Chapter 1 In the Midst of Chaos

In his frantic sprint, Lawrence couldn't help but turn back, looking in the direction of Martha's voice.

Yet, all he could see was the persistent fog over Dagger Island – the voice seemed to resonate directly in his mind, urging him repeatedly, urging him to leave the island, to return to the White Oak, to… leave this place and head for Frostwind.

Martha was certainly not here.

But Lawrence still considered it a guide from the unseen – perhaps from his faith, or perhaps from his subconscious, those clues and intuitions he had not noticed were guiding him, leading him to a way out of this predicament.

He raced towards the harbor, the biting wind and mist assaulting his face, whistling past his ears. His first mate and sailors surrounded him. The sounds of cannon fire continued relentlessly from afar, including the distant enemy fire and the sound of the White Oak's light escort cannons – the White Oak's response seemed weak compared to the "enemy's" attack, clearly at a disadvantage.

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

The harbor came into view, and at the end of the mist, the White Oak's beautiful hull was still docked at the end of the pier. Fires flared one after another at the bow and stern, the flashes of cannon fire tearing through the fog. 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 with joy upon seeing the White Oak. He was shouting for the captain to hear, and to encourage the breathless sailors. "Jason hasn't abandoned us!"

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

"Storm Goddess be praised! Let's get on board and leave this godforsaken place," a sailor cried out. "The White Oak is practically a sitting duck here!"

The group hurried towards the White Oak. Figures moved about on the ship; the remaining crew had obviously noticed the returning captain and his men. A rope ladder was lowered from the ship's side, and two sailors on the edge of the deck anxiously waved lanterns in the air.

The sailors who had gone ashore rushed towards the rope ladder.

But suddenly, Lawrence stopped and abruptly drew his revolver, firing a shot into the air: "Everyone, halt!"

Startled by the gunshot and the captain's shout, the sailors stopped in shock and confusion, turning to look at each other. Gerson, the first mate, also stopped, looking at the old captain with confusion – but in less than a second, the experienced old seaman reacted, realizing why the captain had suddenly given the order to stop.

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

Sixteen sailors stood around him in bewilderment, every face a familiar one. Captain Lawrence looked at them with a stern expression.

"How many men did we bring when we set out?" Lawrence asked quickly.

"Besides you and me, there were…" the first mate began quickly, but he faltered noticeably when he got to the specific number, though he only paused for a second or two before successfully recalling, "…twelve other sailors!"

Lawrence's gaze grew serious as he scanned the group before him, counting them off in his mind.

And deep within his pupils, a faint, eerie green glow flickered.

"There are four extra," the first mate said, having quickly completed the count. The old seaman's expression instantly turned serious. He raised his gun and fired into the air, shouting, "Everyone, spread out, one meter apart! Face the captain! Keep your hands where we can see them!"

The sailors also realized what was happening, and tense expressions appeared on their faces. But they were, after all, experienced sailors who had dealt with the boundless sea for many years, and they naturally knew how to respond at this moment – under the first mate's command, 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, referred to as the "Albatross," seemed to be gradually closing in. Lawrence's thoughts churned like a boiling cauldron amidst the roar of the cannon fire—

They couldn't stay here. The White Oak was a sitting duck in the harbor, and its weak defensive firepower and hull wouldn't hold out for long. But he couldn't take this group back on board either, because some "things" on the island had obviously mixed in. If he brought them back… the White Oak's fate would be no better than being sunk by cannon fire.

His eyes swept across the sixteen sailors before him, desperately trying to distinguish any unfamiliar or incongruous faces – when had the four extra people mixed in? During the team's passage through the fog? In the harbor office? Or in the instant when the island erupted in a series of explosions and the team fell into temporary panic?

The sailors were also quickly observing each other. At this moment, it seemed no one could be trusted, and even… their own memories and judgments seemed suspect.

"Captain," First Mate Gerson's voice reached Lawrence's ears at this moment. The old seaman's face wore a resolute expression. "The White Oak can't stay here any longer – you must get back on board quickly."

Lawrence's face instantly became exceptionally stern: "What do you mean?"

"You take the ship and leave. The rest of us will stay – we'll figure out a way to identify and deal with the 'things' that have mixed in. You can come back for us after it's safe…"

Lawrence stared into the first mate's eyes, his expression dark and silent.

No one could be fooled by the notion of "coming back for them after it's safe."

Once the White Oak left the harbor, those left on the island would be as good as abandoned forever – the bizarre situation here was plain to see. Four things, of who knew what kind, had mixed into the group in such a short time. What good could come of staying?

"Don't be so eager to sacrifice yourselves," Lawrence said softly. Suddenly, he recalled something, and his eyes changed. "Humans only have two eyes…"

His gaze stopped on one of the sailors.

Then, a second, a third, a fourth.

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 said nothing, merely raising the revolver in his hand.

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

Everyone seemed to have suddenly crossed a veil. After the cognitive interference clouding their minds had been shaken off, they looked in astonishment and fear at the figures standing among them, figures that were similar to humans, yet not quite. They raised their guns, both long and short.

The four not-quite-human "sailors" were surrounded. They stood there in shock and confusion, and then the expressions on their faces changed from clarity to a muddled stupor.

As if the temporary personalities that had been simulated were shocked, suddenly collapsing, these not-quite-human "fakes" swayed, each of them looking up at their "captain."

Lawrence could only let out a long sigh: "You are not members of this crew."

In the next second, to his own astonishment, he suddenly saw a cluster of eerie green flames burst forth in the air from out of nowhere. The flames began as just a few sparks, flickering among the twelve normal sailors, like sparks between electrodes. In an instant, those sparks suddenly expanded and grew into large swathes of flame. The eerie green spirit fire burned fiercely among the crowd, pouncing on the four dazed "fakes" like predators that had caught the scent of prey.

The flames crackled and exploded. The four fakes struggled violently in the flames, but they didn't even have time to make a sound before turning into piles of black dust – vaguely similar to the black sludge seen earlier on the harbor slope, but drier and more pulverized.

The sailors were terrified. The moment the spirit fire ignited, they, as members of the White Oak, recalled scenes of terror from the past – the shocking moment they encountered the Forsaken while at sea, the awe-inspiring sight of the molten city in Prland. They were all too familiar with this fire.

Why was this fire here?

Was "Captain Duncan" nearby?

Yet, just as this terrifying guess exploded in everyone's mind, just as all the sailors were in a panic, the flames suddenly vanished – as quickly as they had come. With the four fakes reduced to ashes, the eerie green spirit flames disappeared cleanly.

All that was left was a group of terrified and chaotic sailors, a stunned first mate, and an old captain who felt he really should have retired sooner.

"What… what was that just now?" First Mate Gerson turned his head with difficulty, swallowing hard. "Captain, that fire, that fire seemed to be…"

"It's the power of the Forsaken… the Forsaken…" Lawrence swallowed hard, then abruptly looked up at the sea, as if trying to find the ghostly ship, but he only saw 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 all had been thrown into the battle.

The sailors on the White Oak were fighting hard, buying time for the captain and his men to board.

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

"Don't panic," Lawrence said quickly, trying to calm the sailors down. "We've already encountered the Forsaken once. The Prland city-state was even saved by that ship – it's not necessarily a bad thing. Haven't you heard the rumor? It's said that Captain Duncan Abnomal has regained his humanity…"

The first mate subconsciously made a gesture of praying to the Storm Goddess, then asked, "Captain, should… should we go back to the ship now?"

“…Go back, quickly! Before any more weird things mix in!”