The sound of the tides gradually faded from his ears.
Hunter opened his eyes, and everything around him still seemed to have afterimages.
An unfamiliar ceiling.
He coughed violently, as if he had choked on something. The congested feeling in his lungs eased, but he did not cough up any water.
Hunter only remembered vaguely having a dream. He seemed to have dreamed of a world forged from steel, where crimson molten iron replaced the rivers. Looking up, the sun was gone from the sky, replaced by an eternally burning furnace.
His awareness and reason gradually returned. He slowly recalled what had happened, rubbed his still faintly aching head, and gave a bitter smile.
He had no idea what happened afterward. He only knew that the moment he saw those steel warships, the string of reason in his mind had snapped.
It was not his fault, either. As a scholar, how could he possibly remain indifferent after discovering that everything he had done in his life had been utterly meaningless?
Hunter sat up in bed. This place did not seem to be aboard a ship anymore. The curtains swayed gently in the breeze, and sunlight spilled in through the window.
But Hunter had no interest whatsoever in investigating. He did not even glance out the window, merely sitting there blankly, his eyes filled with numbness.
It did not matter anymore. His research, his efforts, his life—none of them seemed to hold any value now.
The door opened, and a man in a white robe walked in. He paused when he saw Hunter sitting there, then smiled.
"You're awake so soon? Good thing you didn't try to escape. Ever since that Castel Syndrome patient escaped and caused a mess last time, the wards here have all been fitted with strict security