Chapter 364: Leaving Secretly

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com

Martha’s disappearance was so eerie, it was as if she had never existed. It felt like she was just a figment of Lawrence’s imagination. Yet, there was a tangible sense of her presence lingering. The slight warmth of her touch still resonated on Lawrence’s temples, where her fingers had gently grazed. A faint lemony fragrance hung in the air, suggesting her lingering essence.

Lawrence was engulfed in a whirlwind of confusion and intense emotion. His normally steady hand trembled as he tried to replace the cap on a small glass bottle. His heart pounded ferociously within his chest, its beats louder and more tumultuous than the most violent storms he had ever faced.

With a sudden jolt, Lawrence’s rational mind kicked in, like waking from a prolonged, disorienting dream. He realized how dangerously close he had been to losing himself, spiraling into a relentless delusion. For someone like him, a seasoned sea captain accustomed to navigating the vast, unforgiving oceans, such a mental state could spell disaster. Once trapped, escaping the clutches of insanity would be a monumental struggle. However, in this moment of clarity, he neither felt relief nor a lingering fear from his near brush with madness.

All that consumed him was a profound sense of melancholy and regret.

This sorrow and regret served as a stark reminder—a signal that deep within, he had ceased fighting against the notion of insanity itself.

Struggling to regain control, Lawrence took a deep breath, trying to clear the jumble of thoughts clouding his mind. He glanced around him. The sturdy White Oak ship lay beneath him, filled with crew members who relied on his expertise to steer them safely back to Pland.

Now was not the time to succumb to madness.

With a sigh tinged with resignation, the veteran captain muttered to himself, “It’s high time I retire…” He began his journey towards the nearby staircase, but after only a few steps, he stopped abruptly, a serious expression shadowing his face.

His mind involuntarily replayed the moment when “Martha” had appeared. Although he knew indulging in such a “memory” could be perilous and might trigger another hallucination of her, he found himself lost in the recollection. A pair of sentences Martha had supposedly spoken intrigued him:

“Lawrence, be careful, you’ve reached the ocean’s heart…”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t waste time with questions and leave immediately… You’ve become less cautious…”

He repeated these sentences subconsciously. Despite knowing that this illusory interaction was a result of his scrambled memory and disturbed cognitive function, he couldn’t help but consider these words a warning. Even if Martha didn’t exist, was there a chance his subconscious had picked up on some impending danger? Could these sentences be a warning bell from deep within his intuitive psyche?

Casting a wary glance around, the seasoned captain meticulously examined the White Oak once again. Everything appeared as normal as it could be. Following this, he raised his eyes towards the adjacent island state.

The neighboring Frost presented a picture of normalcy. The adjacent port area was serene and unperturbed, while the city district not far away was gradually coming alive with the soft glow of twinkling lights. In the far-off distance, an imposing cliff towered over the seascape, its stern and formidable silhouette stark against the dimming sky.

Nevertheless, a subtle sense of discomfort began to pervade Lawrence’s being, rising like an unrelenting tide within his chest. Amid this growing unease, he tuned in to the soft lullaby of the nearby waves. Initially, he had difficulty distinguishing it from the ambient sound of the ocean caressing the hull of the White Oak, but it didn’t take long for him to realize the sound was echoing within his own mind.

“The soft melody of the waves… Is it an omen of something threatening? Can it be the divine protection of the Storm Goddess Gomona manifesting itself?!”

A sense of urgency dawned on Lawrence, and he promptly abandoned his initial plan of stepping ashore. Pivoting on his heel, he made a beeline for the ship’s bridge. The chilly night wind blew past his ears, its sharp howl cutting through the silence of the night and sharpening his senses.

“Captain?” His first mate, who was manning the bridge, appeared taken aback by Lawrence’s sudden arrival. Rising from his chair, he hurriedly approached his captain, “I thought you were going ashore…?”

“Circumstances have changed,” Lawrence replied tersely, “Something feels off… How long have we been docked here? Has anyone left the ship?”

“No,” the first mate responded without hesitation, “You had instructed everyone to remain aboard, and they all complied. We have been anchored here for a few hours now.”

“That’s fortunate nobody disembarked,” Lawrence nodded briskly, then turned his attention to the control panel, “Fire up the steam core, we’re vacating this port.”

“Uh…what?” The first mate was visibly taken aback, “Leaving the port? But we’ve just…”

Interrupting him mid-sentence, Lawrence explained, “Something’s not right with this place, I can’t quite identify what it is, but it’s unsettling. Remember the earlier complications with the observatory? And before that, when we couldn’t communicate with Frost? Ever since then, our guard seems to have dropped. It’s as if something… is manipulating us.”

Lawrence conveyed his concerns rapidly, fully aware of how eccentric his order might seem. He had no tangible evidence to support his discomfort except for his gut intuition. After completing a lengthy voyage, both the crew and the ship’s machinery were in desperate need of rest. Therefore, his decision to abruptly depart the port seemed bold, even rash.

Moreover, leaving the port required compliance with various maritime regulations and coordination with harbor authorities. Igniting the steam core without prior notification would be a flagrant breach of protocols, and he would be held accountable for his actions.

Yet, the ominous foreboding within Lawrence’s heart was intensifying, and the sound of the waves echoing in his mind grew louder and more persistent. It was as if Gomona’s divine protection was urging him to sever all ties with the port authorities, to avoid uttering another word.

His first mate stared at the captain, an array of emotions flickering across his face. Then, snapping to attention, he saluted and responded decisively, “Aye, Captain!”

Aboard the ship, the captain’s command was absolute.

An unhinged captain could steer the entire crew toward disaster, but conversely, a seasoned and knowledgeable captain could navigate them out of perilous situations.

The command was promptly relayed across the ship. The bewildered sailors were hastily rallied, and they quickly sprang into action, preparing for an unforeseen departure with their well-honed skills.

A new metal catalyst was loaded into the steam core, triggering the deep, reassuring hum of machinery within the bowels of the White Oak. The sailors discreetly loosened the mooring ropes and hauled the gangway back onto the deck. Meanwhile, Lawrence positioned himself on the bridge, watching the activity on the dock through the expansive glass window with hawk-like intensity.

Figures moved about on the dock, their forms hazy and almost spectral under the soft glow of the gas lamps. A couple of freight vehicles rumbled by in the distance, their bulky silhouettes casting long, eerie shadows on the cobblestone path.

No one seemed to notice the ship firing up its steam core under the cover of darkness, nor did any obstacle emerge to prevent the White Oak from making its stealthy escape.

The circumstances were unfolding much better than Lawrence had anticipated. His pessimistic contingency plan had even considered the possibility that as soon as the steam core was reignited, numerous monstrous tentacles might rise from the surrounding sea, dragging the White Oak into its watery depths.

“Ensure complete darkness onboard, and do not blow the steam whistle,” Lawrence swiftly instructed his first mate. He then proceeded to the helm, gripping the wheel firmly, “I’ll handle the steering—keep the boiler pressure high, and be prepared for an overload at any moment.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Despite their doubts, everyone aboard the ship followed their old captain’s orders without question. Lawrence could feel the metal leviathan beneath him awakening and stirring into action.

As the ship maintained its blackout, the underwater propellers began their rhythmic churn, nudging the White Oak away from the port. However, the sound of water churning under the ship’s movement filled the air, causing palpable tension among the crew. Their eyes remained fixed on the silhouette of the city-state, now shrouded in near darkness.

Taking this all in, Lawrence felt the clammy sweat moistening his palms.

Yet, the city-state showed no signs of abnormality. Even though the White Oak’s stealthy actions were likely not as concealed as Lawrence had hoped, no signs of curiosity or investigation followed.

His gaze shifted to the radio communication station nearby; the telegraph machine was ominously silent.

Under ordinary circumstances, the port authority should have already initiated urgent communication, and the port officials on duty would be questioning the White Oak’s abrupt departure. Yet, strangely, there was only silence.

This peculiar lack of reaction only reinforced Lawrence’s resolve, affirming his suspicion that his judgment had been accurate.

Something was undeniably wrong with this place!

The steam core’s power surged another notch, the propellers spun with increasing vigor, and the White Oak swiftly retreated from the dock. Directly ahead of the ship, the open sea unfolded like an enormous canvas, the water’s surface sparkling under the faint light.

Inhaling deeply, Lawrence tightened his grip on the wheel, “Full speed ahead!”

…

A gust of ashen wind swept through the courtyard, coalescing at the cathedral’s entrance to form the figure of Agatha, who moved briskly through the antechamber and nave, heading towards the “Chapel of Contemplation” where Bishop Ivan resided.

The statue of Bartok, the God of Death, stood in silent vigil at the far end of the chapel. A dark, lid-open coffin was positioned horizontally on the platform at the statue’s base. Bishop Ivan, who typically rested within the coffin, stood next to it, his gaze lifting as Agatha approached.

The bishop was swathed in bandages like a mummy, revealing only a single eye. He wore a black robe adorned with gold trimmings for the occasion, a scepter in his grasp. As Agatha approached, he broke the silence, “I’ve been informed about Dagger Island.”

“I gathered as much since you’re personally overseeing this meeting,” Agatha responded with a nod, her tone holding a note of concern, “But can your physical state endure this?”

Bishop Ivan raised his bandaged hand, and from the gaps in the wraps, it seemed a ghostly, grey-white mist was slowly wafting out.

“As long as either the body or the will possesses the strength, it’s sufficient.”

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