Chapter 9 “Return and Return”
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The sunlight was overwhelmingly bright.
If the radiant orb hanging high in the sky was indeed the sun, then its “sunlight” was almost blinding in its intensity.
Unknowingly, Duncan had been staring at the sky in a contest he was bound to lose. It continued until his eyes ached with a sore and piercing discomfort. He blinked and finally turned away from the cloudscape, but the afterimage of the “sun” was etched deeply into his retinas, imprinting itself on his psyche. Even with his eyelids shut, he could see the surreal vista with alarming clarity—the ethereal golden radiance pulsing from the celestial sphere, the light tendrils swirling around it, and the intricate, concentric rings orbiting its equator.
The sun was never meant to look like this. Even under alien skies, in the world he was familiar with, celestial bodies did not take on such fantastical shapes.
Yet, he was forced to accept this harsh reality.
He was not in Kansas anymore, so to speak. The landscape was far more alien than he had ever imagined.
Even the sun had transformed into something beyond comprehension.
Almost reflexively, Duncan turned his gaze toward the door that led to the captain’s quarters.
With a push of the door, he could retreat to his solitary sanctuary, the quarters that had been his world for countless years. However, beyond those familiar confines, a blanket of impenetrable fog had swallowed up everything in sight. The “homeland” he knew had metaphorically shrunk to the final thirty square meters of his quarters.
The “home” that seemed just a door’s width away was, in reality, another lonely ship adrift on an uncharted sea.
In the midst of the echoing silence, the voice of Goathead suddenly broke into Duncan’s thoughts. “Captain, where should we steer our course next? Have you thought of a sailing plan?”
A sailing plan? Despite his burning desire to quickly draft an exhaustive plan to navigate this strange world and plot the next move, Duncan lacked even a basic nautical map. He was unaware of the geographical expanse of this alien world, the dynamics at play, or whether this vast oceanic expanse ever ended.
He had only just grasped the workings of the Vanished mere hours ago.
Nevertheless, he indulged in a moment of contemplation, and after several minutes of silence, he mentally responded, “Where did the ship that rammed the Vanished originate from?”
“Do you wish to venture to those city-states?” Goathead’s voice resonated with surprise and quickly turned to dissuasion, “I recommend you keep your distance from the seaways dominated by those city-states… at least for the time being. Even though you are the esteemed Captain Duncan, the Vanished, in its current condition… is not its former self, and the naval forces of those city-states will undoubtedly pull out all the stops to thwart your… advances.”
Duncan was momentarily speechless. An urgent curiosity flared within him, fueled by an unexpected revelation. What could the man he had replaced, this “Captain Duncan,” have done in the past to elicit such a vehement reaction? It seemed that his mere presence in the mortal world was enough to incite the immediate formation of a formidable raid group of 25 individuals.
From the enigmatic hints in Goathead’s words, Duncan realized a new truth. The perception of himself as the “captain” and the state of the Vanished was perhaps not as honorable as he had been led to believe. Was it possible that the spectral ship and its ghostly captain were not freely sailing the vast seas, but were instead fleeing from the civilized ports they dared not approach?
Could it be that they were not on an epic voyage, but rather trapped in a self-imposed exile, relegated to the forgotten edges of the world?
This realization bred frustration within Duncan. He felt an urgent need to understand this world more deeply. It was crucial for him to find a way to make contact with this realm’s “civilized society.” Whether his goal was to secure his long-term survival or to unravel the mysteries that might allow him to return to his familiar homeland, he could not afford to continue wandering aimlessly across this boundless ocean. However, a significant challenge lay ahead…
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The so-called “civilized society” of this world did not seem to reciprocate his intentions.
To the local inhabitants, “Captain Duncan” was akin to a formidable world boss lurking on the outskirts of their cities. His appearance within their vicinity triggered a call to arms, summoning a 25-player raid group to confront him.
Duncan sighed in defeat. If only there were books on the Vanished he could study. His feeling of helplessness was compounded by his sole source of information being Goathead’s incessant chatter. However, he could not risk revealing too much about himself to this enigmatic creature at this time.
Yet, it was baffling. Could there really be no books aboard such a massive ship?
The lengthy, solitary voyages at sea created a stressful environment, necessitating a method for the crew to alleviate this stress. Ordinary sailors might not have the luxury of leisurely reading time, but surely the literate “Captain Duncan” did?
Being a “captain” was more than just a title; it was a highly specialized role that demanded extensive knowledge. Even the most ruthless pirates needed a captain capable of reading nautical charts, understanding celestial navigation, and calculating the most effective routes.
Harboring these thoughts, Duncan tentatively broached the subject with Goathead, framing his question as a casual inquiry. Goathead’s response came immediately, “Books? Reading at sea is a dangerous pursuit. Entities from the unfathomable depths of the abyss and the elusive subspace are always on the prowl for a lapse in mortal defenses. The only safe reading materials are the ‘classics’ produced by the churches. Sure, they’re safe, but they’re so mind-numbingly tedious you’d be better off scrubbing the deck… Didn’t you never show an interest in anything from the churches?”
Duncan arched an eyebrow in puzzlement.
How could reading a book amidst the ocean waves be a matter of life and death? And why were only the “classics” from the churches considered safe for reading? What sort of menace haunted these infinite waters?
It seemed that with every new piece of knowledge about this world, a fresh wave of questions arose. Left with no other choice, Duncan quietly suppressed these growing doubts. He found himself at the edge of the ship, gazing into the vast distance where the expansive waters met the sky.
The golden “sun” blazed fiercely, casting a magnificent tapestry of shimmering, rippling waves on the sea’s surface. If one overlooked the unusual appearance of the sun with its rune rings, the scene could almost be described as picturesque.
“I would value your guidance,” Duncan stated with measured caution after considering his options. “I am growing weary of this directionless voyage. Perhaps…”
His sentence hung unfinished as an odd “sensation” suddenly surged within him, stemming from his connection with the Vanished, like the intrusion of a foreign element making contact with the ship. This was promptly followed by a resounding “thud” from the stern, as if a heavy object had made a hard impact with the deck.
Duncan’s brow furrowed in concern. Quickly, he pulled his loaded flintlock pistol from his belt. His other hand unsheathed a single-handed longsword, and with weapons ready, he hurried towards the source of the noise.
Upon reaching the stern deck, Duncan was met with a sight that left him in stunned silence—an ornately carved wooden box, resembling a coffin, was sitting out in the open.
An unsettling chill raced down his spine as he found himself locked in a fixed stare at the box’s damp surface. He was overwhelmed with a sense of dread, as if the box would burst open of its own accord at any moment. Then, he noticed the absence of nails around the lid of the box—nails he had pounded in himself to secure it before he had cast it into the sea. They should have held fast.
After several minutes spent warily watching the box, Duncan made a decision. With a firm grip on his flintlock pistol and his sword in his other hand, he slid the blade into the seam of the box lid, leveraging it open with determined force.
The ornate lid creaked lowly as it swung open, revealing a lifeless gothic doll nestled inside, surrounded by plush crimson velvet, eerily akin to a slumbering princess.
Duncan held his gaze on the doll for several long moments before addressing her with an air of solemn authority, his stern tone echoing his conviction, “If you are alive, rise and speak to me.”
Despite repeating the command twice, the doll remained still as stone.
Duncan regarded her with a grave expression before finally declaring in a calm, resolute voice, “Very well, then I will have to throw you overboard again.”
With that, he swiftly secured the lid back in place. Using a variety of tools, he drove a lattice pattern of coffin nails firmly into the box. Once this task was completed, he procured a sturdy iron chain and meticulously threaded it through the hooks on the box, ensuring the lid was tightly bound.
Having concluded this elaborate procedure, Duncan rose to his feet, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. He clapped his hands heartily, removing the residual dust.
“This time, you won’t be able to pry it open,” he declared, his gaze sweeping over the “coffin” he had rigorously reinforced with a matrix of chains and coffin nails.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he sent the box hurtling into the sea once more with a decisive kick.
As he watched the box descend into the watery depths, gradually succumbing to the pull of the current, a sigh of relief escaped him. He then turned on his heels and left the stern behind.
Halfway through his stride, an impulse struck Duncan. He pivoted on his heel, casting a lingering glance in the direction the box was drifting on the sea’s surface.
The wooden box continued to float amidst the waves.
Duncan gave a nod of acknowledgment and swiveled his head back around, resuming his journey. But in a sudden twist, he spun back once more.
The box remained afloat on the surface, its distance from the ship having significantly increased.
“Maybe I should place something heavy, like a cannonball, inside to ensure it sinks…” Duncan mused aloud before ultimately making his way towards the captain’s cabin with unhurried steps.
“You were undeniably harsh on that lady,” echoed the voice of Goathead in his consciousness.
“Silence! How can you refer to a cursed doll as a ‘lady’?”
“She may indeed be a cursed doll… but is there any curse in the Boundless Sea that could rival the curse of the Vanished and the mighty Captain Duncan? Captain, she’s actually quite docile and harmless…”
Duncan remained silent.
Why was it that Goathead seemed to derive some perverse pride from the ill-famed curses and reputation of the Vanished and Captain Duncan?
Perhaps discerning Duncan’s irritation in his quietude, Goathead hastily steered the conversation in a new direction. “Captain, you had mentioned earlier your desire to hear my advice. What specifically…”
“We’ll deliberate on it later. I need some rest for now—the navigation of the Vanished through the Spirit Realm has taken its toll on me. Just remain quiet for the time being.”
“Of course, Captain.”
Following this, Goathead fell into an obedient silence, allowing Duncan to retreat to his captain’s cabin. He advanced towards the navigation table, casting a casual glance over the nautical chart.
However, his gaze abruptly came to a halt.
A subtle shift had occurred on the nautical chart—the perpetually fluctuating gray-white patches that blanketed the entire paper seemed to recede slightly, rendering the sea surrounding the Vanished distinctly visible!
Could it be that this device was updating the maritime data of the surrounding waters in real-time as the Vanished traversed the sea?
With a jolt of excitement, Duncan rushed closer to the navigation table, focusing all his concentration on the minute transformations on the nautical chart.
His engrossment was swiftly disrupted.
Deep within the recesses of his mind, the Vanished sent forth another signal of “contact with a foreign object.” Following this, Duncan heard an ominous “thud” originating from the deck situated behind the captain’s cabin.
Kekeke knew she will be back, of course we need a companion on an adventure. Thanks for the chapter!
God damn it
Hahaha thx for the chapter
You cannot escape your admirer captain. Embrace your fate.
Dun, lady doesn’t want to drown in the middle of the vast sea!
The MC repeatedly silencing his knowledgeable advisor any time it’s about to say something useful makes me wonder how empty his head is. How much plot armor will the MC need to survive?