Transmigration, Year 8, June 14th, Clear
"Recently, the vague whispers at my ear have reappeared, that kind of sound that doesn't seem like a sound, chaotic and gloomy—all this trash place is really no place for humans.
My first mate, Old John, told me I could try his method, go to the Red Lips Inn and seek the sweet-smelling girls there.
I must admit the thought crossed my mind, but I eventually resisted. I cannot waste my hard-earned Echo Coins on such indulgences. To get home, I must not relax for a moment.
Humans are a species that live on the surface. If we can appear in the underground sea, then there must be a way back to the surface. I have to find it!
I dreamt of my family again yesterday. I miss them, but I'm starting to forget what they look like…"
The sudden rocking of the Rat interrupted Charles Reed's writing.
The old oil lamp placed next to the diary lit up its owner's face—a normal Asian face with black pupils and black hair, but his complexion was so pale it was nearly transparent, like the vampires in movies.
By modern standards, Charles was rather handsome, yet his expression was heavy and weary, showing exceptional exhaustion.
After listening carefully to the waves outside the window for a while, Charles discovered nothing out of the ordinary and picked up his pen to continue writing.
"I don't need those special service providers; writing in my diary just as well improves my auditory hallucinations. Recently, I've been able to sleep for 5 hours every night. It's been a long time since I've slept so soundly.
Of course, learning from the cautionary tales of diarists before me, I made sure to write in a script only I can understand, Chinese characters."
"Sss~~" The harsh sound of metal scraping cut through the air outside the window, as if something was incessantly clawing at the ship's hull with sharp nails.
"Snap." The diary was closed, and Charles, with furrowed brows, walked toward the circular porthole.
He stuck his head out and saw the same lightless sky and dark green sea meeting in the distance to form a curtain of darkness as he had seen eight years before.
Darkness ruled everything in the Earth Sea, and within it seemed to brew some sort of monster, eerie through and through.
But here, here there was no starry sky, no moon. If someone used night-vision binoculars to look straight up, they would only see the rugged underbelly of the Earth's crust.
This was the Earth Sea, an ocean beneath the ground. Endless darkness was its main theme, and darkness precisely indicated everything was normal.
Gazing at the normalcy outside the window, Charles's brows furrowed even more. Experience from years of sailing told him that something was definitely amiss. He decided to investigate.
Charles opened the nightstand drawer. Inside, hundreds of gleaming bullets rolled back and forth with the undulating sea.
Pulling out his revolver from his waist, he expertly loaded it with bullets and strode toward the cockpit.
"Captain, why so early today? It's not your shift yet."
The person steering in the cockpit was a scruffy-bearded, portly old man, and on the chair to his left, a young man of about seventeen or eighteen dozed off. His sailor uniform confirmed his identity. Both faces were Eastern European, and like Charles, they were devoid of any color.
"First mate, the Rat feels a bit unsteady—is our course normal?" Charles asked John, who was at the helm.
After speaking, he kicked the leg of the chair, waking up the young man.
When the young man saw it was his captain who had come over, he hurriedly wiped the saliva from the corner of his mouth and clumsily scrambled up from the chair.
"Haha, probably some underwater creatures caught scent of our flesh. As you know, in the Earth Sea, those disgusting things are more numerous than fish. Don't worry though, the Rat is made of iron; they can't break through," the portly old man said as he stepped back, relinquishing the helm to his captain.
Listening to the first mate's report, Charles remained vigilant in his heart.
In such a peculiar place, humans were no longer at the top of the food chain. To survive, the only thing they could rely on was caution,
Charles pressed a button on the antiquated equipment, the searchlight in front lit up brightly, and his eyes scanned back and forth across the pitch-black sea surface through the transparent glass.
The deck, piled with cargo, lay between the sea and the cockpit, and the entire ship didn't look very large, measuring only about thirty-some meters in length.
"The route to the Coral Islands has been traversed by various cargo ships many times; those things would not come over here for no reason. Something's aberrant," Charles said, gripping the polished-to-a-shine steering wheel, his brows locked tight.
Old John was taken aback, "Could we have deviated from our course? That's impossible, look, the navigation marker is still in the distance."
He pointed to the dim, blurry spot of light far away as he spoke.
In the underground sea devoid of stars, apart from the compass, the only things to guide the way were the bright navigation markers placed along the route. As long as one could see the markers, it meant the path was a safe one, charted out by Exploration Ships.
It was at that moment, watching the sea surface, that Charles's pupils suddenly shrank to their smallest; he swallowed hard. "That... that marker, how long have you been watching it?"
"I guess a few minutes now. I've been keeping a close eye on it without moving," Old John said, his voice gradually softening, a hint of fear creeping onto his plump face.
Having sailed for so long and yet not having passed the marker, it was clear that the marker too was moving at the same speed as the Steamboat—there was something wrong with it!
Suddenly, Charles, as if wound up, spun the steering wheel with frantic turns, pulling hard to port.
Amidst the screeching of metal, the steamboat beneath them began to turn. Fortunately, the small boat was quick to maneuver, and the Rat began to widen the distance from the strange marker.
Before Charles could breathe a sigh of relief, a young man beside him pointed towards the rear glass window, his eyes wide and round, looking as if he had seen a ghost.
"Captain... Captain! That thing is closing in on us! So fast! It's going to catch up!"
"Damn it!" Charles bellowed into a nearby communication tube, "Chief Engineer! Crank the furnace to the max! Something's chasing us!!"
"Aye, Captain!" A simple, honest voice came through the pipe.
Thick black smoke billowed incessantly from the ship's smokestack as the steamboat began to pick up speed.
"It's still closing in! It's so fast! It's about to catch us! God! What is that monster?"
The youth's voice was several pitches higher due to extreme fear, his whole body shaking like a sieve, as if he was about to faint.
"Deep! Close your eyes!!" Charles, under intense strain, stamped on his leg, knocking him to the ground.
Old John pressed the young man's head firmly to the floor with his hand, his face red as he yelled frantically, "Don't look, don't listen, don't think! The Captain will get us back."
No sooner had he spoken, than a "bang" sounded—a violent shudder ran through the cabin, the two on the floor rolled into a ball, and Charles clung to the steering wheel to avoid being thrown off.
"Captain, it's rammed us!"
Charles's face turned ashen, his cheeks slightly bulging due to clenching his jaw tightly.
He brought his mouth close to the tube and roared, "Chief Engineer! Overload the furnace for thirty seconds!!"
"Captain! No good, sir! The thing's too old! It'll explode!"