"My bosun is dead again, fallen to those abominations. How much longer can this nightmare continue? I’m worn to the bone.


    I often wonder if I’ve already crossed into the afterlife, and this is some twisted version of hell.


    But then I dismiss the thought. Even the demons of hell would possess a certain charm compared to those monsters. Nothing here follows logic, not even the people.


    When I first set foot on this world, I thought it was stuck in the early days of the Industrial Revolution. But I soon discovered they’ve delved into mystical side technologies as well.


    Yet, it all seems pointless. Humans here live like ants, scraping a meager existence in the shadows. The darkness is teeming with deadly threats. We’re not the only sentient beings vying for survival.


    Charles’ musings were interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by the voice of Sailor Deep.


    “Captain, the Coral Main Island is in sight.”


    Charles made his way to the bow, his gaze fixed on the lighthouse that flickered in the distant darkness. He exhaled a sigh of relief. No matter the hardships faced, they had finally reached their destination.


    As the Rat drew closer, the grandeur of the island behind the lighthouse slowly revealed itself.


    The island was dominated by the grayish-white of coral rock, and the human dwellings scattered across it matched the same monochrome palette.


    The port of the Coral Islands buzzed with activity, steamships of all sizes moving in and out. Rough sailors waved their hats and cheered, their voices filled with the relief of survival.


    This was a newly developed island, a testament to human resilience. An island capable of sustaining life couldn’t rely on coral alone; it needed resources from beyond its shores. That’s where cargo ships like the Rat played a vital role.


    Among the crowd bustling on the dock, many had ears that curled inward—these were the native inhabitants of the Coral Islands.


    Anyone who lived here for more than five years would find their ears mysteriously curling inward. The reason remained a mystery.


    But this curious phenomenon didn’t deter immigrants from other islands. Compared to the troubles they faced elsewhere, deformed ears were a minor inconvenience.


    After a quick handover of paperwork to the administrator, Charles stepped out of the dock, his expression grim.


    His suspicions had been confirmed. The cargo was more than half gone. Not only had he failed to turn a profit, but he had also suffered a significant loss. The last two months had been a futile endeavor.


    It would take some time for the dock to dispatch materials, and during this brief respite, the crew of the Rat could enjoy some much-needed rest.


    Near the dock stood a row of buildings, their heights varying. Some served as lodgings for sailors, while others offered places for relaxation and indulgence.


    The bustling street was dotted with beggars, their clothes tattered, lying or sitting in the dust, muttering words that made sense only to them.


    These were sailors who had been driven mad by the Sea. Their experiences were beyond comprehension. To avoid a similar fate, one had to adhere to the iron laws of the sea: don’t look, don’t listen, don’t think.


    They were the fortunate ones, for many sailors who encountered maritime disasters simply vanished without a trace, along with their ships.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    The door of the Bat Inn creaked open, and in the brightly lobby, a group of burly men looked up with unfriendly eyes at the newcomer.


    But as the scent of the sea clung to Charles, they quickly turned their gaze away. Anyone who could survive the treacherous sea was not to be trifled with.


    “I’ll be staying for five days, and I’d like some food sent to my room,” Charles stated firmly.


    “Five days of lodging will cost you 630 echo coins, and a meal of delicious bread and mushroom soup will be an additional 30, totaling 660,” the innkeeper replied.


    In his damp room, Charles savored his lunch. The food of the underground world was far from gourmet. He tore the black bread into pieces and dunked them into the thick mushroom soup.


    Even soaked in the soup, the bitter black bread remained harsh on his throat, but he had long grown accustomed to it."


    Charles pulled out a smartphone from his pocket, absently swiping its screen with his fingers as he ate. The scratched screen remained stubbornly black, much like the sky outside.


    The only sound in the single room was the slow chewing of Charles.


    “Captain, are you in there?” Old John’s voice suddenly came from outside the door.


    Charles quickly pocketed the phone. “Come in, the door’s open.”


    The first mate entered cautiously, his face etched with an apologetic expression. “Captain, I need to tell you something. I don’t want to do this anymore.”


    Charles’ brow furrowed. “Why? You’ve seen plenty of this before, haven’t you?”


    He had been prepared for this, expecting that someone might leave after the recent crewmember’s death. He had thought it would be Deep, who had nearly wet himself with fear, but not Old John, who had been with him through thick and thin.


    John waved his hands dismissively. “I’m too old. Sometimes I fall asleep at the helm. I want to get away from the Sea.”


    Charles’ mood soured further, but he didn’t try to persuade him to stay. It was best to part on good terms.


    He placed a small stack of bills on the table. “This is your share.”


    John took his earnings but didn’t leave immediately, hesitating in place.


    “Is there something else?”


    “Well, Captain, you know, even though I’ve saved a bit, most of my money went to those ladies. This isn’t enough to last me the rest of my life.”


    “Don’t tell me you’re expecting me to chip in?”


    “No, no, of course not. I know that’s impossible. But I have something here that I want to sell you. Since I’m leaving the ship, I won’t be needing this weapon anymore.”


    John pulled out a black blade, about the length of a forearm, more like an oversized dagger than a knife.


    Charles looked at the fat old man in front of him, puzzled. It was true that the blade was the first mate’s weapon, but Charles didn’t lack for close-quarters weapons.


    “Captain, don’t underestimate this blade. It’s a relic!”


    Charles had heard of these mysterious objects before but had never seen one.


    The origins of relics were varied and debated. Some said they came from the ocean, others from the legendary Land of Light, and still others from unexplored islands. Whatever their origins, it was certain that these objects possessed special powers.


    These powers were diverse, and using them came with a cost, which varied depending on the power.


    Charles had once seen a ring at an auction on the British Isles that was worth 580,000. It could make the wearer invisible for a short time, but the cost was an unbearable itching all over the body.


    “What’s so special about this blade?”


    At Charles’ question, John perked up.


    “This weapon is extremely sharp, very sharp.” He held the long blade, looking around at the furniture as if itching to test it on something.


    “Thanks, but no thanks. I still prefer a gun.”


    While a revolver might be a bit lacking against those monsters, Charles did want some relics for self-defense, but he didn’t want something useless.


    The technological development in the Sea world might be a bit skewed, but on some of the larger islands, they had electricity and firearms. What use was a sharp blade in a world with guns and cannons, especially if it had side effects?


    Seeing Charles’ reluctance to buy, Old John grew anxious. “Captain, it has another special ability. If you hold it, your body’s healing ability will speed up.”


    “Two abilities? What’s the cost?” Relics were odd things; the benefits and drawbacks weren’t always equal. Sometimes, the benefit was minimal, but the side effect could make the owner’s life miserable.


    “It’s not too severe. If you hold it for a long time, you’ll feel a suicidal urge. Just don’t hold it all the time, and you’ll be fine.”


    Charles took the black blade and was surprised by its lightness. It didn’t seem to be made of iron, feeling more like plastic in his hand.


    He cut his hand with the tip of the blade, and the wound did heal slowly, though not as dramatically as John had implied—perhaps three times the normal rate.


    “The cost is acceptable, and the benefit is decent. My ship doesn’t have a doctor, so this could make up for that to some extent.”


    Charles decided to buy the blade. It was worth investing in, as long as it was useful.


    With both parties knowing each other well, Charles eventually purchased the relic for 160,000 echo coins.