Krafft's Anomaly Notes

Chapter 421 Stone Molting
The rusted hinges twisted, emitting a groaning shriek that, even amidst the raging waves, was so jarring it made your teeth ache.

The entrance to the lower deck was flung open. The hatch flipped up, slammed heavily onto the floor, bounced up, and landed again, the sharp, urgent echo reverberating outwards.

William crouched low and first peered the lantern down into the darkness. The darkness was thick and viscous, and the light barely reached the last step before stopping, its edges trembling and shrinking with the flickering flame.

After a few breaths, the flame, though flickering, showed no signs of weakening. He stretched out his arm and extended it further forward.

The firelight flickered between the bulkheads and the steps, illuminating the damp but clear wood grain, without any visible ripples or shimmering reflections.

At least no water got in.

He put away his lantern, gripped the edge of the hatch with his left hand, tentatively stepped onto the step with one leg, slowly put his weight on it, and after the creaking sound disappeared, he followed with his other leg onto the next step.

Using his weight to steady himself, he turned sideways, raised his hand, and placed the light about an arm's length in front of his chest before slowly moving down the steps.

When the last step landed on his feet, he tentatively let go with his left hand and completely lowered his body into the lower deck.

He spread his legs and stood on the curved wooden board.

The feeling was unstable, like breathing, like slight undulations. The seawater slid along the hull, rejected by the resin filling the gaps, but its texture, that flowing texture, seeped in little by little, climbing up the wood to the soles of the boots, scratching the skin.

Suddenly, a tremor came from the top of the dragon bone.

You can feel the bottom of the cabin arching slightly upwards, then quickly returning to its original position with elasticity. The wooden beams tremble in turn, like plucked strings or loose teeth on a jaw, emitting a series of low, grinding sounds.

William stood frozen in place.

There was an illusion, or perhaps not an illusion—he could “see” the path of that enormous shadow, sweeping from the bow to the stern, no longer a vague perception, but a tangible outline, separated only by a layer of wood veneer.

If you put your ear to the wooden board, you might be able to hear what that thing is doing in the water.

The sense of security that the ship provided vanished like a burst bubble, leaving no trace.

For a moment, he even wished that the noisy organ in his chest would stop beating immediately, just to avoid attracting any attention.

Tensioned muscles pinned the body to the spot, and the darkness made the space of the cabin seem infinitely extended in the sense of time, as did the sense of fear.

Unable to know how much time had passed, all that was known was that the turbulence brought by the waves caused my body to fall, crashing onto the oak plank without any cushioning, and the intense pain pulled my consciousness back to my body.

Something was falling and colliding in the darkness, making a hollow sound that reached my ears without startling me.

The extreme terror almost completely overwhelmed all emotions and thoughts, even the instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm.

He stood up and, instead of scrambling away, took a few steps forward.

There were no monsters as imagined, no bizarre or inexplicable sights, not even a breach in the ship's hull that caused flooding.

The source of the sound lay in the middle of the walkway; it was a wooden barrel, freed from the restraint of the wooden wedges, rolling with the swaying of the boat.

When the barrel accelerated and hit the wooden beam, it was bounced off the ground, making a clear "thump-thump" sound.

【Dream?】

He seemed to understand something. If the sudden storm and the giant object outside the ship were all dreams, then everything made sense.

That also explains why barrels filled with minerals and used as ballast can roll freely, bouncing around as lightly as an empty shell.

His thoughts were in disarray. He took a few steps forward, braced his foot against the barrel hoop, and turned it right side up. He barely felt the weight that matched his memory, but could hear a few small pieces of debris sliding and rubbing inside.

When leaving port, even the smallest buckets were at least half full; it's definitely not like that.

His understanding of "dreams" became increasingly solidified, and he grasped at it like a last straw, eager to confirm it.

Since it's a dream, there's no need to worry too much. William drew his dagger, used the well-maintained blade to pry open the nail, and casually tossed it aside.

He didn't even have the patience to pry open all the nails. After the lid loosened, he roughly used brute force to lift it open and peer into the bucket, intending to see what the dream had replaced his goods with.

The light filled the cylinder, revealing every detail: stones, pebbles.

It only filled less than one-sixth of the volume, and it was mainly made of small pebbles. You could see the bottom of the bucket if you shook or tilted it slightly.

Stone is the most common type in the ice field, dark gray with a few quartz crystals mixed in.

Seeing such an ordinary stone in such a bizarre dream was truly unbelievable; he thought something even more terrifying awaited him.

These familiar things gave him a sense of security. He bent down and picked up a piece from the bucket, wanting to confirm more firmly that they were familiar things.

There are some subtle things that are not quite right yet, but they have not been noticed.

It is indeed made of stone; you can find several such stones with a shovel on the ice field, but their shape and feel are quite unique.

It's not a solid rock; more accurately, it should be described as loose, layered flakes, similar to pastry crust, which becomes very fragile after drying.

They overlap each other, but not tightly; they are just loosely piled up, and can be easily separated with a little force from the fingers.

The layers were very thin, some like old paper, one on top of another, with curled and peeling edges; others were cracked into scales, loosely covering the bottom of the bucket. When the light shone on them, they appeared hollow and brittle, as if the weight of the light could crush them into even finer scales.

He poured the contents of the bucket out and crushed them with the tip of his boot. The larger pieces immediately collapsed, scattering like withered leaves in layers, making a soft, crackling sound.

The remaining shells rubbed against each other and slowly collapsed, revealing more equally loose layers underneath.

The texture doesn't resemble a pile of stones; it's more like an abandoned nest of some creature.

He couldn't remember how he loaded all those things onto the ship; the dream was probably like that—illogical, disjointed, and rushed.

But they all looked very familiar, including this bucket, which had a special cross mark in black paint to distinguish it from the others.

The light moved slowly among the rubble. He frowned. The captain's memory of the cargo was awakened and gradually became clearer with deliberate digging.

Yes, of course he couldn't possibly bring back a bunch of junk rocks from the ice field.

This place originally contained special minerals, each with jet-black patterns, no crystalline surfaces to reflect light, as heavy as wet coal, and making a solid, dull sound when dropped.

But now, the parts that are not completely broken still retain their shape, outline, and cracks, and under the light, there is no blackness visible except for the shadows.

He suddenly understood.

This is not a dream; dreams wouldn't contain such bizarre yet logically rich details.

This is the mineral he brought back; the black color has vanished, leaving only an empty wooden barrel and a pile of shed stone skin.