Time flew. Amid the tense, oppressive atmosphere, two days passed almost without anyone noticing.
After two days at sea, the whaling ship was only a day's voyage from Perilous Earth Island. On a clear day, someone looking out from the top of the mast could even glimpse the amber light of the island's great lighthouse flickering on the distant horizon.
One way or another, this long, bloody journey was nearing its end.
"Rustle, rustle..."
A hand covered in boils and festering sores gripped a charcoal pencil and raced across one side of a white sheet of paper.
"1. We will reach Twin Bays today. Our position and heading are confirmed. All we need to do is seize the helm. Should we act today?
2. The traitor Xia Lun is on duty at the helm today. He really has lost his memory completely. He doesn't even suspect me—the mad doctor has drawn most of his suspicion. Should we find a chance to assassinate Xia Lun first?
..."
A moment later, the writing was done. Two thick, nearly necrotic fingers gently picked up the paper, rubbed it once, then tossed it into the cargo hatch.
Watching the paper vanish into the hatch, Daolunte, the sailor with the rotting face, breathed a sigh of relief. He picked at a burst boil beside his ear with his thumb, then glanced warily behind him.
Since the night before, the once-ceaseless sea wind had fallen silent, and a layer of fog had spread across the boundless sea.
The fog was thick, limiting visibility to less than ten meters. The ruined forecastle and broken mast loomed in and out of the mist, swaying with the waves like ghosts that had lost their way.
No one had seen what he did.
Daolunte took a deep breath, then turned back.
A black tendril had already brought the paper back up. Daolunte eagerly snatched it away and found two large check marks drawn on the other side.
Today was the day of the final showdown.
"Heh." Daolunte couldn't help laughing. He licked the slightly salty, sticky sore beneath the corner of his mouth.
He was now the only member of the Secret Art group still loyal to the "monster." The others were either dead, like the Bearded Pirate, or had defected, like Xia Lun.
Soon, he would receive the secret teachings that led to eternal life! A cure for the horrific venereal disease that had left him little time to live was finally within reach.
Only one obstacle stood between him and restored health: kill Xia Lun and free his newly ascended mentor.
At that thought, Daolunte glanced down at the paper with its two check marks.
To be honest, after his mentor transformed into the Abyssal Hand, Daolunte had suspected for a time that he had lost his mind and become a monster consumed by endless hunger and bloodlust.
But the amnesiac Xia Lun had inadvertently resolved that concern. He had proved that their mentor still possessed plenty of reason.
Even after learning that, however, Daolunte had not known how to contact his mentor again. He could not understand the shrieks his mentor made after ascending.
Then Xia Lun's move to seize power by voting to execute the gunner had given the helpless Daolunte an idea.
He could write messages to his mentor. His mentor could no longer write, but he could answer with check marks and crosses.
"I really am a genius. Heh, heh, heh." Daolunte broke into a foolish grin.
Just then, a thoroughly unwelcome voice came from behind him.
"Heh, heh, heh..."
Daolunte's smile froze. In an instant, cold terror raked across his scalp like claws and seized his heart.
He whipped around and found the doctor staring at him with a vacant grin.
The fog was too thick. I didn't see the doctor behind me!
How much had he heard? Had he seen Daolunte communicating with the "monster"?
Daolunte's thoughts raced. He spun around and grabbed a thick hemp rope.
The pirates did not trust the crew and never issued them weapons. The rope used to haul the sails was the deadliest thing Daolunte had at hand.
Dim sunlight filtered through the fog onto the deck. Daolunte's shadow washed over the ship's doctor's face like a tide.
"Heh, heh, heh... Genius... Genius." The doctor pushed up his glasses and kept muttering. "We're all geniuses."
Daolunte relaxed. It seemed the doctor had seen nothing. His grip on the rope loosened without him realizing it.
To be honest, he did not want to kill the doctor, mad though he was. The doctor had never belonged to the Secret Art group, but they had spent nearly ten years aboard the ship together.
Before the doctor lost his mind, he had helped Daolunte countless times.
At that moment, the dull thud of a heavy metal object hitting the deck came from behind Daolunte.
Thud.
Daolunte's heart lurched. He slowly turned and saw a black tentacle set a matchlock and a pile of lead shot on the deck behind him.
"..." He went still for a moment, then lunged at the doctor!
His large, boil-covered hand clamped onto the doctor's shoulder. With a yank, he threw the frail man to the deck.
Daolunte's face twisted viciously. He planted a foot on the doctor's tailbone, bent down, and looped the coarse hemp rope around his neck.
The fibers were rough and prickly. Thick blood welled from the rope burn, and as the rope rubbed against his neck, drops spattered across the deck.
The doctor struggled desperately. He grabbed the noose and pulled down with all his strength, his body writhing like a fish out of water.
Without a word, Daolunte gripped both ends of the rope, crossed his hands, and pulled. He stamped down hard, crushing the doctor's last resistance.
Crack.
His tailbone snapped. The doctor's body arched back uncontrollably. Like a wooden saw, the rope caught against his cervical vertebrae and jerked left, twisting his entire head a full 120 degrees like a doll coming apart at the seams.
With a rasping sound born of suffocation, the doctor's fingers fell away from the noose.
Clatter.
His broken glasses spun onto the deck, where a boot crushed them underfoot.
The doctor was dead.
Daolunte released the rope and looked down at the doctor's mangled body. Instinct urged him to look away, but a morbid fascination held his gaze on the man's bulging, fishlike eyes for a long, long time.
As he stared, his breathing grew heavier and the hand holding the rope began to tremble beyond his control. Then he realized the smell of blood was spreading and whirled around in panic.
In the cold, damp fog, Xia Lun still stood at the helm like a scarecrow. He did not move. He seemed not to have noticed the murder committed right under his nose.
"Heh... heh, heh." Daolunte licked the burst sore at the corner of his mouth and muttered to reassure himself. "So arrogant. You really think everyone will follow your scenario? You think our mentor will sit there and wait to die? Ridiculous. Pathetic. You don't know everything after all..."
After speaking, he seemed to regain his composure. The murderer drew several deep breaths, grabbed the doctor's corpse, and tossed it through the cargo hatch into the hold like a broken doll.
"No turning back now. Time to act!" Daolunte gritted his teeth and snatched up the matchlock.
A moment later, his pupils abruptly contracted.
At some point, a pair of broad, dark hands with prominent knuckles had gripped the edge of the cargo hatch. Their long, sharp nails dug into the wood, making it creak.
The next instant, a Black man's face, missing most of its skull, suddenly rose through the hatch!
The First Mate?!
Daolunte's mouth fell open in terror.
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