Charles, drenched in cold sweat, took a sip of water and looked at his crew. “Thanks, James.”

  The burly James wore his usual hearty smile. “It’s nothing. You’re our captain, after all.”

  “Gather everyone. We need to discuss our next plan.”

  “Understood.” James walked out.

  “Finally made it to Sodom…” Charles lay back slowly, a hint of relief crossing his tired face. No matter how difficult the journey was, he was one step closer to going home.

  “Cough!” A sudden fit of coughing made Charles instinctively reach for his weapon.

  Propping himself up, he turned to see an elderly man in a dirty white coat standing at the door, holding a wooden cup in his iron left hand. Yet, compared to his appearance, his bizarre look seemed almost normal.

  His wrinkled face was marred with various scars, resembling a shattered mirror hastily pieced back together. On this nightmarish visage, two yellowing eyeballs twitched uncontrollably, their gaze somewhat neurotic.

  The old man seemed oblivious to Charles's hand on his weapon, limping over. It was then that Charles noticed his left foot was also made of iron.

  “Drink this, don’t chew,” the old man said in a hoarse, curt voice, placing the cup on the table beside the bed.

  Charles picked up the cup and saw a dark liquid inside, with something alive swimming in it.

  “Are you the one who saved me? Thank you. I thought I was done for with such severe injuries,” Charles said, raising the cup to his lips and tilting it back.

  In an instant, a bitter taste worse than gall filled his mouth. The liquid’s surface felt prickly, scraping against his throat like swallowing a stone wrapped in gauze.

  “This injury is nothing. Your mind is far worse off than your body,” the old man replied, turning to crouch down and rummage through bottles and jars.

  “Are you talking about the auditory hallucinations?” Charles asked.

  “Ha! Hallucinations? If it were just that, I’d cut off my other hand right now!” The old man’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

  He was right. The auditory hallucinations had morphed into visual ones; everything around him appeared distorted and grotesque. Charles had no idea what else was coming, but he knew it wasn’t good.

  Though the words were harsh, Charles detected another layer of meaning. “Do you have a way to fix it? Money isn’t an issue.”

  The old man turned and approached Charles, his trembling eyeballs fixed on him. “What’s your name?”

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

  “Charles.”

  “Last name?”

  Charles slightly recoiled, creating distance between himself and the old man. “Just call me Charles.”

  The old man extended his iron arm. “Rasto Hermann. I don’t like younger people calling me Rasto; you can just call me ‘Doctor.’”

  Charles reached out and shook the cold metal hand. “Thank you. About my hallucinations—”

  Before Charles could finish, the doctor interrupted, “I can treat this syndrome. In all of Sodom, my treatment is the best. As for payment, I don’t want echoes; I want the black mirror in your possession.”

  Charles instantly understood what he meant, pulling the powerless phone from his pocket. “You want this?”

  As soon as Rasto saw the phone, his eyes gleamed with an unmistakable desire. “Yes, that’s it! Such a well-preserved item is rare; I want it!”

  Charles looked down at the phone and the black screen reflecting his image. “Why do you want it? Do you know what it is?”

  “No, I don’t know, but my instincts tell me it’s special. My instincts have always been accurate.”

  Charles hesitated. This was the only item he had brought from the surface, containing pictures of his family. It wasn’t that he was unwilling to part with it; he had heard rumors that some individuals from the mysterious side could curse the original owner through objects. Who knew what this man would do with his phone?

  Just as Charles was contemplating, the door swung open, and the crew of the *Narwhal* burst in excitedly, with Lily jumping directly onto him.

  “Captain! You’re finally awake!”

  “Mr. Charles!”

  “Captain, it’s so good to see you alive!”

  Charles glanced at Rasto Hermann, who was retreating from the crowd.

  “Doctor, let me think it over. I’ll notify you once I decide,” Charles said, putting the phone back in his pocket.

  Rasto cast a glance at the crowd and then limped out. “You’d better hurry. I don’t mind, but your head won’t last long.”

  Charles turned his attention to the first mate. “How are the crew’s casualties?”

  “Two sailors dead… one sacrificed… one leg amputated… the others have varying degrees of injury, and you were on the brink of death…”

  Better than Charles had imagined; he had feared he would lose half the crew this time.

  Looking around, Charles asked with some confusion, “Where’s that kid Deep? He shouldn’t be dead, right?”

  The crew members looked toward the wooden door, where a shadow could be seen on the floor outside.

  “Deep, come here.”

  A bruised and battered Deep walked in, his own body wrapped in bandages.

  “What happened to your face?” Charles asked.

  “I got in a fight; that kid needed a beating,” the chef, Frey, said, waving his arm.

  With bloodshot eyes, Deep knelt on the ground, filled with shame.

  In Deep's mind, Charles was almost like a father figure to him, and the thought of nearly stabbing him to death filled him with sorrow and guilt. If Charles had died because of him, he would never be able to forgive himself.

  “You won’t get paid for this mission. This matter ends here.”

  Deep looked up in shock. He had expected to be kicked off the *Narwhal* and sent back to the streets. Yet, he was let off so lightly?

  “Remember this loss; don’t let anyone play you again.”

  Charles had his own plans. Although Deep was somewhat naive, he had been trained by him and trusted him. With crew members dying so easily, he needed to ensure that those on board were loyal.

  Having untrustworthy crew members was terrifying. In such situations, disloyal crew members would undoubtedly throw a dying captain overboard and sell the ship, splitting the profits.

  Tears streamed from Deep's eyes as he fervently nodded, silently vowing never to let such a thing happen again.

  Charles shifted his gaze from Deep to the first mate. “Did we get the gold from that wooden ship?”

  “Yes. Sodom has a ship recycling service. The ship was sold. After settling everything, we have 1.54 million echoes. That old man took 300,000 for treatment. By the way, there’s not just gold in the ship; I found some other items too.”