Spirit World Drift Racing

Eerie Green Flame blazed over his body, turning flesh and bone into a translucent spirit body within the inferno. Duncan held the helm of the Lost Homeland amid the flowing fire, while his senses seemed to spread outward along the flames until they encompassed the entire ship.

So it did not need a crew at all.

The Lost Homeland could raise sail on its own. As long as the captain held the helm, it could set sail at any time.

The instant the Eerie Green Flame surged skyward, Duncan fell into brief panic. But over the past few days of exploration, he had witnessed more than one supernatural phenomenon aboard this ship. Those experiences forced him to calm down, and in those most critical seconds, he did not let go of the wheel in his hands.

Now, he was finally certain that these flames were some sort of "power" harmless to him. Never mind whether his body could recover afterward—at the very least, for now, the flames seemed to be helping him control the ghost ship beneath his feet.

The cheering roar in his mind gradually faded. Duncan felt clearer-headed than ever before. The Lost Homeland conveyed all manner of indescribable "sensations," like an extension of his own limbs. Though he still lacked the knowledge and experience required of a qualified captain, at least now he could control this ship alone.

The gauzy, mist-like Spirit Body Sails swelled upon the masts, while numerous auxiliary jibs and side sails began adjusting their angles on their own. The currents over the sea were chaotic, yet those spirit sails seemed to draw a unified driving force from the invisible turbulent winds. The massive Lost Homeland ended its aimless drifting and began to steady itself under the push of its sails.

Duncan tried turning the wheel in his hands. A tangible force fed back into his mind, and he could feel the enormous hull beneath his feet finally beginning to turn, attempting to move away from the boundless fog ahead.

But it still seemed to be turning too slowly. That endless wall of dense fog continued creeping closer. From the brass pipe beside the wheel came Goat Head's shrill cry: "Careful, we're approaching the limit of reality... We're about to fall into the Spirit World! Captain, we need—"

"I'm doing it!" Duncan roared, cutting Goat Head off. "Instead of yammering down there, why don't you think of something useful to do?!"

Goat Head fell silent at once. But just as Duncan thought it had finally quieted down, its hoarse, miserable, and even somewhat hair-raising shout suddenly rang out from the brass pipe again: "Go! Go! Go!"

Duncan: "...?"

At that moment, he suddenly felt that everything around him had lost its sense of reality. He had accepted the bizarre phenomenon he had encountered, accepted the supernatural powers aboard this ship, and had even accepted that he was currently being slow-cooked by a ball of green fire. Yet he had never imagined that Goat Head, which had filled him with a profound sense of weird danger from the very beginning, would do something so astonishing now... This wicked thing had always been wicked, but this was simply too wicked!

Yet the ever-approaching fog gave Duncan no more time to think or complain. Though the Lost Homeland had begun turning at high speed—with its massive hull, the speed of the turn could practically be described as drifting—the fog in the distance seemed to be consciously pursuing its prey. Great swathes of thin mist spread from its edges at astonishing speed, blanketing the entire space around the Lost Homeland almost instantly.

The moment the thin mist rose from the sea, Duncan distinctly sensed some bizarre change in his surroundings. The daylight abruptly dimmed, while the blue seawater had somehow become filled with countless Black Threads. Like densely tangled strands of hair, they floated up from beneath the surface and visibly dyed the entire ocean black.

Within the mist, countless shadowy things seemed to be emerging.

"We've fallen into the Spirit World!" Goat Head's noisy, bizarre cries of encouragement finally ceased. For some reason, its voice sounded as though it were coming from an extremely distant place, mixed with countless low, fine murmurs, as though a multitude of malicious voices surrounded Duncan. "But the Lost Homeland hasn't fallen all the way in yet—Captain, hold the helm! Before we sink into the Abyssal Deep Sea, the Lost Homeland still has the power to maintain its course. We can still get out!"

"That assumes I know where to steer!" Duncan snarled under his breath. His voice mingled with the crackling of the green flames, sounding as though it came from hell itself. "I've lost my sense of direction!"

"Instinct, Captain, instinct!" Goat Head shouted through the brass pipe. "Your instincts are more accurate than the markings on a sea chart!"

Duncan: "..."

A sense of helplessness rose within him, but Duncan had no spare energy to argue with a wicked Goat Head. Since it said to rely on instinct, then he would just have to charge ahead—

Following the faint sensation that remained from before the mist had risen, he gripped the wheel tightly and, with all his strength, spun it toward the direction he believed in.

The Lost Homeland let out a series of bloodcurdling howls from top to bottom. The enormous hull carved an astonishing arc across the sea, now entirely black. Wild winds howled and mist swirled, and through the dim light and fog, something seemed to be gradually emerging in the corner of Duncan's eye.

The next second, he realized it was a ship—a white vessel somewhat smaller than the Lost Homeland, with a black smokestack rising from the middle of its hull.

At the end of the beautiful arc carved by the Lost Homeland, the ship that had suddenly emerged from the fog was charging straight toward it—or rather, the Lost Homeland was charging straight toward that ship.

Only one cry remained in Duncan's heart: Damn it, Spirit World Drift Racing has gone horribly wrong!

He had explored this bizarre world for so long without seeing another living person. Why did a ship have to suddenly appear at a time like this? What were the odds of this two-way collision?

Gales howled, and towering waves surged. The Boundless Sea was unleashing its terrifying might to the fullest, and before this force of nature capable of tearing apart even extraordinary beings, the White Oak was squeezing the last bit of power from its steam engines to fight its fate of death.

Captain Lawrence Creed, his hair streaked with gray, stood in the wheelhouse. Yet the sturdy walls and glass windows offered him no sense of safety whatsoever. Both hands clutched the helm, and the White Oak's dying howls and convulsions seemed to flow directly into his mind through the gears and linkages behind the wheel.

Through the broad windows, he could clearly see enormous waves rising beyond the ship's side. But even more terrifying than those monstrous waves were the strange dense fog spreading over from the distant sea, and the Black Lightning flickering within it.

The White Oak was the most advanced steamship in the world, but no matter how advanced a machine was, it could only ensure abundant power in "normal" waters. What the ship and its captain now faced was the collapsing Reality Border, and the bone-piercing chill spreading from the fetid palaces of the evil gods at the bottom of the world.

"Captain! The Priest can't hold on much longer!"

The First Mate's desperate cry came from nearby. Lawrence heard a trace of muddy, hoarse echo in the man's voice. He immediately looked toward the front of the bridge and saw ominous Purple-Black Flame rising from the Incense Burner set upon the Prayer Platform. The respected and loyal clergyman in dark blue robes sat trembling before it, blood streaming from his nose and mouth as madness and lucidity alternated in his eyes.

Lawrence's heart sank.

He knew that the respected Priest was still standing on humanity's side. He was using his final devout faith and his purest, holiest soul to resist the call from "the depths of the world." But that resistance was at its limit. The Purple-Black Smoke rising from the Incense Burner was proof that the corruption had already broken through the prayers.

Once the Priest fell, every lucid mind aboard this ship could become a Gate leading to the Abyssal Deep Sea, or even the Gate of the Subspace.

"Captain!"

The First Mate called again from beside him, but Lawrence interrupted him. The middle-aged captain's face was filled with resolve. "Temporarily deactivate the Holy Emblem Beacon. We're sinking into the Spirit World!"

The First Mate stared in stunned disbelief. This man who had made his living at sea for half his life seemed unable to believe his ears. "Captain?!"

"Sink into the Spirit World—at least then, for ten minutes, we can avoid the fiercest wave of the border's collapse, and the Priest will have a chance to recover," Lawrence ordered again in an unquestionable tone, adding two words of explanation this time. "Carry out my order."

The First Mate opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something more, but then he gritted his teeth. "You're the captain!"

The crew swiftly began carrying out the captain's orders. Lawrence, personally holding the helm, took a deep breath. The Holy Emblem Beacon deep within the ship was gradually extinguishing. He could feel the invisible protective field surrounding the White Oak rapidly weakening. Without the protection of the holy relic, the ship was slowly sinking into the layer of the Spirit World between reality and the Abyssal Deep Sea.

Thin mist appeared upon the surrounding sea, and the seawater was gradually turning black.

This was dangerous, but throughout history, ships had returned to the human world from the Spirit World state. As a member of the Explorer's Association, he had read countless records on the subject, as well as all manner of "survival guides" written by survivors.

How much worse could it get? He only needed to let the White Oak hide from the storm at the edge of the Spirit World, then use the powerful output of its advanced steam engines to pull off a perilous Spirit World Drift. If luck still favored him, he could lead his crew back to the human world.

Then he would hurry up and hand that damned Anomaly 099 in the cargo hold to the Archon of Pland City-State, and never again get involved in the authorities' mess for the rest of his life.

It could not get any worse.

Lawrence comforted himself with that thought.

Then, on the distant sea that had suddenly turned black, a three-masted sailing ship a full size larger than the White Oak abruptly emerged. With an unstoppable momentum, it carved a breathtaking arc and came crashing straight at them...

Captain Lawrence stared blankly ahead.

"...Fuck."

(Oh my god! Another surprise!

Thank you all for your enthusiasm and support, and thanks to "Morals Have Been Eaten" for the Silver Alliance... Big Alliance. There'll be another chapter today =.=

But this update pace is only for today... After all, my body isn't what it used to be, hahaha.)