Chapter 1 It Doesn't Need a Crew

Burning with a ghostly green flame, flesh and bone transmuting into a translucent spirit-form amidst the blaze, Duncan gripped the helm of the Sea of the Lost, his senses extending outward as if following the fiery tendrils, ultimately encompassing the entire vessel.

So, it didn't need a crew at all.

The Sea of the Lost could sail on its own. With only the captain at the helm, it could set sail at any moment.

Duncan was briefly overwhelmed when the eerie green flames erupted, but having witnessed more than one supernatural phenomenon on the ship during his explorations of the past few days, he managed to regain his composure and keep his hands on the wheel during those crucial few seconds.

Now, he was certain that the flames were some kind of "power" that was harmless to him—regardless of whether his body would ever recover, at least for now, it seemed that the power of the flames was helping him control this ghost ship beneath his feet.

The roaring cheers in his mind gradually subsided, and Duncan felt his mind was clearer than ever. The Sea of the Lost transmitted all sorts of indescribable "sensations," as if it were an extension of his own limbs. Although he still lacked the knowledge and experience of a qualified captain, he was now, at least, capable of controlling the ship single-handedly.

Veil-like spirit sails billowed on the masts, and numerous auxiliary jibs and staysails began to adjust their angles automatically. At that moment, the airflow over the sea was chaotic, yet the spirit sails seemed to draw uniform power from the invisible, turbulent winds. The massive Sea of the Lost ceased its aimless drifting and began to stabilize under the propulsion of the sails.

Duncan attempted to turn the helm, and tangible force feedback flooded into his mind. He could feel the massive hull beneath him finally beginning to turn, trying to steer away from the boundless fog ahead.

But the turning speed still seemed insufficient. The boundless fog was still closing in, and the goat-headed figure's shrill cry echoed from the copper pipe beside the helm: "Warning, approaching the limit of reality... we're about to fall into the spirit world! Captain, we need..."

"I'm working on it!" Duncan roared, interrupting the goat-head. "Instead of squawking down there, why don't you think of something helpful!"

The goat-head fell silent instantly, but just as Duncan thought it had finally shut up, a hoarse, piercing, even somewhat spine-chilling shout suddenly came from the copper pipe: "Go! Go! Go!"

Duncan: "...?"

At that moment, he suddenly felt that everything around him had lost its sense of reality. He had accepted the anomalies he had encountered, the supernatural power on this ship, and even the fact that he was being slow-cooked by a ball of green fire, but he never imagined that the goat-head, which had given him a great sense of bizarre danger from the beginning, would now behave in such an astonishing way... This strange thing had been strange from the start, but now it was just too strange!

But the ever-approaching fog gave Duncan no more time to think or complain. Although the Sea of the Lost had begun to turn rapidly—the turning speed could almost be described as drifting, given its massive hull—the fog in the distance seemed to be consciously pursuing its prey. It was spreading out large patches of thin mist at its edges, and the mist was spreading so rapidly that it enveloped the entire space around the Sea of the Lost in an instant.

The moment the mist rose from the sea, Duncan clearly felt that the surrounding environment had undergone some strange change. The sky suddenly became particularly dim, and the originally blue seawater had, without him realizing it, revealed countless wisps of black thread. These black threads floated up from beneath the surface of the sea like densely tangled hairs and dyed the entire ocean pitch black at a speed visible to the naked eye.

In the mist, countless shadowy things seemed to be emerging.

"We're falling into the spirit world!" The goat-head's noisy and bizarre "Go!" finally ceased. Its shouting sounded as if it was coming from a very distant place, interspersed with countless low, dense murmurs, as if a large number of malicious voices were surrounding Duncan. "But the Sea of the Lost hasn't completely fallen in yet—Captain, hold the helm! Before sinking into the abyssal sea, the Sea of the Lost has the power to maintain its course. We can still get out!"

"Provided I know where to steer!" Duncan roared in a low voice, his voice mixed with the crackling of the green flames, as if coming from hell. "I've lost my sense of direction!"

"Intuition, Captain, intuition!" The goat-head shouted in the copper pipe. "Your intuition is more accurate than the markings on the charts!"

Duncan: "..."

A sense of powerlessness welled up in his heart, but Duncan didn't have the extra energy to argue with a strange goat-head. Since the other party said to rely on intuition, then he might as well just be reckless—

Following the last trace of feeling left over from before the mist rose, he gripped the helm tightly and turned it with all his might in the direction he believed in.

The Sea of the Lost emitted a series of spine-chilling wails from top to bottom. The massive hull drew an astonishing arc on the sea, which had been completely transformed into a pitch-black expanse. The wind howled, and the mist swirled. In the dim light and mist, Duncan's peripheral vision suddenly caught something in the mist that seemed to be gradually emerging.

The next second, he discovered that it was a ship, a white ship that was a circle smaller than the Sea of the Lost, with a black chimney standing in the middle of its hull.

At the end of the graceful arc drawn by the Sea of the Lost, the ship that suddenly emerged from the mist was crashing straight towards them—or rather, the Sea of the Lost was crashing straight towards it.

Only a shout remained in Duncan's heart: "Son of a bitch, spirit world drifting gone wrong!"

He had explored this strange world for so long without seeing any other living people, so why did a ship suddenly pop up at this moment? What kind of two-way rendezvous with such probability is this?

...

The wind howled, and the waves soared. The boundless sea was unleashing its terrifying power to its heart's content, and in the face of this natural force that was enough to tear apart extraordinary powerhouses, the White Oak was squeezing out the last bit of power from its steam engine to fight against the fate of death.

Captain Lawrence Creed, with his gray hair, stood in the wheelhouse. The sturdy walls and glass windows of the wheelhouse gave him no sense of security. He gripped the helm tightly, and the White Oak's death throes and convulsions seemed to flow directly into his mind through a series of gears and linkages behind the helm.

Through the wide windows, he could clearly see the astonishing waves rising outside the ship, but even more frightening than the astonishing waves was the strange fog rising and spreading from the distant sea, and the black lightning that loomed in the fog.

The White Oak was the most advanced steamship in the world, but even the most advanced machine could only ensure that the ship was full of power in "normal" waters. But now, he and his captain had to face the collapsing border of reality, the biting cold that was spreading up from the putrid palaces of the evil gods at the bottom of the world.

"Captain! The pastor can't hold on any longer!"

The first mate's shrill cry came from the side. Lawrence heard a slightly turbid and hoarse echo in the other party's voice. He then looked at the front of the command platform and saw ominous purplish-black flames rising from the censer placed on the prayer platform. The respectable and loyal clergyman, dressed in a dark blue robe, was sitting in front of the censer, trembling all over. His mouth and nose were full of blood, and the expressions of madness and sanity in his eyes alternated constantly.

Lawrence's heart sank.

He knew that the respectable pastor was still on the side of humanity. He was using his last bit of pious faith and his purest and most holy soul to fight against the call from the "depths of the world," but this persistence was already at the end of its rope. The purplish-black smoke coming out of the censer was clear evidence that the pollution had broken through the prayer.

Once the pastor fell, every sober mind on this ship could become a door to the abyssal sea, or even to the subspace.

"Captain!"

The first mate's voice came from the side again. Lawrence interrupted him. The middle-aged captain's face was full of determination at the moment: "Temporarily close the holy emblem beacon and we will sink into the spirit world!"

The first mate was instantly stunned. The man who had spent half his life at sea could not believe his ears: "Captain?!"

"Sink into the spirit world—at least for ten minutes, we can avoid the most violent wave of the border collapse, and the pastor will have a chance to recover," Lawrence ordered again in an unquestionable tone, but this time he added two explanations. "Execute my order."

The first mate opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something else, but then he gritted his teeth: "You're the captain!"

The crew began to quickly carry out the captain's orders, and Lawrence, who was personally at the helm, took a deep breath. The holy emblem beacon located deep in the cabin was gradually extinguishing, and he could feel that the invisible protective force field that enveloped the White Oak was rapidly weakening. Without the protection of the sacred object, the ship was sinking bit by bit into the "spirit world" interlayer between reality and the abyssal sea.

A thin mist appeared on the surrounding sea, and the sea water was gradually turning black.

This was very dangerous, but in history, there were ships that had returned to the human world from the spirit state—as a member of the Explorer Association, he had read countless books on this subject, as well as various "survival guides" written by survivors.

How much worse could it get? He just needed to let the White Oak hide from a wave of storms on the edge of the spirit world, and then use the surging power output by the advanced steam engine to perform a thrilling "spirit world drift." If luck still favored him, 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 city-state magistrate of Pland, and never wade into the muddy waters of the authorities again for the rest of his life.

It couldn't get any worse.

Lawrence comforted himself like this.

Then he saw a three-masted sailing ship, a circle larger than the White Oak, suddenly appear on the pitch-black sea in the distance. With a spirit of indomitable courage, it drew a thrilling arc and crashed head-on...

Captain Lawrence stared blankly ahead.

"...Fuck."

(Mom! Another surprise!

Thank you for your enthusiasm and support. I'll update another chapter today =. =

But this update rhythm is only for today... After all, my body is not as good as it was 233)