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Strangely, Martha herself was nowhere to be seen.

However, Lawrence perceived this absence not as an unfortunate event but as divine guidance. Whether his deep-rooted faith influenced this or was a product of his subconscious mind, he found himself interpreting even the slightest signs and instinctive nudges as directions, subtly suggesting a possible path towards escape from his dangerously precarious situation.

With his heart pounding in his chest and his muscles straining, he pushed his way towards the harbor. The harsh sting of the frigid wind and the relentless fog battered his face and roared in his ears. His first mate and the crew mustered their courage and rallied around him as the persistent boom of cannon fire echoed through the night, menacing and unceasing. This included the distant gunshots and the firing of the White Oak’s lightweight escort cannons. Yet, their efforts to fight back seemed pointless against the overwhelming power of the enemy. It was evident that the odds were significantly against them.

The warning about the arrival of the Seagull, which Martha had ominously given, clouded his thoughts. But amidst the ghostly figures shrouded in the fog, which one was the dreaded Seagull?

As he drew nearer to the harbor, a ship began to gradually take shape through the grim, grey curtain of fog, revealing the majestic hull of the White Oak. Still securely tied at the end of the pier, the ship’s silhouette came into view. The sporadic bursts of bright cannon fire continuously sliced through the fog, illuminating the ship’s fore and aft. At differing intervals, towering geysers of water erupted from the nearby sea – a chilling testament to the enemy’s relentless attack.

“The ship’s still there!” The first mate’s jubilant voice cut through the noise upon sighting the White Oak, his cheeriness inspiring the captain and providing a much-needed morale boost to the fatigued sailors to pick up their pace. “Jason didn’t abandon us!”

Jason, the second mate, was indeed still on board the ship.

“Blessed be the Storm Goddess Gomona! Quick, let’s get on the ship to escape this damned place!” a deckhand bellowed, frantically swinging his lantern to guide the search party, encouraging them to climb up the hanging rope ladder. “The White Oak is just sitting here like a sitting duck!”

Without further ado, the crew members who had previously been on land made a hasty dash towards the hanging rope ladder.

However, with a sudden air of authority, Lawrence stopped dead in his tracks, pulling out his revolver in one swift movement and firing a shot upwards into the dark night sky: “Everyone, HALT!”

The unexpected gunshot and their captain’s resounding command caught the sailors completely off guard. They stopped in their tracks, looking around with expressions of surprise and bewilderment. First Mate Gus halted too, his face reflecting a deep sense of confusion as he turned to regard the experienced captain. Yet, it took him no more than a split second to comprehend the reason behind the captain’s abrupt order to stop.

As he tried to catch his breath, the first mate took a moment to assess the situation, his gaze sweeping over the sailors and back towards the captain, all against the unnerving backdrop of the incessant cannon fire.

Sixteen sailors stood looking visibly puzzled and uncertain, their familiar faces mirroring their collective confusion.

“Can anyone remember how many were in our original party?” Lawrence’s voice cut through the confusion, his tone urgent, underlining the grave seriousness of the situation at hand.

“Including both of us, there should be…” The first mate responded hastily, pausing for a fraction of a second as he struggled to recall the exact number. However, within a few short seconds, he managed to retrieve the information from the recesses of his memory, “Exactly twelve sailors!”

Lawrence’s eyes squinted slightly as he surveyed the group standing before him, his mind racing as he counted each and every face.

As he carried out this task, a strange, emerald-like glimmer seemed to flash within his eyes.

“We have four extra heads,” the first mate announced, his count leading him to the same alarming realization. His weathered face hardened, and with a quick motion, he raised his own firearm and fired a shot into the sky. In the quiet that followed, his voice echoed out, “Everyone, keep a distance of a meter from each other! Face the captain! Keep your hands where we can see them!”

The gravity of the situation started to settle upon the sailors, their faces reflecting an escalating sense of worry. However, as experienced seamen accustomed to the unpredictable nature of the Boundless Sea, they instinctively knew how to respond. Following the first mate’s stern instructions, the group of sixteen sailors quickly spread out, forming a wide circle.

The thunderous boom of cannon fire from the White Oak filled the air, punctuating the charged atmosphere. A growing number of towering water columns were springing up around the harbor, indicating the relentless assault of their enemy. The enemy ship, ominously known as the “Seagull,” seemed to be gradually narrowing the gap while Lawrence’s mind worked feverishly.

The situation was becoming more dire by the second. Their ship, the White Oak, was dangerously exposed in the harbor, its humble defensive cannons and ship’s framework unable to withstand much more of the assault. However, leading this group back to the ship wasn’t an option either—not when an unidentified element from the island had seamlessly slipped into their ranks. If these unknown beings managed to board, the White Oak’s fate would be virtually sealed.

His gaze swept across the sixteen sailors in front of him, a sense of desperation creeping in as he tried to identify any unfamiliar or out-of-place faces. When had these additional four managed to blend into the group so seamlessly? Was it while they were making their way through the smothering fog? Could it have been at the harbor office? Or during the pandemonium caused by the unending explosions on the island?

The sailors, too, were hurriedly examining each other. Trust had become a luxury they could no longer afford. Even their own recollections and judgments were now under suspicion.

“Captain,” First Mate Gus’s voice interrupted Lawrence’s frantic thoughts. The veteran sailor’s face bore a resolute expression, “The White Oak can’t stay here much longer. You need to board the ship without delay.”

A serious look shadowed Lawrence’s face, “What are you implying?”

“You should sail the ship to the safety of the open sea, leaving us behind. We’ll gradually devise a method to identify and deal with these ‘entities’ that have slipped into our ranks. Once you’re at a safe distance, return for us…”

As Lawrence met the first mate’s gaze, his expression was thoughtful and grave. No one was under any illusion about Gus’s proposition.

If the White Oak left the harbor, those left on the island would be undeniably stranded, subject to the island’s unknown threats. They had all witnessed the inexplicable events here. In a surprisingly short span, four unidentified entities had stealthily infiltrated their group. Who could foretell what might happen if they lingered any longer?

“Don’t be in such a rush to sacrifice yourself,” Lawrence responded quietly. Suddenly, a spark of inspiration seemed to light up his face, his gaze intensifying, “Humans only have two eyes…”

His gaze locked onto one sailor.

Then shifted to another, then another, until he finally rested his gaze on a fourth individual.

One of the sailors touched himself questioningly. He blinked once, then twice, and then again with his two additional eyes. “Don’t I only have two eyes?” he asked innocently.

Without uttering a word, Lawrence simply raised his revolver—a silent proclamation.

The first to join Lawrence in brandishing a weapon was First Mate Gus, and almost as if roused from a trance, the rest of the crew swiftly followed their lead.

It was as if a spell had been broken, everyone jolting back to their senses in a collective gasp. They stared at the infiltrators amidst them in a blend of shock and horror, their forms so disturbingly human yet indisputably not. Each sailor had their weapon trained on these eerie doppelgängers.

Four humanoid “sailors” were now encircled by the crew, their expressions shifting from confusion to disorientation, and then to a stunned stupor.

The hastily constructed personas they had assumed seemed to be dissolving, failing to withstand the abrupt shock of discovery. These humanoid “impostors” swayed where they stood, casting glances up at their “captain.”

All Lawrence could manage was a sigh. “You’re not my crew.”

The next moment, to his utter astonishment, a flickering green light sparked into existence in the space before them.

Initially, the light was a mere handful of sparks, scattered and dancing amidst the twelve genuine sailors like errant streaks of electric energy. Then, in a blink of an eye, the sparks morphed into a raging inferno. This ghostly green fire roared amongst the crew, its predatory nature evident as it lunged towards the stupefied “impostors.”

The fire roared into life, enwrapping the four impostors who convulsed within its emerald clutches. However, before they could utter a scream, they were reduced to piles of black dust, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the dark sludge they had previously encountered on the port slope, only much drier and coarser.

The scene instilled terror in the sailors. The ignition of the spectral fire was a chilling reminder of the horrifying encounters they had faced as part of the White Oak’s crew. The spine-chilling ordeal with the Vanished in the Boundless Sea, the shocking sight of a city being devoured by flames in Pland… This fire was eerily familiar.

Why had this fire manifested here?

Could it be that “Captain Duncan” was close at hand?

Just as this harrowing conjecture sparked in the minds of the sailors, sending a wave of panic surging through them, the fire abruptly extinguished. As quickly as it had ignited and reduced the four impostors to dust, the spectral green flames vanished without a trace.

Left behind were a group of terror-stricken sailors, a first mate in a state of shock, and a captain who felt that he should have retired some time ago.

“What… what just happened?” First Mate Gus stammered out, gulping down his fear. “Captain, that fire, it looked like…”

“It resembled the force of the Vanished… the Vanished…” Lawrence echoed, his voice trailing off as he suddenly shifted his gaze towards the open sea as if expecting to spot a ghostly vessel. But the only ship in sight was the White Oak, still embroiled in a fierce onslaught. The sailors who had been waving their lanterns at the edge of the deck had disappeared, presumably drawn into the heart of the battle.

The crew aboard the White Oak were putting up a desperate fight, risking their lives in an attempt to buy their captain and his party the precious time they needed to board the ship.

The Vanished wasn’t present, yet the flames emblematic of Captain Duncan had inexplicably appeared before them.

“Stay calm,” Lawrence quickly advised, attempting to soothe his rattled sailors. “We’ve faced the Vanished before. And don’t forget, it was that very ship that saved the city-state of Pland – it’s not necessarily our enemy. Haven’t you heard the tales? They claim Captain Duncan Abnomar has regained his humanity…”

Almost instinctively, the first mate whispered a silent prayer to the Storm Goddess, then posed his question, “Captain, should we… should we board the ship now?”

“…Yes, swiftly! We must get aboard before any other unknown elements manage to infiltrate our group!” Lawrence commanded with determination.