Char pointed at the Rat beside him, then turned and walked up the stairs.
Bandages paid no heed to the wound still bleeding on his face, gave a Futan Sect salute to Hook, and followed him aboard.
It was just as the two men were boarding that Hook's right hand stretched out, and a bloody dagger thrust directly into the chest of a believer on his left.
"Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" Screams echoed throughout the entire harbor.
The other people in the harbor, seeing the black robes of the Futan Sect members, didn't dare to interfere and lowered their heads to their own business.
Charles, turning his head and seeing this scene, was full of disgust, which was why he had previously wished to avoid contact with the Futan Sect. He turned and shouted at Deep, who came over to watch the commotion, "Stop looking, weigh anchor and set sail!"
Hook yanked forcefully, and a beating heart appeared in his hand. He went over to the Rat, rubbing something on the side of the ship while muttering something under his breath.
"Get lost, don't touch my ship with that disgusting thing," Charles instantly drew his revolver and pointed it at Hook's head.
"Captain Charles, with this thing, your ship will be protected by the Great Power."
"I don't need it!" Charles's finger rested on the trigger.
Seeing that Charles did not seem to be joking, Hook with the heart gave a slight smile, a slight bow, and took a step back.
"Captain Charles, we followers of the Futan God have always spoken politely and treated others kindly, why are you always prejudiced against us?"
Seeing the bloody heart in his hand, Charles couldn't be bothered to explain.
Under Hook's gaze, black smoke began billowing from the Rat's chimney, slowly making its way into the dark ocean.
"Deep, help me take the helm." After shouting to the sailor chief, Charles, along with Bandages, went into the Captain's Room.
A yellowed sea chart lay spread out on the table, not very detailed, with only a few sporadic islands marked out amidst vast black areas.
The harbor only sold these kinds of charts; more detailed maps were in the hands of the Explorer Association.
"Where is your thing? How far from Coral Island?"
The bandaged right hand pointed accurately to a point in the dark, unmarked on the map.
"An uncharted territory, huh..." Charles had been mentally prepared for this answer; islands that had been explored wouldn't offer such a high reward.
"What does your Holy Relic look like?" Charles continued to inquire.
Bandages stuttered for quite a while before slowly saying, "The statue... of the Holy Master, made of gold..."
Though somewhat halting, the voice was surprisingly young to Charles, sounding like a teen whose voice was breaking.
"Is that thing a relic?"
"..."
"What dangers are there on that island?"
"..."
Faced with Charles's further questioning, Bandages didn't answer and remained silent.
"You go take the helm. It's your shift from 12 to 24. If you need to use the restroom or anything during that time, you can have Deep cover for you. I've taught him how to steer."
Bandages stood up silently and walked outside.
Charles's fingers tapped on the table incessantly, as he sorted through his thoughts. It sounded simple enough, find the thing and bring it back, but if it were really that simple, the Futan Sect wouldn't have sought outsiders for help.
That place must be incredibly dangerous. The fact that the first mate sent by the Futan Sect didn't provide the slightest hint suggested two possibilities, one being that they truly didn't know—those sent before must have met their end at the bottom of the sea, unable to pass on any information.
The other possibility was that the danger was so tremendous they feared scaring him off and deliberately concealed it, neither of which was good news. Now, all they could do was take one step at a time and see.
The sea voyage was oppressively stifling. The Rat was so pitifully small, with limited space for activity. Thankfully, except for the two new sailors, everyone else was used to it.
At first, Charles was somewhat anxious about this new first mate, taking precautions against him in secret, but after a few days together, he found that this fellow named "Bandage," aside from his slow speech and strange attire, showed no signs of anything unusual.
He was steady and seemed very skilled when at the helm, which made Charles drop his guard a bit, yet it didn't completely disappear.
As the sea marks slowly vanished, the Rat ventured into the untouched, unknown regions.
Without the distant lights for bearings, the spirit of everyone on board grew tense. There was a saying in the Earth Sea: when a ship sails into uncharted waters, the sea bed reserves a place for the crew.
But days went by and the fierce battle Charles had anticipated never came. This expanse of ocean was as calm as the surface of a lake, looking down from the bow of the ship, the surrounding water was still like stagnant ink.
This kind of calm was not at all reassuring—more like the quiet before the storm, oppressively suffocating.
Charles was on high alert, patrolling the deck night and day, in constant fear that something from beneath the waters would climb aboard.
The ship's searchlight pierced the darkness like a beam, giving the sailors a slight sense of security.
"Crossed, July 1st, clear conditions.
Today everything was normal again, but this palpable oppression is nearly driving my sailors mad. Deep, that lad, whenever he has the chance, kneels on the deck and prays to all kinds of Gods.
I stopped him. It's not wise to worship the Gods of Earth Sea carelessly, speaking rashly can easily bring misfortune upon oneself.
Luckily, the chef found a nest of mice in the storeroom, drawing their attention. Watching them feed the small mice with such caution and care, I couldn't help but feel moved.
They have companionship now, but what about me? Why was I alone when I crossed over? Being alone truly feels lonely, it would be nice to have a companion."
After the ink dried, Charles closed his journal and put it back in the cupboard.
He took out a small square glass bottle from the very bottom of the cupboard, filled with a brown liquid, and took a swig, letting the mildly dizzying sensation relax his tense mind.
Until now, Charles never understood why people liked to drink alcohol, which tasted as bitter as horse urine, but he got it now.
The weary mind needed more alcohol for numbing, but Charles refrained from drinking more. A couple of sips to relax were fine, but excessive drinking would dispel the determination to return home.
Just then, a sudden cheer erupted from outside. Charles, startled, hastily put the bottle away and rushed to the deck.
Sailor chief Deep rushed up to Charles, dancing excitedly, his face turning red as if trying to say something but unable to speak.
Charles looked past the ship's rail into the dark distance; under the searchlight's illumination, a colossal structure loomed directly ahead of the Rat—an island—they had arrived.
The steamboat slowly approached shore, but the cheering gradually faded. Along the coastal area of the island, eight decrepit steamboats of various sizes were docked. Judging by the decay on their hulls, the oldest one may have been there for two to three years.
The ships were motionless, like coffins laid upon the surface of the sea.
"How... how can there be so many ships? Where are their people?" Deep's voice trembled uneasily, but no one answered.
Looking again at the island, a shadow fell over everyone's heart.
Charles didn't rush ashore but immediately took Deep and James aboard the nearest steamboat.
No blood, no chaos; they weren't lacking fuel or food, everything seemed so normal, the only thing missing was the crew.
Suddenly, Charles thought of something and burst into the Captain's Room, rummaging through to find the hidden journal.