Krafft's Anomaly Notes

Chapter 414 Deviating
In the midst of storms, feelings are unreliable and can even be misleading.

Many people who have never actually set foot on the ocean often imagine it as the swaying motion of trying to ride a wild horse, but the actual experience is completely different.

When a sudden lateral wave comes into contact with the hull, the first thing that happens is not swaying, but a counterintuitive sense of imbalance.

The world beneath my feet suddenly lost its weight; the deck, like a light playing card, was abruptly pulled away from the side. My legs weren't bent, yet an inexplicable force pressed down on my knees, the pain grinding against my rheumatism-ridden joints.

He experienced brief deafness in his left ear, followed by the cold, rough seawater, a solid surface with a salty and fishy smell, slapping against his body and pushing him toward the ship's side, mast, or some unknown hard object.

My vision tilted, the sails overhead obscured half the sky, my stomach was thrown to my throat and then violently pulled back into my abdomen, nausea forced physiological tears from my eyes, mingling with the flow of salt and snow.

Of course, for veteran sailors, physical discomfort can be overcome, but what is most frightening is the temporary loss of judgment.

In those few seconds of holding your breath, you can't tell if you're standing, kneeling, or already thrown off the deck. The concepts of up and down disappear briefly, leaving only the instinctive urge to grab onto something—the only way to maintain your connection with the world.

The waves came quickly and receded even faster, so quickly they seemed as if they had never been there at all.

The world, which had been turned upside down, was instantly righted, leaving only soaked clothes, stinging skin, and a belated realization:

This is not a normal wave, nor can it be explained as part of a storm's prelude.

Like a solitary peak on a plain, it makes one involuntarily believe that some intervening force has lifted it up in the wrong circumstances.

He had doubts, but doubts are the last thing a helmsman needs.

While maintaining a stable stance, the arms reflexively exert force to twist the rudder, controlling the boat to turn right.

The course and speed were completely forgotten; the immediate priority was to change course to avoid a direct collision with the cross waves.

"Right rudder! Right rudder!"

He turned the steering wheel almost to its full power, but the response was not as smooth as he could have; the hull did not respond immediately.

The first thing you feel is resistance, a sluggish feeling of being gripped by the water. The ocean seems to have briefly become the abdominal cavity of some giant creature, full of thick, sticky mucus, trying to stick to and digest them.

The body had already tilted due to inertia, while the ship was still moving sideways in its original posture.

After a tense wait, the bow finally began to turn, reluctantly yielding to the command with a low, grinding groan.

The gloomy water surface rippled and undulated, like a piece of cloth being repeatedly crumpled and unfolded, but a seasoned eye could still detect subtle anomalies within it.

It wasn't the shape, but the disruption of rhythm. A corner of the "cloth" suddenly slowed down by half a beat; the waves didn't rise or become steeper, but the water at the edge of the visible range laged behind its expected receding point.

Then this trend amplified between the peaks and troughs, as if some invisible force was pulling it. Instead of moving forward with the tide, the peaks rolled and tumbled with the foam, forming a particularly strange and counterintuitive white line.

Rather than "surging," it should be described as water that was "squeezed" through.

At least in Oliver's memory, similar situations mostly occurred in shallow seas, where the undulating topography of the seabed would create localized reverse currents.

But now we have been offshore for several days, and in waters where no islands have ever been found, even the longest anchor cannot touch the bottom.

He anxiously pounded on the steering wheel, as if that would urge his old buddy beneath his feet to accelerate the turn.

The back-and-forth swaying has not yet completely subsided; if the next wave is added to the tilt angle, the swaying will be amplified again.

This not only meant the risk of capsizing, but also put further pressure on the already strained masts and sails. They couldn't afford to lose power; that was synonymous with death. The white line magnified, and the faint, intermittent dashed lines in the fog intertwined, transforming into raging, leaping ridges that skimmed across the surface like blades, skipping and propelling forward with an unsettling rumble.

He suddenly realized something and shouted in a broken voice:

"Flatten the sails! Flatten all the sails!"

There was no sound of ropes sliding overhead in response to the command.

He looked toward the winch, where the two newcomers stared blankly toward the crest of the wave, gripping the cable tightly and trembling like leaves.

The lone veteran was overwhelmed and completely unable to control the sails in the strong winds. The other experienced crew members, who were at observation posts where experience was more important than strength, were also struggling to stay afloat and unable to come to their aid.

People who boast during job interviews that they can spend the night in a cemetery are drained of their strength by physiological fear when faced with the true power of nature. It's a miracle they haven't been thrown off the boat, let alone obeying orders.

Worse still, the anchor bolts had been loosened, and the rope loop, now out of human control, tightened rapidly, then suddenly slipped off, being pulled away from the winch at a terrifying speed.

The terrified novice froze for a moment, his hands still gripping, but he couldn't grasp anything. The rope, like a startled snake, suddenly yanked from his palm, leaving behind a burning abrasion that was completely opposite to the temperature.

The mainsail drooped to one side, collapsing at the angle where it lost its tension. The corner of the sail sank down, was lifted by the airflow, and flew wildly in the air, folding irregular lines, making a continuous flapping sound like wings.

The ship shifted slightly, and the unevenly stressed horizontal mast spun.

The white line was almost in sight, leading the dark seawater up from the side and rear.

The ship had not yet completed its turn, like a person whose shoulders had been forcibly turned but whose steps had not been adjusted, with half of its side exposed to the cross waves.

The steering was sluggish and empty, completely losing its feedback, as if sailing in the void, and he himself was once again surrounded by a cold and heavy curtain of water.

Senses dulled, vision lost, unable to distinguish up from down, only prayer remains.

Even in this situation, a low-frequency noise that could stop your heart was captured, similar to the tearing sound of old, worn-out trousers being caught on a nail and unable to withstand the strain.

—From one end to the other, the crack extends along the weakest point of the textile fibers, splitting the fabric in two.

Fortunately, the boat didn't flip over along with the sense of space, and the water curtain on my face turned into a gentle drizzle of water droplets.

Before he could even process any other emotions, Oliver looked up and saw the accident that was the second worst thing he could ever hope for.

Nearly a quarter of the sail has been torn off, and it is now only connected to the main body by a sturdy seam along the edge, threatening to break completely at any moment.

His gaze then shifted to the deck, a belated anger filling his chest, making him feel a surge of heat even in his soaked clothes.

The swear words accumulated over years of sailing are ready to be unleashed on the instigator.

More than anything, there was lingering fear and anger at oneself for neglecting personnel arrangements.

However, all the words stuck in his throat when he looked at the empty winch.

The figure that had been standing there before the water curtain fell had vanished, leaving only the out-of-control cable swaying in the wind.

　The workload lately seems a bit overwhelming.
　　()
　　(End of this chapter)