Charles pointed to the nearby ship, the Mouse, and turned to walk down the stairs.

  The bandaged man showed no concern for the bleeding wound on his face and performed a Futan greeting to Hook before following him.

  Just as the two were boarding the ship, Hook extended his right hand and plunged a bloodied dagger directly into the chest of a nearby follower.

  “Ahhh!!!” The scream echoed throughout the port.

  Seeing the black robes of the Futan followers, the other people in the port didn’t dare to intervene and quickly lowered their heads to focus on their own tasks.

  Charles turned to see this scene and felt disgusted. This was precisely why he had avoided contact with the Futan Church. He turned to the curious crew member, Deep, and shouted, “Stop watching! Raise the anchor and set sail!”

  Hook forcefully pulled out a still-beating heart, holding it in his hand. He approached the Mouse, rubbing the heart against the ship’s hull while murmuring something.

  “Get away! Don’t touch my ship with that disgusting thing.” Charles quickly drew his revolver and pointed it at Hook’s head.

  “Captain Charles, with this, your ship will be protected by great powers,” Hook said, unfazed.

  “I don’t need it!” Charles’s finger rested on the trigger.

  Seeing that Charles wasn’t joking, Hook smiled slightly and took a step back, bowing slightly.

  “Captain Charles, we Futan believers pride ourselves on being polite and friendly. Why do you always have such prejudices against us?”

  Looking at the bloody heart in Hook’s hand, Charles couldn’t be bothered to explain.

  Under Hook’s watchful gaze, the smoke stack of the Mouse began to emit black smoke as it slowly sailed into the dark ocean.

  “Deep, take the helm,” Charles called to the first mate before heading to the captain’s cabin with the bandaged man.

  A yellowed nautical chart was spread out on the table. The chart wasn’t very detailed; large areas of black were marked only with a few scattered islands.

  This was the only type of chart available at the port; more detailed maps were controlled by the Explorers’ Association.

  “Where is your item? How far is it from Coral Island?”

  The bandaged man’s right hand, bound in bandages, accurately pointed to an unmarked spot in the darkness.

  “An unexplored area…” Charles had anticipated this answer. An island that had been previously explored wouldn’t come with such a high reward.

  “What does your sacred object look like?” Charles continued to inquire.

  The bandaged man took a while to respond, slowly saying, “The statue of the Lord… made of gold…”

  Although his speech was slow, the voice was surprisingly youthful, sounding like a boy in the midst of voice change.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Is that object a relic?”

  “…”

  “What dangers are on that island?”

  “…”

  Faced with Charles’s further inquiries, the bandaged man fell silent.

  “Go take the helm. Your watch is from twelve to twenty-four. If you need a break, Deep can take over for a while; I’ve taught him how to steer.”

  The bandaged man quietly stood up and walked outside.

  Charles tapped his fingers on the table, organizing his thoughts. It sounded simple: find the object and bring it back. But if it were truly that simple, the Futan Church wouldn’t have sought outsiders.

  That place was definitely very dangerous. The fact that the Futan first mate didn’t provide any hints could mean one of two things: either he genuinely didn’t know, as the previous team had sunk to the seabed and couldn’t relay any information, or the dangers were so great that they deliberately concealed them to avoid scaring him off. Neither scenario was good news; for now, he could only take it one step at a time.

  The journey at sea was incredibly oppressive. The Mouse was pitifully small, and the limited space made movement difficult. Fortunately, aside from the two new sailors, the others were accustomed to the cramped conditions.

  At first, Charles was somewhat wary of the new first mate, keeping a close eye on him. However, after a few days of interaction, he found that the bandaged man, aside from speaking slowly and having a strange appearance, posed no issues.

  He steered the ship steadily, appearing quite skilled. Charles’s wariness eased somewhat, but it didn’t completely dissipate.

  As the navigational markers slowly disappeared, the Mouse ventured into uncharted territory.

  Without distant lights for navigation, the crew’s spirits began to tense. There was a saying in the Sea of Mysteries: when a ship enters unexplored waters, the seabed has already prepared a place for the crew.

  But as days passed, the fierce battles Charles had anticipated did not come. This stretch of ocean was as calm as a lake; looking down from the bow, the surroundings resembled still ink.

  This calmness did not bring comfort; it felt like the calm before a storm, oppressive and suffocating.

  Charles remained highly alert, patrolling the deck day and night, fearing that something from below could come aboard.

  The ship’s searchlight pierced the darkness like a beam of light, providing the crew with a small sense of security.

  “July 1, Year 8 of the Crossing, Clear

  Today, everything is still normal. This tangible oppression is driving my crew mad. Deep, that kid, kneels on the deck whenever he has a moment, praying to various deities.

  I stopped him; the gods of the Sea of Mysteries aren’t so easy to worship. Speaking carelessly can easily invite disaster.

  Fortunately, the cook found a nest of little mice in the storeroom, which distracted them. Watching them carefully feed the little mice, I felt a twinge of sentiment.

  They have companions now, but what about me? Why was I the only one who crossed over? Being alone is truly lonely. I wish I had a companion.”

  When the ink dried, Charles closed the diary and placed it in the cabinet.

  From the very bottom of the cabinet, he took out a square glass bottle filled with a brown liquid, raised it to his lips, and drank deeply. The dizzying sensation relaxed his taut mind.

  Charles had never understood why some people liked to drink; the bitter taste was akin to horse urine. But now he understood.

  A fatigued mind craved more alcohol to numb itself, but Charles didn’t drink any further. A couple of sips could help him relax, but excessive drinking would scatter his resolve to return home.

  Just then, a cheer erupted from outside. Charles was taken aback, quickly putting the bottle away and rushing to the deck.

  First Mate Deep rushed in front of Charles, excitedly waving his arms, his face flushed as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

  Charles’s gaze crossed the ship's edge, looking into the distant darkness. Under the searchlight’s illumination, a massive object appeared directly ahead of the Mouse—it was an island; they had arrived.

  As the steamship slowly approached the shore, the cheers gradually faded. Along the coastline of the island, eight dilapidated steamships were anchored, big and small. Judging by the signs of decay on their hulls, some had likely been there for two or three years.

  The ships lay still, like coffins adrift on the sea.

  “How… how can there be so many ships? Where are their crews?” Deep’s voice trembled with anxiety, but no one answered his question.

  At that moment, looking at the island, a shadow fell over everyone’s hearts.

  Charles didn’t rush to disembark; instead, he led Deep and James to the nearest steamship.

  There were no bloodstains, no chaos; fuel and food were plentiful. Everything seemed normal, except for the absence of crew members.

  Suddenly, Charles thought of something. He burst into the captain’s cabin and began rummaging through the drawers, searching for the hidden diary.