Lost at the Border

The wooden Goat Head's hard, pitch-black face stared at Duncan behind the Navigation Table. An eerie light seemed to flow within its obsidian eyes—though the thing was plainly incapable of making expressions, Duncan could distinctly read a certain expectant look from that wooden face.

In fact, this was not the first time Goat Head had urged him to "set sail." Every time he came here, Goat Head would urge him once.

He even felt that the whole ship was constantly urging him on, telling him to end this blind drifting at sea as soon as possible, set sail, and return to the proper course.

Yet Duncan fell silent. Storm clouds covered his naturally imposing face, and amid his contemplation and silence, he clearly recognized two problems:

First, there was only himself aboard this entire ship, and the scale of the vessel was simply insane—powered by sails, the ship called the Lost Homeland was, by Duncan's rough estimate, at least one hundred and fifty to two hundred meters long. To control such a behemoth would require at least dozens, perhaps even over a hundred experienced sailors. How was he supposed to sail it alone?

Second, setting aside the professional considerations above, there was another critical problem blocking his voyage—he did not know how to sail a ship.

Duncan was a little anxious. He tried to imagine what would happen if he asked the strange and noisy Goat Head before him to teach him how to operate a ship. He felt even more anxious after imagining it.

Yet Goat Head had no idea what its captain was thinking. It merely asked, "Captain, do you have any concerns? If you are worried about the Lost Homeland's condition, then you may rest assured. The Lost Homeland is always ready to sail with you to the end of the world. Or are you concerned that today is an inauspicious day to depart? I know a little divination. Which kind do you trust more? Celestial signs, incense, crystals are all acceptable. Speaking of crystals, do you remember..."

Duncan struggled to keep his facial muscles composed. Suppressing the urge to fight the Goat Head to the death, he said in a low voice, "I'll go up to the deck and observe the situation first. Stay here quietly."

"As you wish—but I must remind you that the Lost Homeland has drifted blindly for far too long. You must take command of it as soon as possible and return this voyage to its proper course..."

Goat Head spoke, then, accompanied by the sound of wood grinding together, finally returned to its original posture.

Duncan instantly felt that the whole world had quieted down.

He let out a soft breath, and the resonance in his head gradually calmed. Then he picked up the flintlock pistol on the table, rose to his feet, and walked out of the Captain's Cabin.

He had found this rather old-looking flintlock pistol while exploring the ship, along with a one-handed sword. That sword currently hung at his waist, and these two items were what gave him a sense of security while moving about the ship.

During the past few days of exploration, he had spent a long time roughly learning how to use both items—though so far, he had never seen any living creature aboard the ship besides himself.

Talking "objects" did not count.

The salty, fishy sea breeze rushed over him, and Duncan's slightly irritated mood settled. He stepped onto the deck outside the Captain's Cabin and instinctively looked up at the sky.

Thick dark clouds still covered the sky as far as the eye could see. No sun, moon, or stars could be seen within the cloud layer; only murky daylight blanketed the boundless sea.

This sight had persisted for a long time. In fact, ever since Duncan had come aboard this ship, he had seen nothing but this kind of sky—it even made him wonder whether normal weather simply did not exist in this world, whether this overcast scene was the eternal climate of these waters.

Duncan turned around and saw the door to the Captain's Cabin standing silently there. A line of words had been carved into the beam above it in letters he did not recognize, yet when he focused his gaze on them, their meaning became clear in his mind:

"Gate of the Lost."

"Gate of the Lost... Lost Homeland, huh?" Duncan muttered to himself, then gave a self-mocking laugh. "This ship does have a good name."

He then walked around the Captain's Cabin and followed the stairs along the edge of the deck up to the raised aft deck. There was a wooden platform here, the spot with the broadest view on the entire ship aside from the lookout post.

A heavy black wheel waited silently on the platform for the arrival of its helmsman.

Duncan frowned. For some reason, he suddenly felt a sense of urgency and agitation, as though it had arisen from nowhere the moment he saw that wheel.

He had never felt this way during his previous visits here!

As if responding to the agitation in his heart, a sudden, chaotic wind swept across the deck for no reason. The previously calm sea around them instantly began to churn with waves. Though the wind and waves were not enough to affect the massive Lost Homeland, alarm bells rang in Duncan's mind. The next second, guided by instinct, he looked toward the bow.

On the sea directly ahead of the Lost Homeland, amid that chaotic, hazy expanse where sky and sea met, an endless wall of white fog, like a barrier reaching into the heavens, appeared as though from thin air. His eyes widened instantly!

It was white fog that seemed to encircle and isolate the entire world, crushing toward them as a towering cliff that connected heaven and earth. Yet more than its terrifying scale, what put Duncan—Zhou Ming—on guard was how it instantly reminded him of the boundless mist outside the window of his bachelor apartment!

The Lost Homeland was sailing straight toward that wall of fog!

Duncan did not know what that dense fog was, nor what lay deep within it, but he instinctively sensed immense danger. His survival instincts told him that being swallowed by that fog would be anything but good!

He rushed instinctively toward the platform where the wheel stood—while a tremendous sense of helplessness descended upon him at the same time. Even if he took the helm, how could he alone steer this enormous ship away from that wall of fog?

Yet he still reached the wheel by instinct. Almost at the same moment, he heard a hoarse, gloomy voice coming from a brass speaking tube beside the wheel, one connected to the Captain's Cabin. It was Goat Head's voice—and this time, the strange thing sounded somewhat panicked:

"Captain, a border collapse has appeared ahead. We are approaching the Reality Limit! Adjust course immediately!"

Hearing Goat Head's panicked voice, Duncan nearly burst into curses—adjusting course was easy for it to say. Why didn't it conjure up eighty or a hundred capable sailors on the spot to get this thing moving?!

Then he looked up toward the masts ahead. All he saw were several bare masts standing on the deck, and an even greater sorrow rose in his heart—not only could they not set sail, this ship did not even have sails. Those poles were completely bare!

In his agitation, he did not even have time to seriously consider the strange terms Goat Head had just blurted out. Instinct alone made him seize the wheel before him, which for some reason seemed to be trembling faintly.

This was the first time in days that he had voluntarily placed his hands on the Lost Homeland's wheel. The strange conditions aboard the ship and Goat Head's repeated urging had always filled him with doubts, making him deeply resistant to the idea of taking the helm. But now, he no longer had the luxury of hesitation.

He gripped the wheel tightly. His blank mind did not even have time to consider how one man could command an empty, unmanned ghost ship.

The change came in the next instant.

A sound like mountains roaring and seas crashing exploded in Duncan's mind. It was as though ten thousand cheering people stood on shore seeing a ship off, as though hundreds upon hundreds of shouting sailors were calling their captain's name across the deck, mixed with desolate sea shanties and unseen, raging waves.

A ball of green flame appeared at the edge of his vision. Duncan instinctively looked down at his palm and saw a mass of emerald fire suddenly burst from the Lost Homeland's wheel, then sweep over him with astonishing speed, spreading across his entire body in the blink of an eye.

Within the fiercely burning flames, his flesh-and-blood body suddenly became hollow and unreal. His captain's uniform turned tattered and worn, as if it had been soaked in seawater for decades or centuries. Beneath his flesh, which had abruptly become ghostlike and translucent, Duncan could even vaguely see his bones—crystal-clear, jade-like bones wreathed in dancing fire, with the Undying Fire flowing through his body like water.

Yet he felt no pain or burning heat whatsoever. Amid the raging flames, he only felt his senses spreading in every direction.

The fire swept down from the helm, over the deck, over the railings, over the masts. The flames intertwined like a net, then rose from the deck like breathing, spreading all the way up the lonely masts until, between sea and fog, they wove themselves into enormous sails like gauze and mist.

The Lost Homeland had set sail, before this Reality Border that was rapidly collapsing.

(Holy hell, what a surprise!

PS: A new full-subscription bonus side story has gone up over on Sword of Dawn. In theory, it should be the final bonus chapter, so everyone can go take a look~~~)