A ghostly green flame burned fiercely on Duncan's body, turning his flesh and bones into a translucent spirit form. He held the helm of the Lost Homeland, and his senses seemed to stretch out along with the flames, eventually spreading throughout the entire ship. It turned out that the ship didn't need a crew at all. The Lost Homeland could set sail on its own as long as the captain was at the helm; it could depart at any moment.
When the ghostly green flames leaped into the air, Duncan felt a moment of panic. However, after the supernatural events he had witnessed over the past few days on this ship, he forced himself to calm down and kept a firm grip on the helm during those critical seconds. Now, he was certain that this flame was some kind of "power" that posed no harm to him. Regardless of whether his body could recover later, at least for now, this flame was helping him control the ghost ship beneath his feet.
The cheering sounds in his mind gradually faded away, and Duncan felt clearer-headed than ever. The Lost Homeland responded like an extension of his own body, sending him various indescribable "sensations." Although he still lacked the knowledge and experience of a qualified captain, at least now he had the ability to control the ship by himself.
The gauzy spirit sails billowed on the mast, and many auxiliary sails adjusted their angles on their own. The air currents on the sea were chaotic, but the spirit sails seemed to draw consistent power from the invisible winds. The massive Lost Homeland stopped its aimless drifting and began to stabilize under the push of the sails.
Duncan tried to turn the helm, and he felt a solid feedback in his mind. He sensed the huge ship gradually changing direction, trying to steer away from the endless fog ahead. However, the speed of the turn didn't seem fast enough; the vast, thick fog was still creeping closer. A sharp voice from the copper pipe next to the helm shouted, "Warning! Approaching the limits of reality... We're about to fall into the spirit world! Captain, we need..."
"I'm working on it!" Duncan shouted, cutting off the voice. "Instead of making noise, think of something useful!"
The voice fell silent, but just when Duncan thought it was finally quiet, the copper pipe suddenly let out a hoarse, eerie shout: "Go! Go! Go!"
Duncan: "…?"
At that moment, he felt everything around him lose its sense of reality. He accepted the strange phenomena he was experiencing, accepted the supernatural power on this ship, and even accepted that he was being slowly cooked by the green fire. Yet, he never expected that the goat-headed entity, which had given him a sense of eerie danger from the start, would act so strangely now. This bizarre thing had always been odd, but it was truly too bizarre at this moment!
But the encroaching fog did not give Duncan more time to think or complain. Although the Lost Homeland had begun to turn rapidly—its massive body almost drifting—the thick fog in the distance seemed to chase after its prey with intent. The edges of the fog spread out in thick wisps, and it quickly enveloped the entire area around the Lost Homeland.
As the thin mist rose from the sea, Duncan felt a strange change in the environment. The light dimmed suddenly, and the originally blue sea water was now filled with countless thin black lines that had appeared from nowhere. These black lines floated up from beneath the surface like tangled hair, rapidly turning the entire ocean pitch black.
In the mist, countless shadowy figures seemed to emerge.
"We've fallen into the spirit world!" The goat-headed voice finally stopped its noisy "Go!" It sounded as if it came from a very distant place, mixed with countless low, murmuring voices, as if many malicious sounds were surrounding Duncan. "But the Lost Homeland hasn't completely fallen yet—Captain, hold the helm! Before we sink into the deep sea, the Lost Homeland still has the power to maintain its course, and we can still get out!"
"Provided I know where to go!" Duncan shouted, his voice mixed with the crackling of the green flames, sounding like it came from hell. "I've lost my sense of direction!"
"Intuition, Captain, intuition!" the goat-headed voice shouted through the copper pipe. "Your intuition is more accurate than the lines on the map!"
Duncan: "…"
A wave of helplessness washed over him, but he didn't have the energy to argue with a bizarre goat head. Since it suggested relying on intuition, he decided to be a bit reckless. Following the faint feeling left by the mist, he gripped the helm tightly and turned it with all his strength toward what he believed was the right direction.
The Lost Homeland let out a series of chilling howls as it carved an impressive arc across the now pitch-black sea. The wind howled, and the mist swirled. In that dim light and fog, Duncan's peripheral vision suddenly caught sight of something slowly emerging from the mist.
In the next moment, he realized it was a ship—a white vessel that looked smaller than the Lost Homeland, with a black chimney rising from its middle.
At the end of the beautiful arc that the Lost Homeland made, the ship that suddenly appeared from the mist was heading straight toward them—or rather, the Lost Homeland was heading straight toward it.
Duncan's mind was filled with a single shout: "What the hell, the spirit world speedboat is in trouble!"
After exploring this strange world for so long without seeing another living person, why did a ship suddenly appear at this moment? What kind of crazy coincidence was this?
...
The wind howled, and huge waves crashed. The boundless sea was unleashing its terrifying power, and before this natural force that could tear apart even the strongest beings, the White Oak was squeezing out the last bit of power from its steam engine to fight against death.
Captain Lawrence Creed, with his graying hair, stood in the cockpit. The solid walls and glass windows of the cockpit offered him no sense of safety. He gripped the helm tightly, and the dying cries and convulsions of the White Oak seemed to surge directly into his mind through the series of gears and levers behind the helm.
Through the wide windows, he could clearly see the astonishing waves rising outside the ship. But even more frightening than those waves was the strange thick fog rising from the distant sea, along with the flickering black lightning within it.
The White Oak was the most advanced steamship in the world, but no matter how advanced the machine was, it could only ensure that the ship was powerful in "normal" waters. Now, it and its captain faced the collapsing borders of reality, and the bitter cold rising from the foul palaces of evil deities deep within the world.
"Captain! The priest is about to collapse!"
The first mate's desperate shout came from the side. Lawrence heard a hint of hoarse echoing in the other man's voice. He quickly looked toward the prayer altar, where an ominous purple-black flame was rising from the incense burner. The honorable and loyal priest, dressed in a deep blue robe, trembled as he sat before the burner, blood filling his mouth and nose, his eyes alternating between madness and clarity.
Lawrence's heart sank.
He knew that the respected priest was still standing on the side of humanity, using his last devout faith and pure soul to resist the call from "the depths of the world." But this persistence was already at its limit; the purple-black smoke rising from the incense burner was proof that the corruption had broken through the prayers.
Once the priest fell, every awakened mind on this ship could become a gateway to the deep sea or even to the subspace.
"Captain!"
The first mate's voice came again. Lawrence interrupted him, his face set with determination. "Temporarily shut down the holy beacon; we are sinking into the spirit world!"
The first mate was momentarily stunned, as if he couldn't believe his ears. "Captain?!"
"Sinking into the spirit world—this way, at least for ten minutes, we can avoid the most violent wave of the collapsing border, and the priest will have a chance to recover," Lawrence ordered in an undeniable tone, adding two explanations this time. "Follow my orders."
The first mate opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say something else, but then he gritted his teeth. "You are the captain!"
The crew quickly began to follow the captain's orders. Lawrence took a deep breath as he personally held the helm. The holy beacon deep within the ship was gradually extinguishing. He could feel the invisible protective field surrounding the White Oak weakening rapidly. Without the protection of the holy relic, the ship was slowly sinking into the "spirit world" layer between reality and the deep sea.
Thin mist appeared on the surrounding sea, and the water was gradually turning black.
This was dangerous, but historically, there had been ships that returned from the spirit world. As a member of the Explorer's Association, he had read countless texts on this subject and various "survival guides" written by survivors.
How much worse could it get? He just needed to let the White Oak hide at the edge of the spirit world during a storm, then use the powerful output from the advanced steam engine for a daring "spirit world drift." If luck was still on his side, he could lead his crew back to the human world.
Then he would quickly hand over that damn "Anomaly 099" in the cargo hold to the governor of the Prand City-State and never get involved with the authorities again for the rest of his life.
It couldn't get worse.
Lawrence comforted himself.
Then he saw a three-masted sailing ship suddenly emerge from the now pitch-black sea, a ship much larger than the White Oak, cutting through the water with an unstoppable momentum, carving a breathtaking arc as it charged straight at them...
Captain Lawrence stared blankly ahead.
"…Damn."
(End of Chapter)