Crossing Paths

The enormous shadow bore down on them, and everyone aboard the White Oak witnessed a moment they would remember for the rest of their lives.

It was an ancient, majestic three-masted warship—an age when steamships were no longer unusual, yet this sailing warship emerging from the thick fog seemed as ancient as though it had stepped out of an oil painting from a century ago. Its masts towered high, its sides rose steeply, and ghostly green flames burned across its black wooden hull. Its enormous sails billowed in the void, filled with howling phantoms and layers of blazing fire—such a sight could only appear in the most horrifying legends of shipwrecks, even upon the dreadful Boundless Sea.

"We're going to collide!!!"

A sailor cried out in alarm. Even these men who made their living at sea, renowned for their courage and roughness, could not help but lose their composure before such a colossal thing. They shouted and ran; some tried to find shelter on the deck, some clung to anything nearby that could hold them steady, while others simply fell to their knees amid the rocking ship and raging winds, praying with unprecedented devotion and chanting the names of Goddess of Storms Gemona or Death Master Bartok.

On the Boundless Sea, the blessings of the gods had already waned, yet the power of these two true gods alone could still watch over all their followers equally.

But not every sailor had lost his calm. The First Mate immediately turned to the captain he trusted most. He knew that sailing the Boundless Sea was fraught with danger, and an experienced captain was always the key to determining the fate of the entire ship. Lawrence had sailed the seas for over thirty years. This old captain, now past fifty, might no longer have the strength of his youth, but his experience surviving upon these waters might yet win everyone a slim chance at life.

The vessel emerging from the thick fog was clearly not a ship sailing normally through the real world. It was more like something that had surfaced from the Spirit World, or from somewhere "deeper." If it was some kind of Supernatural Phenomenon, then perhaps it could be fought with supernatural power as well.

Old captains who sailed the Boundless Sea had more or less some experience when dealing with Supernatural Phenomena.

Yet all the First Mate saw on his captain's face was fear and shock.

The old captain gripped the wheel without moving, as though he had not noticed that the entire ship had been swallowed by shadow. He stared fixedly at the ship bearing down on them, the muscles in his face taut as stone. At last, he forced several words through clenched teeth, words colder than the winds of the Frigid Sea: "...It's the Lost Homeland..."

"C-Captain?!" The First Mate was startled by the name that drifted into his ears. Like everyone else who made their living on the Boundless Sea, he had heard that name from sailors older, more seasoned, and more superstitious than himself. "What did you say?! That..."

"The Lost Homeland!!!"

Captain Lawrence seemed not to hear the First Mate at all. He merely clutched the White Oak's wheel with all his strength, roaring hoarsely as though shouting at something—and almost the instant his voice fell, the towering hull of the Lost Homeland finally touched the White Oak's bow.

Nearly every sailor screamed.

Yet the earth-shaking collision they had expected never came—like a grand phantom, the enormous ship wreathed in green flames swept across the White Oak's deck in a howling mirage of fire. Thick hull plating, gloomy cabins, dimly lit corridors, a keel and pillars burning with fierce flames... The sailors stared wide-eyed in terror as they watched themselves crash into the ghost ship's illusion, while its burning green flames swept past them like a net of fire.

Lawrence likewise watched the flames howl toward him, but before they reached him, he saw them sweep over the First Mate ahead of him—the First Mate's body abruptly turned into an illusory spirit within the phantom fire, the bones inside it burning like kindling. Then he saw the Priest beside the Prayer Platform, flames flickering across the Priest's body as though the god behind him was still using meager blessings to protect him from being devoured by the Lost Homeland.

Then the flames burned over Lawrence as well. He saw his own body undergo the same transformation, while intense weariness, submission, and fear filled his entire being. The ocean talisman hidden on his person began to take effect, and sensations of heat and coolness alternating through him barely preserved his reason. With what little sanity remained, he "passed through" the cabins and corridors of the Lost Homeland.

Gloomy, oppressive cabins rushed toward him and vanished behind him. Rotten ropes and barnacles clung to ancient wooden pillars burning with green fire. He saw a vast cargo hold, where all manner of strange objects that should have been buried in the deep sea lay quietly within. Then he saw a luxurious cabin, with a wooden goat head placed upon the table at its center.

The goat head turned and gazed coldly into Lawrence's eyes.

At last, Lawrence gathered all his strength and raised his head. He saw the figure standing at the wheel—beside the classical ship's wheel, a tall figure clad in a black navigator's uniform was majestic and terrifying, like the ruler of a nightmare. That figure commanded every ghostly flame, and even the sea, already deep within the Spirit World, seemed cowed by his majesty, tearing open a rift behind him.

Lawrence resigned himself and closed his eyes—he knew that he had become part of the Lost Homeland. That nightmare-like captain needed sacrifices to satisfy his endless emptiness and loneliness.

But the next second, he forced his eyes open again. It felt as though every ounce of courage and madness he had possessed in his life had gathered within those few seconds. Recalling the knowledge he had gained from books and legends, he looked at the terrifying captain aboard the Lost Homeland with as much honesty and calm as he could muster.

"You don't need to take everyone—take me, and spare my crew."

Yet the tall figure did not answer. He merely cast a cold gaze toward Lawrence, and there seemed to be the slightest hint of curiosity in that gaze—as though he was curious why such a tiny mortal captain dared to bargain with him.

Lawrence finally could not restrain himself any longer and roared, "They all have wives, children, and elderly parents!!"

The figure standing aboard the Lost Homeland finally reacted. He stared in Lawrence's direction and seemed to say something, but a loud howling suddenly rose from nearby. Amid that howl, Lawrence could only vaguely make out some sounds, yet not a single word clearly.

The response from the Lost Homeland dissipated amid the roar of the waves—

"What did you say?! The wind's too loud—I can't hear you!!"

The next instant, a tremendous clamor rushed into Lawrence's ears, mixed with the wind, the crashing waves, and the shouts of sailors outside the door. From the corner of his eye, he saw the green flames rapidly fading, while the last lingering phantom of the Lost Homeland dissolved from the air like mist.

Lawrence sucked in a sharp breath, then noticed that his hands, which had been burned away by the green flames, had returned to normal. Everyone else in the wheelhouse had also become flesh and blood again. The devout Priest was sprawled beside the Prayer Platform, gasping for breath while constantly chanting the holy name of Goddess of Storms Gemona. Meanwhile, the ominous purple-black smoke in the Incense Burner gradually dispersed, replaced by pure white smoke rising from the brass cover.

It took Lawrence a long while to catch his breath. Then he looked around uncertainly, as though he could not believe that nightmare had ended, until the First Mate's voice came from beside him. "Captain! That ship—the Lost Homeland has left!"

Lawrence was somewhat dazed. After several seconds, he murmured, "...He actually let us go?"

The First Mate did not hear him clearly at first. "Captain? What did you say?"

"That Captain Duncan..." Lawrence muttered instinctively, but then, as though he had accidentally uttered some forbidden word, he slapped himself. He abruptly raised his head and looked at the First Mate. "Take roll of the entire ship, quickly! See if anyone is missing!"

The First Mate immediately nodded and accepted the order, but just as he was about to leave, Lawrence stopped him again. "And see if there's anyone extra aboard!"

The First Mate froze for a moment, then understood. A trace of fearful uncertainty appeared in his eyes. He drew a deep breath, softly chanted the name of the Goddess of Storms, then hurried out onto the deck.

Aboard the White Oak, still sailing in its Spirit World state, the assembly bell rang like a death knell.

(There should theoretically be another update at noon~~)