My boatswain is killed again by those monsters. How much longer must I endure all this? I'm getting so tired. Sometimes, I wonder if I have actually died and this is hell. But then I realized that it's not possible. Those devils in hell are much more endearing than these creatures. Everything here defies logic, and that includes other humans. 

When I first arrived, I thought this place was in the early stages of the Industrial Revolution. But later, I discovered that they have dabbled in mysterious technologies as well.

Despite all those advancements, it is all futile. Humans are like ants in this world, struggling to survive. There are too many deadly beings in the darkness, and we are not the only civilization in this realm.

The knocking sound on Charles' door stopped his pen in its tracks.

"Captain, we are reaching the Coral Archipelago," Dipp reported from outside the cabin.

Charles walked to the bow of the ship and stared at the distant lighthouse that appeared and disappeared in the darkness. He breathed a sigh of relief now that they had finally arrived at their destination.

As S.S. Mouse drew closer, a grand island behind the lighthouse gradually came into focus.

The predominant color of the island was a pale gray that resembled that of coral rocks. The various human dwellings on the island shared the same color theme.

The harbor of Coral Archipelago seemed busy with steamships of different sizes coming and going. Weathered and rugged seamen were waving their hats in jubilee to celebrate their survival.

Coral Archipelago was a newly developed island; an island that was deemed fit for human habitation could not solely rely on coral. It needed resources from other islands, and that necessity resulted in the appearance of supply ships like S.S. Mouse.

As one passed through the crowd on the pier, one would instantly notice that many of them had ears that curled inward. That was a distinctive trait of the locals of the Coral Archipelago. Only those who had lived on the island for more than five years would have their ears inexplicably curl inward for unknown reasons. To date, no one could explain this phenomenon.

However, such a deformed physical trait did not deter people from eagerly wanting to migrate to the Coral Archipelago. Compared to the troubles of other islands, ear deformation was an absolutely minor side effect.

After swiftly settling the administrative matters with the pier's administrator, Charles walked out of the dock with a troubled expression.

As expected, with more than half of the cargo gone, he had incurred a significant loss instead of making a profit. The past two months that he had spent out in the waters were all in vain.

It would take some time for the dock to arrange supplies for the next expedition, thus providing a brief respite for the crew of S.S. Mouse.

A cluster of buildings of varying heights was at a close distance to the dock. Some were taverns providing a place of rest for seamen, but a larger number of them were recreational venues.

Along the bustling streets, ragged beggars lay or sat as they mumbled words that only they themselves could understand.

These were sailors driven mad by their experience at sea. No one knew what they had experienced, but everyone understood one thing—the iron-clad rule of the sea: See no evil, hear no evil, think no evil.

These people were considered lucky ones, as in most cases, sailors who encountered maritime disasters disappeared along with their ships.

Pushing open the doors of Bat Tavern, a group of burly men cast unfriendly glances toward Charles as the latter entered the brightly lit hall. The empty bottles on the counter clearly showed that they had been drinking.

Yet, the moment they caught a whiff of the sea-scented odor emanating from Charles, they nonchalantly shifted their gazes away. They knew that those who could survive the treacherous seas were not to be trifled with.

"I'll be staying for five days. Bring some food to my room," Charles informed the staff.

"That will be 630 Echo for five days. Mushroom soup with bread would cost 30. The total will be 660 Echo."

In the damp room, Charles slowly savored his lunch. The food in this subterranean realm was far from exceptional. He tore the darkened bread into pieces and dropped them into the viscous mushroom soup.

Even when soaked in soup, the bitter taste of the charred bread lingered in his throat, but he had grown accustomed to it.

Charles whipped out a handphone from his pocket and absentmindedly swiped his finger across the cracked screen as he munched on the bitter bread. The scratched display remained as dark as the sky outside.

Only slow chewing sounds could be heard in the room.

"Cap'n, are ye in?" Old John's voice suddenly sounded from outside the room.

Charles quickly put the phone away before responding, "Come in. The door isn't locked."

The first mate of S.S. Mouse cautiously entered the room, his face showing a tinge of remorse. "Capt'n. I wanna let ye know. I wanna quit."

Charles' brows were pressed together. "Why? Haven't you gotten used to these things?"

Whenever a crew member died on an expedition, Charles had always mentally braced himself that a fellow crewmate would quit. He had expected that it would be Dipp who would throw in the towel since the latter had almost pissed in his pants in fear. It had never crossed his mind that it would be Old John who had accompanied him since the very beginning.

Old John waved his hands repeatedly and commented, "I'm too ol' now. There were times when I fell asleep at the helm. I wanna be away from the sea."

Charles's mood worsened, but he didn't try to persuade Old John to stay. He wanted to part ways on amicable terms. Placing a stack of bills on the table, he said to Old John, "This is your share."

Old John received his payment but did not turn to leave. He remained in place, seemingly hesitant about something.

"Is there something else?" Charles asked.

"Heh heh, Capt'n. Ye know, I did save up some money, but I've spent most of it on the ladies. This ain't enough for me for the rest 'a my life."

"What? You are not asking me to sponsor you, are you?"

"Nah, 'a course not. I know that's impossible. I have somethin' good that I plan to sell to ye. Since I won't be sailin' no more, I have no use for this weapon anymore," Old John said as he pulled out a short, black saber that was as long as his forearm. To be fair, it actually resembled a larger dagger than a saber.

Charles looked at the stout old man before him in confusion. Yes, this was indeed his first mate's weapon, but he did not need another melee weapon.

"Capt'n! Don't underestimate this knife. It's a relic!"

Charles had heard about these mysterious artifacts, but he had never come into contact with one himself.

Many speculated about the origins of these relics. Some claimed that these items came from the depths of the sea, others believed they originated from the legendary Land of Light, and there were those who said that the relics were discovered on unexplored islands. Regardless of their origins, one thing was certain: these objects possessed special powers.

The nature of these items with special powers varied greatly, and using them came at a cost. And the cost differed depending on the powers they unleashed.

He had once witnessed a ring that went on auction on Albion Isles. The starting bid was 580,000 Echo. It granted the user the ability to become invisible temporarily, but the price to pay was an unbearable itch that afflicted the entire body.

"What's so special about this blade?" Charles asked.

Old John immediately perked up and explained, "This blade is very sharp, incredibly sharp!" Taking the long dagger in his hand, he eagerly scanned the room as he tried to find something for demonstration.

"No thanks. I think I would prefer my gun."

Relying solely on his revolver did feel a bit inadequate, and Charles did think of getting a few relics for self-defense. However, he did not want something that would be of little use.

Although the technological advancements in this subterranean realm were a bit skewed, some of the larger islands already had electricity running. What use was a mystical item in a world where there were guns and cannons? And they even had side effects to boot!

Sensing Charles' reluctance to purchase the relic, Old John grew anxious. "Capt'n. It has another special power too. Just holdin' on to it will enhance yer healing capabilities."

"Two powers? Then what's the side effect?"

Relics were peculiar in the sense that their benefits and drawbacks were not always equal. Sometimes, the drawbacks outweighed the minimal benefits that they provided. Some drawbacks might even make the user experience what it was like to be in a living hell.

"It's not particularly severe. Ye might feel the urge to commit suicide if ye hold it for a long while. Just don't hold it all the time, yer be fine."

Taking the dagger in his hand, Charles found it to be surprisingly light. It did not seem to be made of iron but rather felt like plastic to him.

He then made a cut across his palm with the blade's tip, and indeed, the wound slowly began to heal, albeit not as dramatically as he was expecting it to. It was, at most, three times faster than usual.

"The side effect is acceptable. Its powers seem alright too. Since I don't have a doctor on my ship, I guess this relic can partially compensate for it."

Charles decided to purchase the knife, knowing that being prepared was always for the best. After all, some money had to be spent if it was deemed necessary.

Both parties understood each other's circumstances and eventually closed the deal at 160,000 Echo.