Krafft's Anomaly Notes

Chapter 422 Island

Fear acts like a puppet's strings, controlling its hands and feet.

William couldn't remember exactly how he got off the ground floor. When he came to his senses, he had already climbed back to the floor of the second-floor cargo hold.

The mineral dust and grime covering his palms and clothes indicated that he had briefly regressed to the point of walking on all fours, no different from a frightened animal.

Perhaps it was an illusion, but the darkness in the lower deck was no longer pure nothingness; it seemed to be filled with some kind of viscous, intangible substance.

I can sense the change, but I can't pinpoint its exact location; only an elusive intuition lingers in my mind.

That thing was taken away from the ice field and released from the stone too hastily. It's no longer where it was; it can be anywhere.

He gasped for breath, sat up against the pillar, reached into his inner pocket, pulled out a flask, tilted his head back, and downed nearly half of it in one gulp. The fiery, satisfying taste finally pulled his thoughts back from the fear and brought him back to reality.

Two sailors were watching him anxiously, their eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and trepidation.

“Slipped and fell, so what? Are you keeping me here to laugh at me?” William wiped his hands clean on his clothes, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong, even though he knew that his appearance was not convincing. But a captain who could still put on a show was better than a captain who was completely lost.

“Go back and tell them it’s just an underwater current coming up, don’t make a fuss.”

"My knee is injured, I'll sit for a while longer."

He chased the sailors away, hooked the hatch with his leg, kicked it back into place, and locked it with an iron bolt.

As the alcohol took effect, the gradual numbness drained away any extraneous thoughts, making my thinking slow and focused.

Unlike most people, perhaps due to long-term drinking, he finds that being slightly tipsy allows him to better concentrate and think about his current situation.

He tried to find something to explain his current situation from his rich yet scarce experiences and from the deepest, most reluctant memories.

The results were naturally few and far between.

The only thing that can be confirmed is that the Xue Song is at least still drifting on the familiar icy sea, rather than having strayed into some bizarre place that is completely contrary to common sense.

Once you've been there, you'll never forget its unique atmosphere, nor the intense sense of alienation that separates you from the real world.

My lips involuntarily moved to the bottle opening. This sip tasted weaker than the last, and my tongue began to feel numb, but my mind became even calmer.

This means that there is no need for a "wizard" to pull you out.

No matter how treacherous the sea may be, it is still the captain's domain.

With his legs still trembling slightly, he stood up, stomped his feet a few times to dispel the soreness and numbness from sitting for so long, and shakily climbed the steps.

"The bilge isn't flooded, everyone can rest now, it's time for the shift change!"

The captain's assurances calmed the cabin, and even those who still had doubts dared not contradict him openly.

Basic common sense led them to believe that the captain wouldn't risk his life, and therefore, even if something unexpected happened, it wouldn't be a major problem that would sink the entire ship.

William scanned the faces, some indifferent, some feigning composure, and then looked at the few who had been fast asleep.

They were also startled, but did not fully wake up. They were either lying down or with their heads hanging down, scratching their faces or bodies in unison.

Behavior seems to spread with the gaze; just a couple of glances can make one feel that their skin is dry, and they unconsciously reach out to scratch it.

Through the thick leather jacket, the effect was barely noticeable, but the itching spread to my palms, making my palms and the spaces between my fingers inexplicably uncomfortable.

He wiped his hands on the damp bulkhead and then dried them on his relatively clean waist. The condition of his hands was visible under the flickering light.

The thick skin had turned slightly red. It wasn't the typical frostbite redness that caused the entire area to swell and feel numb; instead, it was concentrated on the sides of the fingers and the back of the hands, especially noticeable at the knuckles.

As someone who never pays attention to the little things in life, I found it hard to recall the last time I carefully examined my palms, let alone whether these were recently developed chilblains.

As I flexed and extended my fingers, the strange itching became more pronounced, not limited to the skin but subtly penetrating deeper, like tiny threads caught in a crevice of bone, twisting deeper with each movement. Pressing with my thumb, the seemingly thin redness didn't fade away like normal congestion, but stubbornly remained in place; applying more pressure caused a slight stinging sensation, similar to a wound that was barely healing.

At a time like this, he had no time to worry about minor problems. After a moment's thought, he attributed it to the weather, quickly put on his gloves, returned to the deck, and took the helm back from the second mate.

The damp, slightly warm feel, like it had just been pulled from the mouth of a living creature, triggered an itchy sensation even through the leather gloves.

I gripped the wooden handle tightly with both hands and pressed it down with force, ignoring it. But before long, the feeling returned, traveling up my arms to my cheeks and collar, becoming more pronounced in the colder areas.

It was as if the cold had awakened something extremely subtle, probing the path within the skin and flesh.

He twisted his neck, gripped the rudder handle without making a sound, and looked up at the sea ahead.

The sky grew darker, and the waves seemed to be getting smaller.

It wasn't calm; it was as if something much bigger had flattened the waves.

The waves, already strangely orderly, now seemed to have been rehearsed. It was as if there was a center causing each one to subtly shift.

The ship's speed seemed to fluctuate, sometimes appearing to be propelled forward by the waves, and other times as if it were stationary.

The compass needle indicated that the bow was still facing south, but it had already deviated from the southwest where North was located, and was being pulled little by little by the wind and waves towards the blank space on the nautical chart that was often left for the painter to fill in randomly—southeast.

Excessive draftsmen sometimes fill this space with things like shipwrecks and sea monsters as a warning.

The second mate, who had finished tidying up the deck and was returning, suddenly patted him on the shoulder as he passed by, looking at him with a strange expression.

"Hey, boss, your face..." His tone was a little tense, not like a joke, nor like a simple reminder.

"What, is there something?" William turned his head to look, while touching his cheek. There were no food scraps, and his beard was not frosted, only that annoying itching sensation.

"Don't just say half a sentence!"

He followed the other person's gaze, trying to find some clues, but the pupils of those eyes widened slightly, and the focus was drawn to a new target, past his shoulder, and landed further behind him on the port side, where something suddenly pulled him back.

"island!"

William turned around abruptly, squinted, and in an instant, he spotted his target.

In the far distance, an irregular black dot emerged from the gray-white background.

At first glance, it looks like a shadow cast by low-hanging clouds. This illusion is most likely to occur when the sea and sky blend into one, causing the eye to mistake the low-hanging clouds for something on the sea surface.

But that thing just stayed there, unmoved by the waves, unblowed by the wind, and didn't move with the ship.

"It's an island!"

"Shut up, look!"

William gripped the steering wheel and leaned forward slightly.

That's right, it wasn't a cloud, nor could it be ice floes. It was much heavier, with blurred, rounded edges, like a polished pebble. Regular, even overly regular.

Based on its current course, the ship is slowly turning in that direction.

One by one, the sailors on deck quieted down. Those who had been pulling on the ropes and stamping their feet slowly stopped and began to look toward the port side.

After a while, the black dot gradually separated from the background and became clearer.

Some people cheered. The presence of nearby islands meant that the seabed might be rising, offering an opportunity to anchor and perhaps even take a look after the storm subsided.

But William remained silent.

He stared intently at the thing the whole time, but it didn't seem to get any bigger in his field of vision.