On the sunlit Hope Island, Charles sat in a grass hut on a small hill, shirtless, carefully examining the map of the island that had been surveyed.

  "This area can be designated as a residential zone, this one as a port area, and this flat area can be used for growing food. However, the black wheatgrass from the underground sea definitely can’t withstand such intense sunlight. We’ll need to find suitable crops."

  Drawing the map was a piece of cake for Charles, and soon the entire island was fully planned out. Normally, island planning would be done by professionals, but since there were none on the island, Charles had to take on the task himself.

  It had been a month since the photos were transmitted, and with nothing else to do, Charles began taking on the duties of the island’s governor.

  Not only was he now the governor of Hope Island, but he also had another plan in mind. If he found his family and the surface was uninhabitable, bringing them down here would be a viable option.

  Charles stepped out of the grass hut with the completed map in hand.

  Looking around, the ground was covered with grass huts built by the crew. From above, they looked like a crooked, fat centipede nestled in the forest.

  The beauty of the island had made the crew restless, and many of them, wearing large leaf-made parasols, were excitedly exploring the area.

  They were sampling various fruits, undeterred even after getting poisoned several times.

  These explorers with their large parasols had scoured the entire island, bringing back valuable information about Hope Island.

  Hope Island was larger than Charles had imagined, measuring 63 kilometers in length and 42 kilometers in width, with an irregular diamond shape.

  Most of the island was covered in forests and shrubs, with gentle terrain and no significant peaks. The most ideal location for construction was undoubtedly the site of the Foundation’s former ruins, where Charles planned to build the island’s center.

  As Charles surveyed his territory, he noticed the crew cutting down trees in the distance. Frowning, he quickly rushed down.

  Upon arriving, he saw shirtless Dipp, wearing a large parasol, enthusiastically directing the workers.

  "Stop! Didn’t I say no more tree cutting?"

  Dipp turned around with a grin. "Captain, we’re planning to build you a governor’s mansion! The carpenter from the Razorwave is amazing. He’ll definitely build you the most impressive mansion in the entire underground sea!"

  "We’ll build the governor’s mansion later. No more trees are to be cut. I’m not joking. This is an order."

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  Trees were easy to cut down but much harder to grow. Charles didn’t want his island to become barren in no time.

  Seeing Dipp’s dejected expression as he walked back to the grass hut, Charles called him over. He needed to give this guy something to do, or he’d definitely get restless.

  "Take some people and catalog all the plants on the island. Make sure to record the edible ones in detail."

  Selling charcoal was out of the question. If Hope Island had anything to offer in the underground sea, besides sunlight, it would be the fruits. Perhaps there was a business opportunity there.

  "Report, I request an extension of activity time by two hours," Richard’s flippant voice echoed in Charles’ mind.

  "What do you want now?"

  "I’m preparing a gift for my sister. We’ve been away for so long; we can’t go back empty-handed. We should at least bring some local specialties."

  "So, last night when you went to the beach, you were also preparing local specialties for your sister?" Charles’ question left Richard speechless.

  Charles didn’t press further. He already knew what Richard was up to, and there was no point in asking more.

  The two would inevitably clash, but not now.

  Just as Charles was about to return to the grass hut to add more details to the map, he heard the sound of steam whistles from the sea.

  It wasn’t just one whistle, but dozens of ships sounding their alarms simultaneously. In their code, this signaled the highest level of alert.

  "What situation would prompt the ships at sea to sound the highest alarm?" Charles’ mind flashed to the suffocating shadow of Sorma.

  The crew, who had been happily exploring the island, rushed back to the coast at full speed.

  However, when they reached the beach, everyone froze. On the southern horizon, it seemed as if a new sun had risen.

  Grabbing a telescope from a nearby crew member, Charles saw the true nature of this "sun."

  It was a golden, radiant ship, over four hundred meters long. The dazzling light from the mirrors on the ship pierced through the surrounding darkness.

  Charles’ heart, which had been racing, immediately calmed down. The prominent triangular emblem on the ship’s hull confirmed its identity. It wasn’t a pirate ship from Sorma; it was a ship from the Church of Light.

  Surrounding this massive ship were numerous smaller vessels.

  The sight of so many ships sailing toward Hope Island was spectacular, giving Charles the feeling of watching a military parade.

  But if anyone was more astonished, it was the people on the ships. Their reactions were similar to Charles’ when he first arrived—some stood frozen in place, while others slapped their faces in disbelief.

  As the ships drew closer, almost to the point of running aground, Charles quickly had the Narwhal sound its whistle to alert them.

  The golden ship began launching smaller boats like dropping dumplings into water, rapidly approaching the beach.

  Some who didn’t have boats couldn’t wait and jumped into the sea, swimming desperately toward the island.

  Seeing their excitement, Charles and his crew on the beach shouted warnings. "Stay away from the sunlight!! It’s deadly! Use the grass huts!!"

  Despite Charles’ timely warnings, a dozen people still collapsed on the beach, their faces serene, as if they had returned to their mother’s embrace.

  The thousands of people who disembarked from the ships filled the grass huts Charles had built to the brim.

  They were extremely excited, babbling incoherently as they looked around, making it difficult for Charles to find someone to talk to.

  Just as Charles was feeling overwhelmed by the frenzied crowd, a man with a monocle and a small mustache approached him excitedly.

  "Mr. Charles, hello. I’m George, the branch president of the Coral Island Explorers’ Association. Please sign here. Your ownership of this island will be recorded in our archives."

  Charles took the document. "I don’t recall notifying you."

  He had already noticed that, apart from the golden ship, the smaller boats didn’t carry Church of Light followers. He wondered why they were so eager to come here.

  The man with the monocle, distracted by the surreal surroundings, replied absentmindedly, "We have a partnership with the Church of Light. When we heard they had found the Land of Light, we thought it was absurd. But it turns out to be true."