Emerald flames burned on his body, flesh and bones turning into translucent spirits in the intense fire. Duncan held the helm of The Lost Home amidst the blaze, his consciousness extending along the flames, eventually spreading to the entire ship.
As it turned out, the ship did not require any crew.
The Lost Home could set sail with just the captain at the helm, at any time.
In the instant when the emerald flames soared into the sky, Duncan fell into momentary panic. However, he had witnessed supernatural phenomena more than once during the past few days of exploration on the ship. These experiences helped him to force himself to remain calm and not let go of the helm during those crucial few seconds.
Now, he finally confirmed that this flame was some kind of "power" that posed no harm to him—regardless of whether his body could recover afterwards, at least now it seemed that this flame's power was helping him control the ghost ship beneath his feet.
The roar of cheers in his mind gradually faded away, and Duncan felt his mind clearer than ever. The Lost Home transmitted various indescribable "sensations" to him, like limbs extended from his body. Although he still lacked the knowledge and experience required of a qualified captain, he was now capable of controlling the ship single-handedly.
The sail, like a misty spirit, billowed on the mast, and many auxiliary jibs and side sails began to adjust their angles on their own. The airflow on the sea surface was chaotic at the moment, but those spiritual sails seemed to draw a unified power from the invisible turbulence. The enormous Lost Home ended its aimless drifting and stabilized under the push of the sails.
Duncan tried to turn the helm, and a tangible force feedback entered his mind. He could feel the huge hull under his feet gradually turning and trying to move away from the endless mist ahead.
But the turning speed seemed insufficient. The boundless fog continued to approach, and the sharp goat head cry sounded from the copper pipe beside the helm: "Attention, approaching the limits of reality... We are about to fall into the Spectral Realm! Captain, we need..."
"I'm doing it!" Duncan interrupted the goat head's voice with a roar. "Compared to being drowned in this Spectral Realm, I would rather take my chances with a goat head shouting in my ear!"
The goat head fell silent instantly, but just when Duncan thought that the creature had finally shut up, its voice suddenly sounded again from the copper pipe, hoarse, eerie, and even a little creepy: "Go! Go! Go!"
Duncan: "...?"
At this moment, he suddenly felt that everything around him had lost its sense of reality. He had accepted the visions he had encountered, the supernatural powers on the ship, and even the fact that he was being slowly stewed by a green fire. But he never expected the goat head, which had given him a great sense of danger from the beginning, to perform such a surprising act at this moment... This sinister thing had been very sinister from the beginning, but now it was just too much!
But the approaching fog gave Duncan no more time to think or comment. Although The Lost Home had begun to turn quickly—considering its huge hull, the turning speed could almost be described as drifting—the endless fog in the distance seemed to be chasing its prey consciously. Large areas of thin fog spread from the edge of the fog, and the fog spread at an extremely fast speed, almost enveloping the entire space around The Lost Home in an instant.
A feeling of weakness swept over him, but Duncan didn't have the strength to argue with a sinister Goat Head any longer. Since the other party said they had to rely on intuition, he decided to be reckless.
Following the faint feeling before the mist rose, he grabbed the steering wheel with all his might and turned it towards the direction he believed in.
The Lost Home let out a series of spine-chilling screams from top to bottom, and the massive hull drew an astonishing arc on the already pitch-black sea surface. The winds howled and the mist swirled, and in the dim light and mist, Duncan suddenly caught a glimpse of something emerging from the mist.
The next second, he saw a ship, a white vessel that looked a size smaller than The Lost Home with a black chimney in the middle of the hull.
At the end of the beautiful arc drawn by The Lost Home, the ship that suddenly emerged from the mist was heading straight towards them - or rather, The Lost Home was heading straight towards it.
Duncan only had one cry left in his heart, "Motherfucker, something's wrong with the ghost ship!"
He had been exploring this eerie world for so long without seeing any other living beings. Why did a ship suddenly appear at this time? What were the odds of both ships heading towards each other?
The boundless sea was unleashing its terrifying power with the raging winds and towering waves. In the face of this natural force that could tear apart even the most powerful beings, The Goat Head was squeezing out the last bit of power from the steam engine to fight against their fate.
Captain Lawrence Creed, with his hair turning white, stood in the cockpit. The sturdy walls and glass windows of the cockpit gave him no sense of security. He clenched the steering wheel with both hands, and the groans and spasms emitted by The Lost Home as it faced death seemed to flow directly into his mind through a series of gears and linkages behind the steering wheel.
Through the wide windows, he could clearly see the astonishing waves rolling outside the hull. But what was more frightening than those huge waves was the strange, spreading fog and the black lightning that flashed through the mist.
The White Oak was the most advanced steamship in this world, but even the most advanced machinery could only ensure that the ship's power surged in "normal" waters. However, now it and its captain were facing the collapsing border of reality, the bone-chilling cold that was spreading from the foul palaces of the evil gods lurking in the world's depths.
"Captain! The priest can't hold on much longer!"
The first mate's shrill cry came from beside him. Lawrence heard a faint, hoarse echo in the voice, and then looked towards the front of the control panel. He saw the ominous purple-black flames rising from the censer on the altar and the priest in a deep blue robe, a respected and loyal clergyman, trembling in front of it. His mouth and nose were full of blood, and his eyes alternated between madness and clarity.
Lawrence's heart sank.
He knew that the revered priest was still standing on the side of humanity, using his last pious faith and pure soul to resist the call from the depths of the world. But this persistence was already at its end, and the purple-black smoke emanating from the censer was proof that the pollution had already surpassed the power of prayer.
Once the priest fell, every conscious mind on this ship could become a gateway to the deep sea or even to the interdimensional space.
"Captain!"
The voice of the first mate came from beside him again, but Lawrence interrupted him. The middle-aged captain's face was full of determination: "Disable the Holy Emblem for now, we are sinking into the spirit realm!"
The first mate was instantly dumbfounded. This man who had been living at sea for half his life seemed to not believe his ears: "Captain?!"
"Sinking into the spirit realm-- at least for the next ten minutes, we can avoid the most fierce impact of the border collapse, and the priest will have a chance to recover," Lawrence ordered again with an unquestionable tone, but this time he added two explanations, "Execute my command."
The first mate opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then he gritted his teeth: "You're the captain!"
The crew quickly executed the captain's command, while Lawrence, at the helm, took a deep breath. The Holy Emblem in the depths of the cabin was gradually extinguishing, and he could feel the invisible protective force field enveloping the White Oak, which was rapidly weakening. Without the protection of the sacred object, the ship was gradually sinking into the "spirit realm" layer between reality and the deep sea.
A thin fog appeared on the surrounding sea, and the seawater was gradually darkening.
This was very dangerous, but in history, there were ships that returned from the spirit realm state to the human world. As a member of the Explorer's Association, he had read numerous books on this subject, as well as various "survival guides" written by survivors.
How much worse could it get? He only needed to let the White Oak avoid a storm at the edge of the spirit realm, and then use the powerful steam engine to perform a thrilling "spiritual drift." If luck still favored him, he could lead his crew back to the human world.
Then he could quickly hand over the damn "Anomaly 099" in the cargo hold to the governor of the Pland city-state, and never again wade in the murky waters of the authorities for the rest of his life.
It couldn't get any worse.
Lawrence comforted himself.
Then he saw a ship suddenly appear on the pitch-black sea in the distance. It was a three-masted ship that was larger than the White Oak, and it had a kind of unstoppable momentum as it cut through the water in a breathtaking arc and headed straight towards them...
Captain Lawrence stared numbly ahead.
"... Damn it."