From the Ship of Fools to Earl of Wugang

The warm morning light pierced through the creamy mist above the harbor.

Edmund leaned against the outer wall of a workers' break room at the dock, looking down at himself.

The gray hospital gown he was wearing had been thrown into a trash can in a corner of the port area, replaced by a dark blue work shirt stained with sweat and smelling of engine oil, and a pair of coarse cloth trousers worn white at the knees.

This was taken from the tin locker of an unfortunate dockworker, whose owner probably never imagined that his clothes would provide cover for a former madman.

Edmund also had a few more banknotes in his pocket, from an office drawer on the second floor of another respectable building.

During his time in the cult, the members taught him many tricks for picking locks, stealing, and forging evidence.

Sometimes people are not as far from doing evil as they think; perhaps only a certain hurdle in their own hearts can stop them.

Edmund dragged his legs along the road toward the cluster of buildings in the distance. After walking for about twenty minutes, he saw the first road sign.

He recognized the text on the road sign as standard Veridia Common Language, and below the road sign was an iron plaque with the town's name painted on it: Willow Harbor Town.

Liugang... I don't know it. It's probably just an ordinary coastal town in some federal territory.

He had been traveling with the Fool's Ship for almost half a month, from the Union in the central part of the continent where the cult was located to the Federal Republic of Veridiah in the southern part of the continent, which could be considered a temporary escape from the troubles of the cult.

Edmund continued on his way, pondering the future, and found the two- or three-story brick buildings in the town's plan to look quite appealing, the shops along the asphalt road to be neat and presentable, and the streetlights on both sides.

In the morning light, several early-rising elderly people were strolling along the sidewalk when Edmund noticed some rather odd details.

The people on the street walked slowly, their faces pale and unhealthy. Several people had sunken eyes and dark circles under their eyes, as if they had been punched hard.

In the distance, a middle-aged man sitting on the steps of the post office leaned forward and swayed, or rather, it would be more accurate to say he was convulsing or spasming.

Edmund was having some doubts, but he couldn't worry about that for the moment.

He hid in the port area all night, and even though he cleaned himself with the taps there, he still reeked of a mixture of sewage and fishy smell.

Now his throat was dry, his stomach acid was burning his abdomen, and his mind was filled with thoughts of eating.

Like President Kinoshita, how about a grilled rib? A playboy-style cheeseburger? Or a classic Arabian kebab? He could eat there all day.

He hoped the local food wouldn't disappoint him—he had spent almost two weeks on the ship living a Puritan lifestyle, eating nothing but bread and stew every day, and desperately needed a good meal.

Edmund pushed open the door of the first restaurant on the main street.

The shop was filled with the enticing aroma of fried eggs and coffee, and a few customers sat at the tables.

The shop owner behind the counter was a middle-aged woman with a round face, who was pouring coffee into a cup.

She looked up at Edmund—her gaze lingering for a moment on his disheveled hair and clothes.

"Outsiders are not allowed in; this place is only for locals."

Edmund opened his mouth, but the woman had already turned away. The diners in the restaurant seemed unperturbed, clearly not considering the action inappropriate.

He had just returned from "hell," only to be turned away because of the "Hell Knight"?

He left the restaurant and walked to the next one, which was three storefronts away.

The result was the same; the shop owner didn't even let him speak, but just shook his head when he walked in.

"Sorry, we do not accept outsiders."

Edmund stood on the street, and thinking about the haggard looks and lifeless eyes of the shop owners and diners, he began to have some guesses.

The third, the fourth... no matter what Edmund did, he couldn't change their minds, no matter what they said: "Not enough ingredients" or "Only serving regular customers".

Based on the attitudes of these townspeople, Edmund could almost confirm his guess.

He looked around and then walked into a grocery store, where he soon found an old man wearing glasses staring blankly at a newspaper behind the counter.

"Sir, I'd like to buy something to eat, but none of the restaurants on the street will sell to me." Edmund tried to make his tone sound polite and harmless. "Could you tell me what's wrong?"

The old man looked up from his newspaper and sized him up and down through his glasses.

"You're not a local."

"Obviously not."

The old man sighed, took off his reading glasses, and placed them on the counter.

"I'm sorry, I can't sell you anything."

"Why is this happening? I'm just a hardworking worker. Is something wrong here? I see people on the street who don't seem to be doing well..."

After some back and forth, Edmund finally managed to pry the truth out of the old man.

"Okay, okay, actually, something strange is happening in town: people haven't been able to sleep since last week, nothing we try to stop our brains from working, even sleeping pills don't help. It's been going on for days."

The old man lowered his voice: "Everyone thinks this disease is contagious, through food, water, even air, but it's hard to say. You're probably a boatman from the port, right? That's really unfortunate of you; you should go back to the ship."

Edmund's mind raced.

Last week I experienced insomnia that was unresponsive to sleeping pills, which happened to coincide with the period when the planets were in their final positions.

Could Liugang Town, being a small coastal town, really be affected by some extraordinary force, just as he suspects? His cheat-like abilities should be able to exempt him from such influence...

But he couldn't just say it directly, and the usual methods obviously wouldn't be enough to persuade the locals who refused to sell him food.

Edmund's eyes lit up as his gaze swept over the vending machine in the corner of the grocery store. Through the glass, he saw rows of brightly colored drinks.

"Okay, I'll take that one." He pointed to the vending machine.

The old man followed his finger and looked in the direction he was pointing: "Soda?"

"I remember that soft drinks aren't usually made locally; they're all packaged elsewhere?"

"That's... correct. They were all transported from factories in the heart of the Federation."

"Great, this shouldn't cause any trouble, right?" Edmund said, already pulling out some banknotes. "Give me some change, I feel like I'm dying of thirst."

The old man hesitated for a moment, but still took out a handful of coins from the drawer and gave them to him.

Edmund inserted the coin into the vending machine's coin slot, and with a mechanical click, a bottle of cold soda rolled into the dispensing slot.

He unscrewed the bottle cap, tilted his head back, and took the first gulp.

The icy carbonated liquid rushed down his throat, like a cool lightning bolt cleaving through his muddled brain, while sugar and caffeine surged down his esophagus into his empty stomach.

"ah--"

When I came to my senses, the bottle was empty.

Edmund put down the empty bottle and exhaled a long breath of icy carbon dioxide.

He leaned against the counter, feeling as if he had come back to life.

Happiness in my past life came so easily; a bottle of soda was enough.

He put the bottle in the recycling bin and began to plan what to do next.

The hunger problem remained unresolved. The grocery store did have canned goods, but he didn't want to eat fruit or beans, and he needed more than just food.

He needed to get a new set of clothes as soon as possible and leave the town for a big city, where he could activate the escape route he had prepared for himself during the "Edmund Lockman" era.

His time in the cult taught him one thing: every closed community has an underground market.

When official channels close to a certain group of people, there will always be corners that don't care so much about the rules and will accept them.

Jacob’s order had once established itself in various places through this, and now he needed such places as well.