Surviving as the Captain of a Mad Cthulhu Deep Sea - Chapter 3

chapter 3

The Shell Bridge

Chapter 3: Cannonball Cult

Holding a wad of Echo Notes, John turned with a triumphant smile, ready to leave. But as he reached for the door, he paused, a troubled expression crossing his face as he turned back.

He hesitated, unable to speak, watching the silhouette of the Captain standing between the lantern’s glow and the darkness.

“Captain, I must leave now. To be honest, you should settle down on land soon. What’s the point of saving money for an Exploration Ship? The Land of Light doesn’t exist.”

“It does.”

Charles’s tone was calm, but his gaze was resolute.

According to his research, even this subterranean world knew of the surface world. But so much time had passed that its people now regarded the world of the sun as nothing more than myth or legend.

“How can something larger than an island hang in the sky, selflessly giving us light and warmth while banishing the darkness? It’s impossible! It’s all just a story the Church of Light made up to deceive people.”

When Charles remained silent, Old John sighed and continued his persuasion.

“When I first saw you, Captain, I couldn’t speak a word. But you were so full of vigor, so bright and confident. I thought, ‘What a fine young man. If I had a granddaughter, I’d want to introduce her to you.’ But now… don’t try to deceive me. I know it’s been a long time since you heard the voice of God. If you keep going like this, you’ll truly go mad. Give it up.”

Charles walked to the door expressionlessly and slammed it shut with a loud bang.

“As I thought, the Captain is too obsessed.”

With that final remark, John’s footsteps slowly faded away, and silence returned outside the door.

“Am I too obsessed?” Charles muttered, leaning against the door, his expression gradually twisting.

“What’s so wrong with just wanting to go home?” Charles shouted suddenly, his face contorted in anguish. “I haven’t done anything wrong! Why is this happening to me? Why me of all people?!”

“Eight years! Eight full years! Why must I be the only one to suffer this torment? I just wanted to go home, what’s so wrong with that?!”

Charles roared hysterically. “Glui Mglou… me…”

The whispering in his ear returned, driving him to the brink of madness.

“Damn it all!”

Furious, he drew his pistol and pressed it to his temple.

Just as his trembling finger was about to pull the trigger, a muffled protest came from the adjacent wall.

“What the hell?! Keep it down!!”

Charles froze, his rage suddenly extinguished. He holstered the pistol, picked up a rag, and carefully wrapped the black knife in his hand.

That night, Charles had many dreams, but when he woke, he remembered none of them.

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound of someone knocking on his door again woke Charles.

When he opened the door, a bald man with octopus tentacle tattoos on his face stood before him.

“Captain Charles of the Old Rat, I presume? My name is Hook. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Charles eyed the man warily, scanning him from head to toe. The man’s ordinary appearance and inwardly curled, deformed ears indicated he was a native of the Coral Archipelago, while the octopus tentacles on his face proved his faith.

“Why would a Fotan Believer come looking for me? You’re not planning to sacrifice me to your almighty god, are you?”

Despite the hostility in Charles’s words, Hook showed no anger.

“Captain Charles, you wouldn’t be worthy to be a sacrifice to the Great Being. I’m here for other business. I’ve heard you’re in dire need of funds, am I right?”

Charles wasn’t surprised. The man before him wasn’t the first to seek him out.

“I don’t deal in contraband.”

He finished speaking and tried to close the door.

In truth, he was lying. If the profit was sufficient, he occasionally smuggled contraband. His firm refusal stemmed solely from his desire to avoid excessive contact with these cultists.

The only difference between a Fotan Believer and a street madman was their ability to speak coherently. No sane person would worship a sea monster as a god.

Just as the door was about to close, Charles heard the numbers drifting in from outside.

“One million Echo.”

Looking into the black eyes visible through the crack in the door, the bald Hook smiled confidently.

“Mr. Charles, we know you’ve been saving for a long time to buy a ship. One million Echo should be enough to purchase the highest-spec Exploration Ship. Imagine: discover just one new island, and you’ll own your own land and become its Governor. Then, women, power, and an endless supply of Echo will all be yours.”

Charles didn’t know how they knew his purpose, but he was slightly shaken. With that much money, he could take a huge step toward getting home.

He remained wary. The Fotan Cult was no charity; behind such a vast sum of money, there had to be extreme danger.

“What am I supposed to smuggle?” Charles asked, his guard up.

“We’re not asking you to smuggle cargo. We need your help finding something we’re looking for. Follow me. Our High Priest will explain the details to you.”

After a moment’s thought, Charles opened the door and followed.

The two men left the harbor district and passed through the fish-smelling commercial area, heading toward the residential district inland.

The residential district of Coral Capital was less chaotic and felt more lived-in. Had it not been for the pale gray coral buildings, Charles might have felt as if he were walking the streets of mid-18th century London.

The island was equipped with all modern facilities, including banks, hospitals, clothing stores, and theaters. Had it not been for the people’s deformed ears and pale skin, everything would have seemed perfectly normal.

The entire island was like a city, and the streets teemed with activity. The lights from the shops on both sides illuminated the thoroughfare brightly. Judging by their clothing, both rich and poor mingled, each busy with their own affairs.

“Roasted spider crab legs, just 4 Echo each!”

“Daddy, I can’t walk anymore, I can’t walk!”

“Newspapers! Newspapers! Breaking news: Governor Nico will marry his sixth husband in six days!”

“Excuse me, sir! Could you spare a moment? We’d like to introduce you to our Heavenly Father and Savior, the omnipotent and great being, Fotan Sawito.”

Charles couldn’t enjoy the quiet, peaceful scenery. No matter how serene it seemed, everything here was as fragile as a bubble. Though exceedingly rare, even islands inhabited by millions of humans had been known to sink.

If he had never seen the light, he might have been able to endure the darkness like these people. But unfortunately, he had seen that light, and within it lay his family, his past—everything.

The two hurried through the gray buildings, finally arriving before the Church of the Cannonball, its majestic black spire piercing the sky.

The moment they stepped inside, the surrounding noise vanished instantly. The light from the gray candles everywhere seemed to drape the place in a gray veil. At the center of the main hall stood a colossal statue, barely retaining a human form.

Though it had a human form, its appearance was more akin to a standing, rotting octopus. Its inverted scales and eyes covering its entire body made one’s whole body feel uneasy just by looking at it.

Believers in black robes stood in orderly lines, chanting in low voices in a language that seemed to lack consonants. Charles found it vaguely familiar, as it bore some resemblance to his own auditory hallucinations.

“The High Priest is in the Confessional. Follow me.”

Hook led Charles through the crowd, continuing deeper into the building.

The area behind the main hall became increasingly guarded. Black-robed believers stood at every corner and doorway. No one spoke, but Charles could feel their eyes on him.

In the dimly lit room, Charles saw the High Priest of the Cannonball Cult—a figure in a red robe, prostrate on the floor.

Hook politely observed the Order’s etiquette before stepping back.

The High Priest slowly rose to his feet, but did not turn around.

“Captain Charles, our Order requests that you retrieve a certain item for us—a Relic of our Lord.”

The High Priest’s voice was aged and viscous, as if he were holding thick phlegm in his mouth, making it agonizing to listen to.

“Where is the Relic?”

“Not far. It’s on a newly discovered island to the left of the Coral Archipelago.”

Charles pressed on. “Why seek me out specifically? There are far more capable people and ships than I.”

“Ho ho ho,” the High Priest chuckled. “That place is rather dangerous. We need a cautious captain like you.”

Charles didn’t believe the High Priest’s claim that it was “a bit dangerous.” A “bit dangerous” job wouldn’t be worth a million Echoes.

“You didn’t just tell me this, did you? What happened to the others?”

The High Priest spoke with a contemptuous tone. “Captain Charles, aren’t you the one who boasts of buying an Exploration Ship? If you’re afraid of this much risk, you’re far from the hero needed to expand our territory for humanity.”

Seeing that the Red Robe before him was avoiding a direct answer to his question, Charles guessed that the fates of his predecessors had not ended well and that the place must be extremely dangerous.

As he looked at the Archbishop before him, Charles recalled the whispers growing clearer in his ears.

He realized that if he tried to earn a million Echoes through cargo transport alone, it would take far too long. Before then, the voices in his ears might drive him completely mad. He couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

As for the risks? Where could he possibly be safe sailing now? There wasn’t a single safe place in the Subterranean Sea.

Besides, the past eight years hadn’t been wasted. He’d faced death countless times.

“Alright. But how can I be sure you’ll keep your promise?”

The High Priest of the Cannonball Cult seemed reasonable.

“We can entrust the payment to the Bank of England and have them serve as witnesses.”

Hearing this, Charles’s confidence in the mission increased.

He paused for a few seconds before continuing.

“I have a small question, Captain Charles,” the Red Robe said. “Why are you so desperate to purchase the Exploration Ship? Is it for power? Echo? Or glory?”

Charles had no intention of hiding his true motive.

“To find the Land of Light.”

At these words, the Red Robe trembled violently, and the old voice asked, slightly flustered, “The Land of Light? You’re not a member of the Church of Light, are you?”

“No,” Charles replied.

Only then did the High Priest breathe a sigh of relief. “That’s a relief. If you were one of those heretics, I would have had to reconsider our deal. Never get involved with them. Those heretics are completely insane. They are the true Evil Cult!”

Hearing a Cannonball Believer—a follower of the cult that loves sacrificing live victims—say this, Charles couldn’t help but chuckle.

It was a case of six of one, half a dozen of the other. By surface standards, the religion of the Subterranean Sea was an evil cult from top to bottom, its rituals so barbaric as to be anti-humanitarian.

As Charles walked out of the confessional, the bald man they had called Hook earlier entered carrying a glass of blood-red water and placed it respectfully behind the High Priest.

“Go now, sign the contract, and make sure he departs as swiftly as possible.”

Hook nodded, paused in thought, and asked cautiously, “High Priest, do you think this time will succeed?”

A black octopus tentacle emerged from beneath the Red Robe, coiled around the glass, and retracted back into the robe.

“We must proceed cautiously. This is only the ninth attempt. Do not be impatient… The Holy Lord’s gifts belong solely to us.”