Rusty Anchor wasn't an island, and calling it a city was an insult to architecture and sanitation.
This place was a giant tumor floating atop the Silent Sea. Hundreds of shipwrecks—war galleons, cargo vessels, even lifeboats—lashed together with rusted chains, sea monster rope, and bad prayers. Every time waves hit, the entire structure groaned like someone suffering chronic arthritis.
I fighting nausea. The floor beneath my feet swayed arrhythmically. For someone used to District 9's solid ground, this place was a vestibular nightmare.
"Don't puke, Boss," Miri commented, perched on my shoulder while chewing stolen dried squid tentacles. "Vomiting here counts as wasting nutrients. Someone will collect it."
"Thanks for that disgusting culinary insight," I muttered, tugging the collar of the secondhand robe I'd just bought from Silas for two silver coins. The robe smelled like a burnt fish warehouse, but at least it covered my torn shirt.
We walked along the "main street"—a cargo ship deck polished smooth by thousands of thief and smuggler feet. Left and right, makeshift stalls were erected from sail scraps and driftwood.
This market knew no regulations.
At one stall, a Sea Goblin with pulsing gills sold Water Breathing Potions suspiciously colored like urine. At the next stall, a human with an iron hook hand was auctioning sickly-looking mermaid slaves.
"Focus, Miri," I whispered, eyes scanning the crowd for threats. "We need three things: navigation maps to Coordinates 404, a compass that doesn't point magnetic north (because the Silent Sea scrambles magnetism), and food that isn't dried squid."
"And soap," Miri added. "Boss smells like a sewer."
We stopped in front of a tilted building made from an overturned ship hull. A whale bone sign hung out front: The Cartographer's Curse.
"Maps," I said. "Let's hope the owner prefers gold over blood."
I pushed the heavy wooden door. Bone chimes clattered ominously.
The shop interior was dim, lit by bioluminescent moss stuck to walls. Map scrolls piled everywhere—on shelves, floors, even hanging from the ceiling like paper spider webs.
Behind a desk buried under compasses and sextants sat an ancient creature.
He was a Tortle—Turtle-Man—but his shell was cracked and patched with brass plates. His eyes were covered by thick glasses with three stacked lenses on each side.
"We're closed," his voice came slow, heavy, creaking. "Unless you're here to pay my debt to Iron Tooth Shark, then we're open, but I have no money."
"I'm not collecting debts," I said, stepping inside and letting the door close behind me. "I want to buy a route. Coordinates 404 South."
The old turtle froze. He looked up slowly, his glasses' lenses rotating mechanically, focusing on me.
"404?" he hissed. "That's the Ghost Admiral's territory. Territory that doesn't exist. Are you seeking death, Boy? Or just bored with living?"
"I got an invitation," I replied, showing the black-ribboned scroll delivered by bird last night.
The old eyes widened behind thick lenses. "Invitation... Ah. So you're the new 'Anomaly'."
He climbed down from his chair with difficulty, dragging his short legs toward an iron cabinet in back. "My name is Barnabus. And maps to 404 aren't sold for gold."
"Of course not," I sighed, having anticipated this. In the underworld, gold was just soft metal. True value lay in information and power. "What's the price?"
"Memories," Barnabus answered, pulling out a black map tube pulsing faintly. "To navigate the Admiral's territory, you need a living map. This map needs feeding. It eats the fear of being lost."
I stared at the tube. "You want me to give you my fear?"
"No. I want you to give me the concept of navigation. I hear you're a Cardsmith. Make me a card that can bring me home to Emerald Beach. I'm old. I forgot the way home because of this sea's curse. Give me 'Direction', and I'll give you the map to that hell."
Concept bartering. This was Rax's specialty.
"Deal," I said.
I placed my hand on his workbench cluttered with broken compasses. Infinite Grimoire activated. I had no memories of Emerald Beach, but I had a strong 'Home' concept—the longing for my burned shop.
That sense of loss was still fresh, stinging like an open wound.
"System. Extract emotional residue: Homesickness."
Golden chains slid out, pulling gray mist from my chest. It felt cold, lonely, melancholic. I injected that concept into a blank card, then fused it with an old compass needle on the table.
[CARD CREATED: The Wayward Compass]
[Rank: Uncommon]
[Effect: This compass needle doesn't point North, but points toward where the user feels safest ("Home").]
[Side Effect: User will experience heavy melancholy during travel.]
"Take it," I tossed the card.
Barnabus caught it with trembling hands. He pressed the card to his chest. His eyes glistened behind those thick lenses.
"Ah..." he exhaled long. "I can see it. The green sand... thank you."
He pushed the black map tube toward me. "Be careful, Boy. That map's a liar. It only shows the true path if you dare doubt it."
I'd just reached for the tube when the shop door exploded.
CRASH!
Wood splinters flew everywhere. Miri shrieked and dove into my robe pocket.
Two massive figures stepped in, blocking sunlight. They weren't human. They were Crab-Men—crab people with hard red shells and one giant claw that could slice a ship's mast in half.
They wore leather vests with 'Iron Tooth Shark' emblems. Local debt collectors.
"Barnabus!" one crab gurgled, foam bubbling from its mouth. "Your loan interest was due five minutes ago! Boss wants your shell as wall decoration!"
Barnabus backed away, clutching his new card. "I... I just got a way home! Give me time!"
"Time's up!"
The crab swung its claw, pulverizing the workbench into sawdust.
I stood there, holding the map tube. Technically, this wasn't my problem. Transaction complete. I could escape through a back door (if there was one).
But Barnabus was my client. And in Rax's business world, letting a client die right after a transaction was bad publicity. Besides, I was in a foul mood.
"Excuse me," I said flatly.
Both crabs turned. Their compound eyes blinked at me.
"Who are you, soft-shell?" the second crab growled. "Want to get sliced too?"
"I'm Mr. Barnabus's new risk management consultant," I lied smoothly, residual deception effects still lingering. "And by my calculations, destroying this shop will reduce your collateral asset value by 40%."
"We don't care about assets! We want blood!"
They charged. The giant claw whistled through air, aimed at my neck.
I had no strong attack cards. Theatrical Tsunami was spent. Merchant's Martyrdom was left behind at Gorman's warehouse.
I only had one trash card I'd gotten from yesterday's tuna.
[CARD: The Drifting Doubt]
[Effect: Instant Existential Crisis (10 Seconds)]
"Miri, hold on!" I shouted.
I slid across the slippery wooden floor, dodging the claw by an inch. The claw tip embedded in the floor, stuck.
Opportunity.
I slapped the Drifting Doubt card right onto the crab's hard shell.
"ACTIVATE!"
Pale purple light enveloped the giant crab.
Suddenly, he stopped moving. His fierce eyes went vacant. His free claw slowly lowered.
"Why..." the crab's voice sounded confused, deep, philosophical. "Why do I pinch? Do I only pinch because I have claws? Or do I have claws because my destiny is to pinch? What is the meaning of violence in this empty cosmos?"
The second crab stared at his friend, bewildered. "Bubba? What's wrong? Pinch him!"
"I can't, Gary," Bubba the Crab answered, tears dripping from his compound eyes. "I feel empty. We're all just crustaceans in the giant pot of life that's slowly heating up..."
Bubba collapsed to his knees, contemplating his fate.
Gary, the second crab, roared angrily. "I don't care about philosophy!"
He attacked me. But I was ready. I used Barnabus's black map tube—which turned out to be made of heavy iron—as a club.
THWACK!
I struck Gary's knee joint. He staggered.
"System! Emergency Crafting!" I shouted.
I grabbed a jar of squid ink from the shattered shelf and a handful of rusty nails from the floor.
Infinite Grimoire spun wildly. I needed something dirty. Something incapacitating.
[PROCESSING: Ink + Rust + Environmental Panic]
[CARD CREATED: The Tetanus Cloud]
[Rank: Common (Bio-Hazard)]
I threw the card at Gary's face.
An explosion of thick black smoke reeking of rotten metal filled the room. Gary choked, coughing violently, eyes stinging and momentarily blind.
"Barnabus! Where's the back door?!" I yelled.
"Behind the world map!" the old turtle shouted.
I kicked the map rack, revealing an exit hole leading to the back dock. I dragged the (literally) slow Barnabus and tossed him out, then leaped after him just before Gary blindly demolished the wall with his claw.
We landed on a pile of fishing nets at the lower dock.
Inside the shop, Bubba could still be heard crying about life's meaning while Gary destroyed everything in blind rage.
"That..." Barnabus panted, trying to flip his upturned body. "...was very aggressive negotiation."
"That was debt restructuring," I corrected, standing and straightening my robe. "Now, since I saved your life, I'm requesting an additional discount."
"What more discount?! You already got the map!"
"Information," I said seriously. "About the Admiral. What awaits me at Coordinates 404?"
Barnabus fell silent. He stared at the open sea.
"Not what," he whispered. "But who. The Admiral isn't alone. He's collecting Outsiders. People like you with System Skills that are... broken. Or dangerous."
He stared at me sharply. "That place isn't a sanctuary, Boy. It's a weapons collection. And the Admiral is preparing for war against the Kingdom."
The information landed heavy on my shoulders. War. Of course. Wherever Rax went, large-scale conflict he didn't want followed.
"Great," I muttered sarcastically. "I fled one trade war to enter a military war. Is there anywhere in this world with just beaches and cold drinks?"
"Maybe in the afterlife," Barnabus chuckled. "Now go. Iron Tooth Shark will send more troops."
I nodded. I gripped the map tube tightly.
"Come on, Miri. We need to find passage again."
But before I could step away, the Backflow from the Drifting Doubt card—which I'd used on Bubba—finally reached my brain.
Just a bit of residue, but enough to make me stop abruptly at the dock's edge.
I stared at the sea.
"Miri," I said softly, eyes vacant. "Are we real? Or are we just characters in a novel written by a bored higher-dimensional entity? Is my suffering just narrative entertainment?"
Miri facepalmed with her tiny paw. "Oh, here we go again. Boss, if Boss is a novel character, the author's definitely sadistic because they never give Boss a break."
She bit my ear hard.
"OW!"
"Hurt?" Miri asked.
"Yes!"
"Then it's real. Walk!"
The pain banished my existential doubts. Logic returned. I wasn't a fictional character. I was Rax, and I had a map to read and destiny to manipulate.
We ran toward the ship rental harbor, leaving increasingly chaotic Rusty Anchor behind us.
***
An hour later, we successfully "rented" (read: stole with a promise to pay in the future) a small skiff powered by wind crystals.
I opened the black map tube in the open sea.
The map inside was made from still-damp sea monster skin. No island drawings. Just black ink moving like living worms.
[ITEM: The Living Chart]
[Requirement: Feed it a Lie to see the Truth]
Feed it a lie? I frowned. This map was truly cursed.
I brought my face close to the map.
"My name is Rax," I said honestly.
The ink didn't move.
"I'm an honest, law-abiding merchant," I said again.
The ink trembled violently, then began shifting, forming coastlines, ocean currents, and a blinking red dot in the distance.
"Damn," I laughed softly. "This map knows I'm a fraud. And it likes that."
The red dot was Coordinates 404. And surrounding it, the ink formed images of giant sea monsters guarding the perimeter.
"Miri," I said, turning the helm southward. "Prepare your stomach. This journey's going to be a bit... choppy."
In the distance, black storm clouds gathered on the horizon, right in our destination's direction. And within those clouds, I swear I saw lightning flashes forming a wide smile—the Admiral's smile, waiting for his new toy.
I felt my chest pocket, making sure Infinite Grimoire was ready.
"Let's see how expensive a god's head is on the Admiral's black market," I whispered.
Our small boat cut through waves, heading into the storm, leaving civilization and sanity behind.