Krafft's Anomaly Notes

Chapter 426 Approaching
"Stop looking around!"

Reed was scolded as soon as he looked up. He skillfully lowered his head, tucked his chin into his collar, and didn't look at the source of the sound, nor did he explain that he just wanted to stretch his neck—that would only invite a scolding. This was one of the important lessons he had learned so far.

My shoulder, which had been pressed against the wooden pole of the winch, was gradually stiffening and numb after the initial pain and soreness. My body instinctively wanted to find a place to lean against, but then bounced up reflexively when it touched the cable.

He had seen firsthand how this thing could wrap around hair with skin attached, much like tearing open a rotten piece of fruit.

The only reason he hasn't let go yet is because there's another wooden pole propping up the winch on the other side.

That was old Thomas, the one who introduced him to the ship, taught him how to work, and also the one who cursed him the most. His mouth, always poised to lash out, was always loaded with the names of other people's organs and families, and could escalate into physical violence at any moment.

In comparison, a winch cable that only tears something off your body doesn't seem so scary.

Even if he had to choose between letting go and falling into the water, he would hesitate for a moment.

Then firmly choose the latter.

If he had fallen into the water, there might have been a slim chance of survival; but if he had let go, old Thomas would have really killed him afterwards.

The visceral fear temporarily overcame the physical pain, pinning him to the putter.

However, judging from the surrounding noises, it seems that a small island has appeared nearby.

His eyesight and knowledge were not good; he hadn't had a chance to see where the island was, nor did he know what it meant. But the land was undoubtedly something tied to safety, offering a glimmer of hope in what seemed like endless torment.

With this glimmer of hope, he managed to squeeze out a little strength from his bones to push the winch and continue tightening the cable.

When bending my knees, perhaps because I had maintained the posture for too long, my joints felt unusually stiff, like they had been sprinkled with salt. The burning sensation deformed my steps and made my arms feel weak.

However, the winch did not reverse out of control, and the expected scolding did not come down on my head.

The sounds of exerting force and groans coming from the other side came from the other side. You could hear the smooth, grating friction of teeth clenching together, and the tense muscles seemed about to break bones.

He quickly stepped forward, turned the lever, and the winch tightened by another half turn.

The horizontal mast tilted, the half-furled sails filled with wind, and it seemed as if the deck itself was tilting slightly under the force of the tilt. The ship moved sideways, getting a little closer to the island it had never seen before.

This thought was particularly encouraging, and he secretly raised his eyes to look around.

A figure swept past, nearly slipping several times on the deck, but relying on excellent balance and using both hands and feet, he scrambled and crawled towards the stern.

It was the second mate. This second-in-command on the ship usually seemed nonchalant, but Reed had never seen him so flustered in his memory.

"Stop." Old Thomas pressed the putter, breathing heavily.

The second mate's outburst clearly attracted considerable attention. His eagerness to find the captain likely concerned matters related to the voyage.

Being near an island can be a dangerous reef if you're unlucky, or a natural haven if you're lucky. Either way, new instructions will arrive soon, so you need to catch your breath.

The wind and snow blocked out the details of the conversation. At a distance of only ten steps, all that could be heard was the second mate mentioning "island" in a trembling voice, before deliberately lowering his voice as if sensing something.

His somewhat evasive behavior aroused his curiosity, so he listened carefully and only caught a few vague words, mainly about wind and waves and ship speed. The speech was too fast and contained a lot of industry jargon, which sounded like some kind of obscure dialect to a layman.

In the end, the captain's theoretical knowledge was probably superior, and he successfully persuaded the second mate with a long speech, after which the two fell silent.

There were no follow-ups or orders; two silent sculptures stood in the wind and snow on the last building.

He glanced furtively at old Thomas, bracing himself for a scolding, only to find the man looking out the ship's railing. Following his gaze, Reed saw the island for the first time.

It rises from the horizon, lacking the stability of land amidst the waves, and even feels like it's floating when it's rocking.

If you look at it a little longer, you'll realize that this illusion comes from its unique shape. The arc-like or arched lines always remind you of floating objects like water ladles or snail shells, rather than the stability of a rocky cliff.

Perhaps it was because I had been looking at it for too long, but my eyes suddenly felt inexplicably dry.

The sea breeze was full of moisture, and the melted snow water flowed down the ends of my hair, past my brow bone, and into my eyes.

The movement of my eyes became increasingly sluggish, and frequent blinking had no effect; my upper and lower eyelids felt like dry cloth rubbing against glass.

He closed his eyes tightly and pressed and rubbed them with the back of his hand, hoping that the darkness would envelop and nourish them.

When I opened my eyes again, the double vision and dark spots turned everything into a chaotic mess. The fine, dull dryness did not ease, as if a layer of sandpaper had absorbed the moisture film from my eyeballs.

A slight dizziness came over him, whether from fatigue or poor visibility, he didn't know. His consciousness swayed slightly. He, who never gets seasick, felt a little nauseous. A churning sensation rose from his stomach, causing him to gag.

He released the putter with his left hand and scratched his cheek. Even though he knew it was unsafe, frustration and itching compelled him to do so.

Something has changed, perhaps in that brief moment when he's looking around, gazing, scratching.

Perhaps it was the atmosphere. The deck, which had been busy but orderly with everyone doing their own thing, became sluggish, with distractions and bumps spreading everywhere, and even old Thomas no longer had the energy to pay much attention to him.

Or perhaps it was him; strange discomfort arose from all parts of his body, small but noticeable, mostly inexplicable itching or stinging, as if friction had occurred between his skin and flesh.

A thin, oily haze covered consciousness, enough to make feelings feel unreal and thoughts sticky.

Thinking about one thing at a time drains some of your energy, making you irritable and increasingly so.

The sound was not very clear; the sound of the water and the rocking of the ship were not distinct. The captain seemed to be talking to the second mate, but when I listened intently, the conversation abruptly stopped.

In a daze, I could even hear the seawater crashing against the rocky surface, scattering droplets of water.

He shuddered, almost thinking he had unconsciously fallen asleep and landed on some dream shore, but fortunately, when he looked up, he still saw the deck.

But this was far from the end. A long, deep sound rang out, and a highly penetrating metallic resonance pierced through the waves, two long and one short.

Without prior arrangement, all eyes turned to the brass horn mounted on the sterncastle, including those of the captain and second mate.

"Iceberg!" someone cheered. "They're alright!"

"They asked us to report our positions," old Thomas explained, his tone much more relaxed. He knew many people on the Iceberg, and surviving the blizzard was fantastic news.

Standing atop the sterncastle, the captain surveyed the sea, seemingly puzzled. He then gave instructions to the second mate, who ran to the horn and blew the same two long and one short signal.

The wait was rather long, and Reed watched as the rare smile on old Thomas's face gradually froze.

"It's alright. Even if you can't see us, you can still see the island, right?" He pointed to the second mate, who had once again gathered around the horn, displaying the composure of an old sailor.

"Listen, two short."

"What do you mean?" Reed asked at just the right moment.

"Get closer, let them all move towards the island."