Chapter 14 Running

In the midst of his frantic run, Lawrence couldn't help but turn back to look in the direction of Martha's voice.

However, all he saw was the persistent fog of Dagger Island—the voice seemed to ring directly in his mind, urging him again and again to leave the island, to return to the White Oak, to... leave this place and head to Frost.

Martha was not here, of course.

But Lawrence still believed it was a guidance from somewhere—perhaps from his faith, perhaps from his subconscious, those clues and intuitions he hadn't noticed, guiding him, pointing him toward a way out of this predicament.

He sprinted toward the harbor, the biting wind and fog hitting his face, whistling past his ears. His first mate and sailors surrounded him. The sound of cannon fire continued to echo from afar, some from a distant bombardment, and some from the light escort cannons of the White Oak—the White Oak's counterattack seemed weak compared to the "enemy's" assault, clearly at a disadvantage.

"Martha" told him the Albatross was coming, but what ship was the Albatross?

The harbor came into view. At the end of the fog, the White Oak's beautiful hull was still docked at the end of the pier. Flashes of light flared up one after another at the bow and stern as the cannon fire tore through the mist. Occasionally, huge columns of water could be seen rising into the air on the nearby sea—obviously from the enemy's attack.

"The ship's still there!" the first mate shouted happily after seeing the White Oak. He was shouting to the captain, and encouraging the breathless sailors, "Jason didn't abandon us!"

Jason was the name of the ship's second mate.

"Storm Goddess above! Let's get on board and get out of this damned place," a sailor shouted. "The White Oak is just sitting here like a target!"

The group ran quickly toward the White Oak. Figures moved on the deck, obviously the remaining sailors had noticed the returning captain and his party. A rope ladder was lowered from the ship's side, and two sailors on the edge of the deck raised lanterns, waving them anxiously in the air.

The sailors who had gone ashore quickly ran towards the rope ladder.

But suddenly, Lawrence stopped, abruptly drawing his revolver and firing a shot into the air. "Stop!"

Startled by the gunshot and the captain's shout, the sailors stopped in surprise and confusion, turning their heads to look at each other. First Mate Gars also stopped, looking at the old captain with confusion—but in less than a second, the experienced old sailor reacted, realizing why the captain had suddenly ordered them to stop.

The first mate, panting, looked around, his eyes quickly scanning the sailors around him and the captain's figure, amidst the constant cannon fire.

Sixteen sailors stood around him, bewildered. Every face looked familiar. Captain Lawrence looked at them with a serious expression.

"How many people did we bring when we set out?" Lawrence said quickly.

"Besides you and me, there are..." The first mate opened his mouth quickly, but obviously hesitated when he got to the specific number. He paused for only a second or two before successfully recalling, "Twelve sailors!"

Lawrence scanned the group in front of him with a solemn gaze, counting them one by one in his mind.

And deep in his pupils, a glimmer of ghostly green light flickered.

"There are four too many," the first mate also completed the count quickly. The old sailor's face instantly turned serious. He raised his gun and fired a shot into the air, shouting loudly, "Everyone, spread out, keeping one meter apart! Face the captain! Keep your hands where we can see them!"

The sailors also realized what was happening, and expressions of tension appeared on their faces one by one. But they were, after all, experienced sailors who had dealt with the boundless sea for many years, so they naturally knew how to respond at this time. Under the command of the first mate, the sixteen sailors quickly dispersed.

The cannon fire from the White Oak continued, and more and more columns of water rose around the harbor. The enemy, called the "Albatross," seemed to be getting closer. Lawrence's thoughts churned in the roar of the cannon fire—

They couldn't stay here any longer. The White Oak was a sitting duck in the harbor, its weak defensive firepower and hull unable to withstand the attack for long. But he couldn't take this group back to the ship either, because some "things" on the island had obviously mixed in. If he brought them back... the White Oak's end wouldn't be much better than being sunk by cannon fire.

His eyes swept over the sixteen sailors in front of him, desperately trying to distinguish any unfamiliar or unnatural faces—when did the four extra people mix in? Was it during the team's passage through the fog? Was it in the harbor office? Or was it in that moment when the continuous explosions rang out on the island and the team fell into temporary panic?

The sailors also quickly observed each other. At this moment, it seemed that no one could be trusted, and even... their own memories and judgments seemed questionable.

"Captain," First Mate Gars' voice came into Lawrence's ears at this moment. The old sailor had a look of determination on his face. "The White Oak can't stay here any longer—you get on board quickly."

Lawrence's face instantly turned extremely serious. "What do you mean?"

"You take the ship and leave. The rest of us will stay behind—we'll slowly figure out a way to identify and get rid of the 'things' that have mixed in. You come back and pick us up after it's safe..."

Lawrence stared into the first mate's eyes, his face gloomy and silent.

No one could be fooled by the so-called "come back and pick us up after it's safe."

As long as the White Oak left the harbor, the people left on the island would be permanently abandoned—the strange situation here was obvious to all. In such a short period of time, four things, of unknown origin, had mixed into the team. What could continued stay possibly result in?

"Don't rush to sacrifice yourself," Lawrence said softly. Suddenly, he remembered something, and his eyes changed. "Humans have only two eyes..."

His gaze stopped on one of the sailors.

Then, the second, third, and fourth person.

One of the sailors pointed to himself in surprise. He blinked, then blinked his third and fourth eyes. "Don't I have two eyes?"

Lawrence didn't speak, but silently raised the revolver in his hand.

The second person to raise his gun was First Mate Gars, followed by the other sailors, as if waking from a dream.

Everyone seemed to have suddenly crossed a veil. After the cognitive interference that had shrouded their hearts wavered, they looked in shock and horror at the figures standing in the group, resembling humans but not quite, and raised the long and short guns in their hands one by one.

The four human-like "sailors" were surrounded by everyone. They stood there in surprise and confusion, and then the expressions on their faces changed from clarity to confusion.

As if the temporarily simulated personalities had been impacted, suddenly collapsing, these human-like "fakes" swayed, looking up at their "captain" one by one.

Lawrence could only let out a long sigh. "You are not members of the ship."

In the next second, to his own stunned gaze, he suddenly saw a cluster of ghostly green fire burst out of thin air. The strand of fire was initially just a few sparks. It jumped and appeared among the twelve normal sailors, like the sparks in an electrical device, and in just an instant, those few sparks suddenly expanded, growing into large patches of flame. The ghostly green spirit fire burned fiercely in the crowd, pouncing on the four dazed "fakes" like predators that had smelled their prey.

The flames crackled and exploded. The four fakes struggled violently in the flames, but before they could even make a sound, they turned into piles of black dust after being burned—vaguely resembling the black mud he had seen on the harbor slope earlier, but drier and more fragmented.

The sailors were terrified. The moment the spirit fire ignited, they, as members of the White Oak, recalled the scenes of terror that had happened before—the shocking moment of encountering the Shifting City at sea, the shocking scene of seeing the Fire-Melted City in Pran—they were too familiar with this flame.

Why did this flame appear here?

Could "Captain Duncan" be nearby?

However, just as this terrifying guess exploded in everyone's mind, and all the sailors panicked, the flame suddenly disappeared—as quickly as it had come. As the four fakes turned to ashes, the ghostly green spirit flames also disappeared cleanly.

Leaving behind only a group of frightened and panicked sailors, a stunned first mate, and an old captain who felt he really should retire sooner.

"What... was that just now?" First Mate Gars turned his head with difficulty, swallowing hard. "Captain, that fire, that fire seems to be..."

"It's the power of the Shifting City... the Shifting City..." Lawrence swallowed hard, and suddenly looked up at the sea, as if trying to find the ghostly ship, but all he saw was the cannon fire still roaring in the direction of the White Oak. The sailors who had been waving lanterns on the edge of the deck were gone—probably everyone had joined the battle.

The sailors on the White Oak were fighting hard to buy time for the captain and his party to board the ship.

The Shifting City was not here, but Captain Duncan's flames appeared before everyone's eyes.

"Don't be nervous," Lawrence said quickly, calming the sailors. "We've encountered the Shifting City once already. Even the Pran City-State was saved by that ship—it's not necessarily a bad thing. Haven't you heard the rumor? It is said that Captain Duncan Abnormaal has regained his humanity..."

The first mate subconsciously made a gesture of praying to the Storm Goddess, and then asked, "Captain, are we... going back to the ship now?"

… Go back, quickly! Before more strange things mix in!"