The wooden goat head stared at Duncan from behind the navigation table with its hard, black and featureless face, its obsidian eyes seemingly emitting an eerie light. Although this thing couldn't produce any expressions, Duncan could clearly sense a certain expectation from the wooden face.
In fact, this wasn't the first time the goat head had urged him to "set sail". Every time he came here, the goat head would do this.
He even felt like the ship itself was constantly urging him to end this aimless drifting at sea, to set sail as soon as possible and return to the right course.
However, Duncan fell silent. The natural dignity on his face was now overshadowed by a cloud of gloom. In contemplation and silence, he realized two problems:
First, he was the only person on the entire ship, and the size of this ship was insane. As a sailing ship powered by wind, this vessel known as "The Lost Home" had an estimated length of at least 150 to 200 meters. It would require dozens or even hundreds of experienced sailors to operate such a huge vessel. How could he do it alone?
Secondly, excluding the professional factors mentioned above, there was a key problem blocking his journey at sea - he didn't know how to sail.
Duncan was a bit anxious. He tried to imagine what would happen if he asked this strange and noisy goat head for guidance on how to steer the ship. But the more he thought about it, the more anxious he became.
However, the goat head didn't know what his captain was thinking. It just asked, "Captain, do you have any concerns? If you're worried about The Lost Home, you can rest assured that it's always ready to sail with you to the end of the world. Or perhaps you're concerned about bad luck today? I know a bit about divination. Which method do you prefer? Astronomy, incense, or crystal? Speaking of crystal, do you remember..."
Duncan tried hard to control the muscles on his face, restraining the urge to fight the goat head to the death, and said in a deep voice, "I'll go to the deck to observe the situation first. You stay here quietly."
"As you wish, but I must remind you that The Lost Home has been drifting aimlessly for too long. You must take control of it as soon as possible and return this journey to the right course..."
The goat head said, followed by the sound of wood rubbing against wood, and finally returned to its original position.
Duncan instantly felt like the whole world had calmed down.
He took a deep breath and gradually calmed down. He then picked up the flintlock pistol placed on the table, got up and walked out of the captain's room.
He found this flintlock pistol during his exploration of the ship, along with a single-handed sword which was now hanging from his waist. These two things were his security when moving around on the ship.
During the past few days of exploration, he had spent a long time roughly learning how to use these two things - although so far, he hadn't seen any living creatures on the ship other than himself.
Talking "objects" didn't count.
The salty and fishy sea breeze hit Duncan's face, calming his slightly irritable mood as he stepped out onto the deck outside the captain's quarters. He instinctively looked up at the sky, which was still covered in thick clouds, obscuring any sight of the sun, moon, or stars. Only a murky sky enveloped the vast expanse of the sea.
This had been the scenery since the day Duncan had boarded this ship, and he began to doubt if there was ever any normal weather in this world. Was this cloudy and gloomy weather a perpetual state in this part of the sea?
Turning around, Duncan saw the door to the captain's quarters, which had a line of unfamiliar letters carved above it. As he focused on the writing, the meaning of the words suddenly appeared in his mind: "The Lost Home."
"The Lost Home... the name of this ship," Duncan muttered to himself, and then added with a touch of self-deprecation, "Well, at least it has a good name."
He walked past the captain's quarters and headed toward the upper deck at the stern of the ship. Here, a heavy black helm wheel waited for its pilot on a wooden platform that provided the best view on the entire ship, except for the crow's nest.
Duncan frowned as he approached the helm wheel. For some reason, he suddenly felt a sense of urgency and restlessness. He had not felt this way on his previous visits to this spot.
As if to respond to his restlessness, a gust of chaotic wind suddenly blew across the deck, causing waves to ripple on the previously calm sea. Although the wind and waves were not strong enough to affect the massive "Lost Home," Duncan's instincts rang out like an alarm. In the next moment, he looked in the direction of the ship's bow.
On the sea ahead of the "Lost Home," amidst the murky sea and sky, an endless and seemingly sky-high wall of white mist appeared out of nowhere, like an impenetrable barrier that seemed to encircle and isolate the entire world. Despite its terrifying scale, what made Duncan more alert was that the mist reminded him of the endless fog outside his single apartment window.
The "Lost Home" was heading straight toward that mist wall!
Duncan didn't know what the mist was, or what lay beyond it. However, his instincts told him that it was an enormous danger. His survival instinct warned him that being swallowed by the mist was not a good thing.
He instinctively rushed to the helm wheel platform. However, a feeling of powerlessness swept over him. Even if he took the helm, how could he steer this massive ship away from that mist wall by himself?
Yet, he still found himself in front of the helm wheel. At almost the same time, a hoarse and eerie voice came from a copper tube connected to the captain's quarters beside the helm wheel. It was the voice of the "Goat Head," and this time it sounded panicked:
"Captain, there's a border collapse ahead, and we're approaching the limit of reality! Please adjust our course immediately!"
Hearing the goat head's panicked voice, Duncan almost cursed out loud. "It's easy to say 'adjust the course.' Why don't you conjure up a hundred and eighty good sailors who know how to sail and get this thing moving!"
He then looked up at the bare masts ahead and his heart sank. Not only did the ship lack sails, but the masts themselves were empty.
In the heat of the moment, he didn't even take a second to contemplate the strange words the goat head had just used. Instead, his instincts led him to grab the trembling wheel in front of him, unsure of how he was going to steer this unmanned ghost ship on his own.
In the next instant, everything changed.
A deafening roar echoed through Duncan's mind, as if ten thousand cheering people were seeing the ship off from the shore. It was as if a thousand sailors were shouting the captain's name on the deck, amidst the mournful songs of the sea and invisible waves crashing against the ship.
A green flame suddenly appeared at the edge of his vision, and Duncan looked down to see a blazing emerald fire erupt from the ship's wheel. It spread rapidly and engulfed his entire body in the blink of an eye.
In the midst of the raging flames, his flesh and blood body suddenly became hollow and ethereal. The captain's uniform, soaked in seawater for decades or even centuries, became old and tattered. Under the ghostly flesh and blood, Duncan could even vaguely see his own bones—crystal-clear bones dancing with flames, with an unquenchable fire coursing through his body like water.
Yet he felt no pain or burning sensation. In the blazing inferno, he only felt his awareness expanding in all directions.
The fire swept down from the helm, across the deck, and along the mast, intertwining like a net and rising from the deck like a breath. It spread along the lonely mast, finally weaving together with the mist and the sea, creating a huge sail like a gossamer curtain.
The Lost Home had set sail, towards the collapsing borderland of reality.