As the Narwhal's searchlights swept over the horizon, an island lush with green vegetation appeared before the crew.
This good news washed away the tension from their recent brush with danger. An excited Charles pulled out the sea chart to re-plot their coordinates.
As long as they found the location of the first island, the coordinates of the other islands in this chain would be much easier to pinpoint. This also served as direct proof that the sea chart was real.
The Narwhal began a preliminary survey, circling the island. After one pass, Charles realized it wasn't large—he estimated it was only about half the size of Coral Island.
The chances of finding a surface entrance here are small, he judged, but no matter how slim, I still have to go ashore and check.
Charles stuck to his previous routine, first tossing some sea fish onto the island. When no creatures emerged, he sent the first batch of crew ashore. It was a precaution in case they were wiped out by something unexpected. The closer he got to home, the more cautious he became.
About two hours later, the first group of sailors emerged from the forest and stood on the beach, signaling with flags.
"No threat," Charles deciphered.
"Drop anchor! Shut down the engines!" Two wooden boats were lowered as the entire crew headed toward the island.
Deep, who was in the first group ashore, said excitedly, "Captain, come quick! I found a ruined house over here!"
Without hesitating, Charles followed him into the forest. They moved down a narrow path that had been hacked open with blades, and soon he saw a three-story cabin enveloped in vines.
The cabin was so dilapidated that Charles wondered if the tangled vines clinging to the outer walls were the only thing holding the cracked structure together.
"Captain, there's no one inside. Not even a body."
Charles led his group carefully into the building. Everything inside was buried in a thick layer of dust, as if it had been forgotten by history.
"Everyone, look around. If you find any form of writing, report to me." At the captain's command, the crew began searching the building. Dust flew everywhere, and coughs echoed throughout the house.
Charles casually picked up a cup made of some unknown material, but at his slightest touch, it crumbled to powder.
"AAAAAHHH!!"
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
Terrified screams and gunshots snapped Charles back to his senses. He spun around and rushed toward the sound.
When he burst into the room, he saw four sailors huddled together, nervously aiming their guns around the space.
"What did you see? Why did you open fire?"
"Captain! Over there! We just saw something small run past!" a sailor exclaimed, pointing his gun toward the back of the cluttered room.
Charles drew Black Blade and dashed over. He tossed aside various bits of junk but found no sign of any living creature.
His gaze settled on a corner of the wall where a crack had formed. On the ground below it was a trail of tiny footprints.
He crouched down, peering into the crack. A human eye with a blue pupil flickered inside for a moment before vanishing. "There's something in here!"
Charles immediately leaped up and rushed to the adjacent room, but when he got there, he found no trace of the eye's owner.
He returned to the first room and carefully scrutinized the footprints on the floor. They were barely half a centimeter wide—incredibly tiny. Charles estimated their owner was no more than five centimeters tall.
Natives of the island? Charles instantly recalled the small figure that had crawled out of the skull.
But he dismissed the thought just as quickly. The eye I just glimpsed inside was the size of a normal human's. That makes no sense—how could a regular person squeeze through a crack barely a finger wide?
"Captain! What's wrong? We heard gunshots!"
"Did something happen?"
"What just happened in here?"
The rest of the Narwhal's crew arrived at that moment, chattering with questions.
Charles stood up and explained the situation. "There's something alive on this island. Everyone, stay alert."
Seeing the tension on their faces, Charles added, "But don't be too worried. Whatever it is, it's hiding from us, not the other way around."
He then asked them, "Did any of you find clues in the other rooms?"
When everyone shook their heads, a flash of disappointment crossed Charles's face, though he felt it was to be expected. Luck was never on his side; he wasn't about to find the way home on the very first island.
Under Charles's lead, the group left the building and continued to explore deeper into the island.
The path through the forest was difficult. It was tangled with vines and branches, forcing them to hack their way forward with blades.
After two hours, Charles estimated they hadn't even covered a mile. Seeing his panting, exhausted crew, he ordered a rest.
"Doctor, do you recognize any of the plants on this island?" Charles asked the old man, who was munching on some bread.
"You think I'm all-knowing? How would I recognize the plants on a deserted island? I can only tell you they probably don't eat people."
Richard chimed in, "Dude, with so many trees, the land here must be good. It's definitely farmable. If we can find a source of fresh water, people could live on this island!"
"It's not that simple. There are only plants here, no animals."
As the two were talking, the Doctor suddenly collapsed to the ground, his face contorted in pain. Charles rushed over and helped him up. "Doctor, what's wrong? Talk to me!"
Grimacing, the Doctor clawed wildly at his chest with his iron hand. "Damn it! Something's biting me! Quick, get it off me!"
Charles ripped open the Doctor's coat and saw a round, disc-shaped object squirming rapidly beneath his blood-soaked shirt.
Wasting no time, he raised Black Blade. With a single fluid motion, he sliced at the object and flicked it away. Accompanied by the Doctor's cry of pain, the cloth-wrapped thing was sent flying dozens of meters away.
Charles looked down at the Doctor's chest and was horrified by the gruesome wound. A large patch of skin on the left side of his abdomen was gone, exposing his stark ribs.
"My God, what did you have in your shirt?"
"I didn't have anything! The thing in my shirt... it was your mask!" the Doctor groaned, tremblingly pouring a handful of powder onto the wound.
096? Charles's head snapped toward the ground. He saw the mask—a ghastly white clown face with bits of flesh hanging from its mouth—creeping out from a pile of torn rags.
"The mask is alive?" someone gasped. Everyone stared wide-eyed at the absurd scene before them.
Before anyone could react, 096 gave the group a terrifying grin, then rolled into the forest like a wheel.