Shrouded Seascape

Chapter 6. The Target Island [Bonus Image]

Charles pointed at S.S. Mouse beside him and turned to walk down the flight of stairs.

Bandages paid no attention to the bleeding wound on his face. He performed a Fhtagn gesture toward Hook and followed Charles.

Just as the duo were about to board the ship, Hook turned and plunged the bloody dagger in his right hand into the chest of the follower standing on his left.

"AHHHHH!!" A blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the docks.

Despite the large number of onlookers, no one dared to interfere upon recognizing the Fhtagn cultists for their trademark black robes. They lowered their heads and continued with their own tasks.

Charles had turned back upon hearing the scream and a look of disgust appeared on his face in that split moment. This was precisely why he had been really reluctant to get involved with those Fhtagn cultists. He turned to Dipp, who had come to see what was going on, and shouted, "Stop looking and raise the anchor! We're setting sail!"

With a firm tug of the dagger, Hook retrieved a pulsating heart impaled on the dagger's tip in a grotesque display. He plucked the quivering heart off the tip and cradled it delicately in his left hand as he approached S.S. Mouse. He began to smear something onto the hull while his lips moved in a silent incantation.

"Get away from my ship! Don't you dare touch her with that repulsive thing!" Charles bellowed as he brandished his revolver and aimed it at Hook's head.

"Captain Charles, with this, your ship will be protected by the Great One." Hook's voice carried an eerie calmness

"I don't need it!" Charles' voice dripped with resolute determination as his finger tightened around the trigger.

Realizing that Charles was not joking, Hook smiled faintly and took a small step back, offering a slight bow. The heart continued its rhythmic throbbing in Hook's hand the whole while.

"Captain Charles, we, the devout followers of the Great Fhtagn, always strive to speak with courtesy and treat others kindly. Why do you continue to harbor prejudice against us?"

Charles couldn’t be bothered to explain as he stared at the blood-drenched heart in Hook's hand that was gradually beating slower.

Under the watchful gaze of Hook, dark smoke began to billow from the smokestacks of S.S. Mouse as the ship slowly headed toward the depths of the enigmatic ocean.

"Dipp! Take the helm for me!" Charles shouted at his newly promoted boatswain before making his way to the captain's cabin with Bandages.

A yellowed sea chart was spread out on the table. The chart was not detailed, with large sections of blackness broken only by sporadic islands marked on it.

This was the best nautical chart available at the port, as the more detailed maps are in the safekeeping of the Explorers Association.

"Where is the thing located? How far is it from the Coral Archipelago?" Charles inquired.

A right hand tightly wrapped in bandages reached out to point with precision at a spot in the darkness where no markings could be seen.

"Uncharted territory..." Charles was mentally prepared for this answer. Explored islands would not offer such a lucrative reward.

"What does the sacred artifact look like?" Charles asked.

Bandages paused for a long moment before he stuttered, "A statue... of Great Fhtagn... made of gold."

Charles found Bandages' voice to be surprisingly youthful even though the latter talked really slowly. He sounded like a teenager going through voice changes.

"Is this artifact a relic?" Charles continued his questioning.

Bandages remained silent.

"What dangers lie on the island?" Charles pressed on.

Bandages offered no answers, despite Charles' further inquiries.

"Take the helm now. Your shift is from 1200 to 2400. If you need to use the restroom or anything, Dipp can take over for a while. I've taught him how to steer," Charles instructed.

Bandages silently stood up and made his way outside.

Charles continued to ponder, his finger tapping on the table as he tried to gather his chaotic thoughts into some semblance of order. On the surface, it seemed like a simple mission: Find the object and bring it back. But if it were truly that simple, the Fhtagn Covenant would not have sought the assistance of outsiders.

The island was definitely dangerous, and the fact that the new first mate from the cult could offer no hints meant one of two things. Either they genuinely did not know of the dangers, as everyone they sent had all met their demise at the bottom of the sea and was unable to relay any information; or the danger was so extreme that they had instructed Bandages to deliberately withhold information in order to prevent Charles from backing out. Both possibilities were unfavorable, and Charles had no other choice but to proceed cautiously and adapt to the situation.

The sea was oppressive, and the crew's area of activity was confined to the small and shabby S.S. Mouse. Fortunately, everyone, apart from the two new sailors, had grown accustomed to this limited space.

At first, Charles was wary of this new first mate and kept a watchful eye on him. But after several days of interaction, Bandages showed no sign of unusual behavior apart from his slow and peculiar manner of speaking.

Bandages displayed steady and skilled control when taking the helm. That somewhat lowered Charles' guard against him, but it did not completely dissipate his wariness.

As the navigation buoys disappeared from view, S.S. Mouse slowly sailed into uncharted territory.

With no distant beacons to guide them, the crew's atmosphere grew increasingly tense. There was a saying in this place: When a ship ventures into unexplored waters, the abyssal depths have already claimed possession over her crew's souls.

Days went by. There were no fierce battles as Charles had anticipated. Instead, the waters were as calm as a lake. Looking down from the bow, the sea surface was as still as ink. However, this serenity offered no solace, but rather it felt like the calm before a storm; the atmosphere was so oppressive that it stifled the crew's spirits.

Charles remained on high alert as he patrolled the deck tirelessly, day and night. He feared that something from the abyss might climb on board.

The ship's searchlights pierced the darkness like beacons. The short range of vision provided a semblance of security for the crew.

July 1, 8th Year of Crossing Over, Clear Weather

Today, everything remains normal. The suffocating atmosphere is so oppressive that it's driving my crew to the brink of madness. That lad, Dipp, spends every single free moment he has on his knees on the deck, praying to various deities.

I stopped him. The gods of the Subterranean Sea aren't easily appeased. Careless words may incur their wrath.

Thankfully, the chef found a nest of mice in the storeroom to distract everyone's attention. Watching them feed the little creatures with tender care, I feel a pang of nostalgia.

They have companions now. But what about me? Why did I have to cross over to this world alone? Solitude is an agonizing companion. If only I had someone by my side.

Charles waited for the ink to dry out before closing his diary and placing it back into the cabinet.

From the lowest shelf, he took out a rectangular glass bottle, about the length of an arm, with a brown liquid inside. He tilted his head back and took a sip, allowing the dizzying sensation to wash over him and relax his mind.

Charles had never understood why people enjoyed drinking alcohol before. He found the bitter taste to resemble horse urine. But now, he understood. A tired mind craved the numbing effects of alcohol. However, Charles fought the temptation to drink more. A few sips for relaxation was acceptable, but indulgence in excessive alcohol would dampen his determination to return home.

Just then, cheers erupted from outside. Charles was startled briefly. He soon composed himself, quickly placed the bottle back into its location and rushed toward the deck.

Dipp approached Charles in a state of excitement and gesticulated wildly. His face was flushed, and he seemed to be struggling to articulate his words.

Charles' gaze shifted beyond the ship and into the distant darkness. Under the illumination of the searchlights, a gigantic structure emerged before S.S. Mouse—an island.

They had arrived.

The cheers faded as the steamship got closer to the shore. Eight steamships, large and small, lay along the island's coastline. Judging from the decay of the ships, the oldest ship might have been abandoned there two or three years ago.

The ships remained motionless, like coffins floating on the surface of the sea.

"Why... Why are there so many ships? Where are their crews?" Dipp's trembling voice displayed his apparent unease. Yet, no one could answer his question.

When their gazes landed on the island again, they felt their heart sink.

Charles was not in a hurry to get on the island. Taking Dipp and James with him, they jumped onto the nearest steamship.

There was neither blood nor signs of chaos. Fuel and food were also in abundance. Everything appeared normal, except for one glaring absence—the crew.

Suddenly, a thought came to Charles' mind. He forcefully broke into the captain's cabin and rummaged through the drawers until he found the captain's hidden diary.