Like a silent black beast, the *Triton* cut smoothly through the azure waters of the Pacific Ocean, leaving the hustle and bustle of the California coast far behind.
For this deep-submersible mothership packed with Stark Industries’ pinnacle technology, these light waves couldn’t even cause a glass of water in the mess hall to ripple.
Inside the bridge control room, Tony Stark had finally exhausted his initial novelty with his new toy.
He paced the room restlessly like a caged tiger, while Leon Hall sat quietly on the corner sofa like a meditating monk, resting with his eyes closed.
This eerie tranquility was completely shattered on the second day of the voyage.
“So, ‘spirituality’ is an unobservable quantum field at present, right?” Tony slammed a cup of coffee onto the table, unable to resist kicking off another round of “academic debate.”
“And ‘resonance’ is a directional wave-function interference based on that field, carrying specific information characteristics?”
Over the past two days, this was the hundred and first time Tony had tried to deconstruct Leon’s occult framework using his own scientific terminology.
He wanted to compile a “Science–Occult Cross-Reference Dictionary,” and Leon was the damn original text that refused to be translated.
Leon slowly opened his eyes, his tone completely unruffled.
“Mr.
Stark, you are attempting to analyze the colors of an oil painting using the structure of a musical score.
They are two entirely different systems of expression.”
“I don’t buy it,” Tony shook his head obstinately.
“If it exists, it can be defined and quantified!
My equipment just isn’t precise enough yet!”
“Then until you build a scale that can weigh a soul, I suggest you trust my ‘intuition’ for now.” Leon stood up as he spoke.
“Right now, I need a tool.
A ‘compass’ to guide our direction in a region where the laws of physics are distorted.”
“A compass?” Tony scoffed as if he’d heard an ancient joke.
“You mean the kind of relic that relies on geomagnetism?
In that ‘Silent Zone,’ it’ll spin faster than a top.”
“I’m not talking about a compass pointing toward physical ‘north.'” Leon took a pen from his pocket and drew a simple sketch on a piece of paper.
It was a pendulum made of crystal, simple to the point of being primitive.
“It points toward spiritual coordinates.”
Tony leaned in to take a look and let out a snort.
“A rock hanging from a string?
This is your multi-billion-dollar ‘fish finder’?
My engineers would laugh their heads off.”
“The core is the crystal, not the string,” Leon explained calmly.
“It’s like a blank cassette tape that requires a ritual to record the signal it needs to search for.”
However, Tony’s mind had already leaped into another dimension.
Staring intently at the sketch, his eyes sparkled with the fanaticism of an engineer discovering a new challenge.
“No…
wait, I get it!” He slapped his hands together, his earlier mockery vanishing instantly and replaced by extreme excitement.
“Its directional response isn’t a macroscopic swing!”
So its ‘direction’ must be an extremely subtle variation imperceptible to the naked eye and conventional instruments!
Maybe microscopic tremors, or some form of orderly structural reconfiguration inside the crystal!”
Ignoring Leon’s mention of a “ritual” altogether, he eagerly pulled up a massive array of complex instrument models on the holographic display.
“The problem isn’t anti-shake stabilization; it’s how to *read* its signal!”
“I need to translate the ‘divine revelation’ it receives into a language Jarvis can understand!”
“Jarvis!
Prepare an A-3 class sterile lab module.
Wrap it in three layers of Faraday cages and pull an absolute vacuum inside!
I want a room that is physically the ‘cleanest’ environment possible!”
“Then, inside the lab module, set up a ring laser interferometer and a quantum tunneling sensor array!
I want to capture even a single nanometer of morphological change!”
Over the next twenty-four hours, the precision fabrication shop aboard the *Triton* ran at full capacity.
Tony Stark unleashed his engineering genius to its absolute limit.
Instead of building some flashy, useless stabilization platform, he created a work of art: a High-Sensitivity Signal Converter.
A flawless piece of natural clear quartz, precisely cut and polished by robotic arms, was carefully suspended inside a glass bell jar, surrounded by dense clusters of glowing sensor probes.
“Alright.” Tony looked at his masterpiece with satisfaction.
“Now, even if a butterfly flapping its wings caused gravitational waves, it wouldn’t disrupt the readings.
You can start your ‘sacred ritual’ now, Mr.
Consultant.”
Leon walked over.
Ignoring the intricate machinery, he simply reached out and gently rested his palm against the cold crystal.
Closing his eyes, he channeled his newly recovered spirituality, softly chanting an ancient, obscure verse in Hermes.
Tony wore his analyzer glasses, where data streams from Jarvis flickered furiously across the lenses.
[Warning: Unknown energy infusion detected in target!
Microscopic structure of the crystal undergoing orderly reconfiguration…
Phenomenon beyond comprehension!]
A moment later, Leon lifted his hand.
The crystal appeared unchanged on the surface, but he knew the “rock” had come alive.
“It’s done.”
“That’s it?” Tony sounded disappointed.
“I thought there’d be thunder and lightning or something.”
“True change occurs on a level you cannot see,” Leon said calmly.
“Now, start your ‘translator.'”
“I like that name!” Tony snapped his fingers, walked over to the control console, and pressed a button.
“Jarvis, run the neural noise-reduction algorithm I just wrote!
Translate these gibberish signals into a simple arrow!”
“Right away, sir.
Algorithm initiated…
Analyzing data stream…
Pattern recognition underway…
Initial vector generated!”
On the giant holographic sea chart, a faint, softly shimmering golden arrow abruptly emerged, pointing toward the boundless distance.
This was their first technical collaboration.
Leon provided the mystical, mysterious core CPU, while Tony crafted a one-of-a-kind motherboard and graphics card for it.
“We have the compass, now for the next part.” Tony looked at Leon.
“That ‘Ancient Ballad of Homecoming’—we can’t just play it on loop like a hymn aboard the ship, can we?
How does it actually work?”
“Its purpose is not to summon, but to ‘stimulate,'” Leon explained.
“You can think of it as a specific noise designed to make that creature extremely agitated.
In the vast deep sea, the target creature will remain spiritually dormant.
But once we draw near and play this ‘ballad,’ it will be enraged and release powerful spiritual fluctuations.
At that point, our ‘compass’ can pinpoint its location with exact precision.”
“Got it.” A knowing, mischievous smirk appeared on Tony’s face.
“We’re not fishing; we’re poking a sleeping bear with a noisy stick until it gets mad enough to roar at us.”
“A very apt analogy.”
“Jarvis.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We have arrived at the predetermined coordinates: 25° North, 71° West.
External geomagnetic readings are fluctuating abnormally.
Entering the ‘Silent Zone.'”
Inside the bridge, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
All crew members nervously returned to their posts.
Static flickered lightly across several console screens.
Tony walked over to the massive window, looking out at the deep blue ocean that appeared no different from any other, yet concealed surging undercurrents.
A feverish smile touched his face.
He turned back to look at Leon.
“Alright, Mr.
Consultant.”
“Your stage is ready.”