Surviving as the Captain of a Mad Cthulhu Deep Sea - Chapter 2

chapter 2

Relics

Chapter 2: Relics

Chapter 2: Relics

My boatswain is dead again. Killed by those things. When will these days ever end? It’s becoming too hard to endure.

Sometimes I wonder if I died long ago and this is actually hell.

But on second thought, that’s unlikely. The demons of hell would be much cuter than those things. Nothing here makes sense, not even humanity.

When I first arrived, I thought this civilization was at the early industrial revolution. But later I learned they’ve made considerable progress in the Mystic Realm as well.

Yet it changes nothing. Humanity still lives like ants, clinging to survival. The darkness is full of life-threatening things. And we’re not the only civilized species here.

Charles’s diary was interrupted by a knock. Dip, a deckhand, called out from the other side of the door.

“Captain, we’re nearing the Coral Capital.”

Charles walked to the bow and sighed with relief as he saw the faint, flickering light of a lighthouse appearing and disappearing in the distance. Finally, they had arrived.

As the Old Rat slowly approached, the majestic island behind the lighthouse gradually came into focus.

Most of the island was lit by oil lamps and a few electric lights. From the ship, the dark world seemed to sparkle with fireflies.

The port of the Coral Archipelago was bustling with activity, with various steamships of all sizes coming and going. Rough-looking sailors waved their hats and cheered, celebrating their survival once again.

This was a newly developed island. For its large population to maintain a proper civilization, self-sufficiency alone was insufficient. Resources from other islands were necessary, and this was the lifeblood of cargo ships like the Old Rat.

As the Old Rat slowly approached, everything on the island gradually came into focus. The predominant color of the island was the grayish-white of coral rock, and the human structures built upon it shared the same hue.

Among the people coming and going on the docks, many had their ears curled inward. These were all natives of the Coral Archipelago.

After residing in the Coral Archipelago for more than five years, human ears inexplicably curl inward. No one knows why.

However, this did not dampen the enthusiasm of those seeking to migrate to the island from other islands. Compared to the troublesome issues on other islands, the ear deformation was considered the most minor side effect.

After quickly completing the handover with the Administrator, Charles left the dock with a somewhat displeased expression.

As he had expected, more than half of the cargo was missing, and instead of making a profit on this voyage, he had suffered a considerable loss. Two months of labor had been wasted.

Distributing the supplies at the dock took time, giving the crew of the Old Rat a brief respite.

Near the dock, buildings of varying heights stood in a row. Some were inns for sailors, while most were places of entertainment.

On the bustling street, beggars in tattered clothes lay or sat, muttering words only they understood. These were sailors driven mad by the Subterranean Sea. No one knew what they had experienced, and to avoid their fate, one must remember the sea’s iron rule: “See nothing, hear nothing, think nothing.”

Still, they were lucky. Most sailors lost in shipwrecks vanished with their vessels.

The door of the Bat Inn creaked open. In the brightly lit hall, burly men drinking at the bar cast hostile glances at the newcomer.

But when they caught the scent of the sea on Charles, they averted their gazes as if nothing had happened. Those who had survived the sea were not to be trifled with.

“I’ll be staying for five days. And bring me some food to my room.”

“Five days’ accommodation is 630 Echo. Hearty mushroom soup and three loaves of bread will be an additional 30. The total is 660.”

In the damp, musty room, Charles enjoyed his lunch. Of course, the food in the port district was hardly anything to write home about. He tore off a few pieces of black bread and tossed them into the thick mushroom soup.

Even after soaking, the bitter black bread still scratched his throat, but he was already accustomed to it.

Charles pulled out his phone from his pocket and, while eating, randomly swiped his fingers across the screen. The scratched screen remained as black as the sky outside.

Only the slow, deliberate chewing of Charles echoed in the solitary room.

“Captain, are you in there?”

Suddenly, Old John’s voice came from outside the door.

Charles quickly put away his phone and replied, “Come in. The door’s unlocked.”

The First Mate entered cautiously, a hint of apology on his face.

“Captain, I have something to tell you. I want to resign.”

Charles frowned slightly. “Why? Aren’t you used to this kind of thing by now?”

He could fully understand that after a crew member’s death, someone would want to leave. He had braced himself for it. He had suspected Dip, who had nearly wet his pants, was the most likely candidate. He never expected Old John, who had been with him for so long, would be the one to go.

John waved his hands repeatedly, his expression slightly awkward. “I’m just too old. I sometimes doze off while steering, and besides… besides, I really want to leave this dangerous sea.”

Charles’s mood worsened, but he didn’t try to stop him. It was better to part on good terms. He placed a stack of bills on the table. “Here’s your share.”

John accepted his portion, but instead of turning away, he hesitated, his face showing indecision.

“What’s wrong now?”

“Haha, Captain, you know as well as I do that while I’ve saved some money, I spent most of it on those ladies before. This isn’t enough to live on for the rest of my life.”

“What is it? Do you want me to sponsor part of it?”

“No, no, of course not. I know that’s impossible. But I have a fine item here I’d like to sell to you, Captain. Since I’m leaving the ship anyway, this weapon would be useless to me.”

As he spoke, John produced a black blade the length of his forearm. It was less a sword and more a large dagger.

Charles stared at the fat old man before him with suspicion. While it was true that the blade belonged to the First Mate, he wasn’t lacking in close-quarters weapons.

“Captain, don’t underestimate this blade. It’s a Relic!”

Charles had heard of objects from the Mystic Realm before, but he’d never seen one in person.

The origin of the Relics was a matter of much debate. Some claimed they came from the sea, others from the legendary Land of Light, and still others from unknown islands. Whatever their origin, it was certain that these objects possessed extraordinary power.

This power was deeply bizarre, and using them came at a price. The nature of the price varied depending on the type of power.

Charles had once heard about a ring at an England Island auction, valued at 580,000 Echo Notes. It could render the wearer invisible for a short time, but the price was an unbearable itch that plagued the wearer.

“What’s special about this sword?”

When Charles asked, John’s face lit up immediately. “This weapon is incredibly sharp. Extremely sharp!” He held the sword aloft and surveyed the surrounding furniture, as if eager to test it.

“That’s enough. I think I’m more comfortable with a gun.”

Charles knew that a revolver alone would be insufficient against those monsters. He wanted a Relic for protection, but he didn’t want a white elephant.

Though the technological development of the Subterranean Sea World had taken a peculiar path, some of the larger islands already had electricity. In a world with guns and cannons, what use was a mystical blade? Especially one with side effects.

When Charles showed no inclination to buy, Old John grew anxious.

“Captain, this blade has another special ability. As long as you hold it, your body’s healing rate increases.”

“Two abilities? What’s the catch?”

Relics were notoriously capricious, their benefits and drawbacks rarely balanced. Sometimes the advantages were trivial, while the side effects could plunge the owner into a living hell.

“It’s not that serious. If you hold it for too long, you’ll develop suicidal impulses. Just set it aside when you’re not using it.”

Charles accepted the black sword, surprised by its lightness. It didn’t feel like it was made of metal; in his hand, it felt similar to plastic.

He lightly scratched his finger with the blade. The wound did heal slowly, but not as dramatically as the old man had claimed. At most, it healed about three times faster than usual.

“The price is acceptable, and the benefits are decent. There’s no goodwill in my heart, so this thing might be able to compensate for that deficiency to some extent.”

Charles decided to buy the sword. As the saying goes, “Better safe than sorry.” Money should be spent when it’s needed.

Knowing each other’s circumstances well, the two men finalized the deal with Charles paying 160,000 Echoes for the Relic.