Just as Charles was struggling to figure out what was going on, the skinny cook Frank handed over a diary.

"Captain, take a look at this. This one is a bit different."

Charles took it and opened it. His pupils instantly shrank to the smallest size as he saw the pale yellow diary filled with messy words.

"Careful! Don’t go to the island, our own people!! They’re not human!! They want to eat us! I don’t want to be! I want to go back to the island, safe! The island!"

All sorts of illogical phrases were jumbled together, showing that the writer’s mind was already somewhat unstable. Everyone reading the diary felt a chill run down their spines, all wondering what exactly this captain had experienced.

"Gulp." Dean swallowed hard, pulling his head back and warily eyeing the companions around him. The diary suggested the danger came from their own people—did that mean there was a monster lurking among them right now?

Charles knew what he was thinking and smacked him on the head with the diary. "Don’t overthink it. We haven’t even set foot on the island yet."

"Captain, are we still going?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"Of course we are." Charles's expression suddenly became resolute. No matter what dangers awaited on that island, nothing could block his way home. Even if he had to die, he’d die on the journey.

The Rat slowly approached the shore. After the rusty anchor crashed into the water, the black smoke from the smokestack gradually dissipated.

A wooden boat was lowered, and everyone moved together toward the island.

As the shadowy island drew closer, Charles opened a wooden crate and handed out some flintlock pistols and revolvers. At the very bottom was a bundle of tightly wrapped dynamite.

He had specially purchased quite a few supplies for this mission.

With weapons in hand, everyone felt much calmer.

Seven sturdy men, armed, jumped from the boat and walked across the beach toward the distant forest.

Calling it a forest was a stretch—there wasn’t a single hint of green. Every twisted branch seemed to be covered in a thick layer of rust, and all the trunks looked as if they were riddled with tumors, some places bulging grotesquely, others suddenly sunken in.

Walking among them gave the unsettling feeling of moving through the inside of a living body.

The crew all knew their mission was to find a golden statue of the god Futan. By torchlight, they searched for anything that glimmered, but found nothing.

Not long after, a scattered set of footprints appeared on the ground. Seeing human footprints, everyone relaxed a little—at least it proved others had walked this path, so it should be somewhat safe.

Maybe their guess was right. The seven of them walked for nearly two hours without anything unusual happening.

After gathering a pile of branches and lighting a campfire, the tense atmosphere eased a bit.

The white bread was toasted to a fragrant crisp over the fire. As the crew ate, they speculated about what might have happened to the missing people.

"Do you think monsters ate them? Like the things in the sea."

"Doesn’t seem likely. Some of those on the ship were Futan cultists, and you know, the things in the sea rarely attack them. I think there’s some other danger on the island."

Charles didn’t join the discussion. He kept a wary eye on the surroundings. This strange forest was truly bizarre. Aside from the sounds they made, there was no noise at all—not even insects or birds.

For there to be no danger on the island was itself suspicious. He’d read many explorers’ logs, and not a single island in the Sea of Earth was safe.

The islands humans now inhabited had only been claimed after great effort to eliminate the dangers.

Just like the previous coral archipelago—when humans first encountered that coral island, they discovered it was actually alive. Over twenty exploration ships formed a fleet and fought a great battle with the giant coral. It was said many people died before they finally managed to kill it.

"Enough talking. Finish eating and get searching. The longer we stay here, the more dangerous it gets."

At Charles's words, the crew stopped chatting and began to eat faster, quickly regaining some strength. Charles and his group set off again.

"Captain, I heard that when we get back, we’ll be on a big ship, right?" Dean sidled up and asked in a low voice.

"Yeah."

"That’s great! Then I’ll be able to command a dozen sailors like the other boatswains on the big ships, instead of having not even half a sailor under me like now."

Glancing at the eager young man, Charles couldn’t help but smile. Youth really is wonderful—always looking on the bright side.

But it was true, they’d need to recruit more sailors when they got back. The Rat wasn’t a big ship, but having no sailors at all was a bit much.

Charles and the others continued along the path, but it seemed endless, stretching on and on.

If not for the ever-changing scattered footprints on the ground, Charles would have thought they were just walking in circles.

After nearly three hours, when their legs were aching, the forest suddenly cleared. A stone building tangled in brown vines appeared before them.

From the outside, the structure looked dilapidated. It was impossible to tell if it was a temple or a church. Where there should have been a wooden door, there was nothing left—only a pitch-black entrance remained.