed on the Corazonix floating at the center of the transmutation table.

Layers of Arts energy fields have separated it. The insides glow with a metallic gleam.

Even the slightest motion is reflected upon its surface through the needle of the probe.

Another jolt sends the dismantled compass components on the table spilling onto the ground.

With one hand holding the probe, Isidro draws his sword with the other and stabs the cabin wall with it to steady himself.

With each tilt of the ship, Isidro counters with a thrust of his sword. Soon, the cabin is in chaos—a pot covers one of his feet, while a piece of canvas wraps around his leg.

He pays no heed to them. The only thing he sees is the trail of liquid Originium drawn by the needle of his probe.

Sweat runs down his cheeks and into his mouth. He feels control slipping from the hand holding the probe as his strained muscles verge on spasming.

Isidro forces his eyelids open through the blood and salt, and sees the Arts field beginning to go out of control under some kind of powerful Arts interference.

His probe lies on the other side of the cabin, the needle broken into several pieces. The components of the compass are nowhere to be seen, except for the outer shell.

Under the pressure of the overloaded Arts field, the newly-formed Corazonix begins to tremble violently.

Isidro opens his mouth, but his tongue does not obey. He forces himself to sit up. There is no time to think about how many ribs he broke.

On the transmutation table, the Corazonix starts to bubble as if it's boiling.

One moment of hesitation, and the last Corazonix of Iberia, their only hope for survival—

Will turn to dust.

He must retrieve it!

Isidro looks around desperately, but sees none of the compass's components, not even a working tool.

Isidro stumbles to his feet. He cannot feel his left arm, but can still move his right arm.

He runs towards the transmutation table.