### Chapter 184

### Chapter 184

Evan’s fingers hovered over the “First Island Fluorescent Algae” task page for three seconds, then flipped to the middle-to-later section of the mission booklet, his eyes landing on a two-star task entry—[Fourth Island Rainforest: Hunt the Unicorn Python, take its gall as proof. Reward: Unicorn Python Gall + Three Sala Gold Coins + Basic Antidote Potion].

The simple sketch next to it showed the python’s silver horn glowing faintly, with a note below reading, “Its gall can be used as a high-grade potion catalyst and can also neutralize rainforest miasma.”

He closed the booklet, drumming his fingers on the table—the more clues the First Island laid out, the more it felt like a net closing in. Rather than following someone else’s thread, it was better to pick an “unrelated” path first, to both avoid potential traps and stock up on potion materials. That was the safest bet.

Early the next morning, Evan tucked his “Thornbird” wooden token into his pocket and headed back to the Palm Leaf. When the bartender saw the Fourth Island mission application he slid over, a flicker of surprise crossed his pale blue eyes: “Everyone’s been fighting to get to the First Island lately, and you’re heading south. The Fourth Island’s rainforest is thick with miasma, and the Unicorn Python’s venom can melt iron swords. Plenty of people have been lost there.”

“Just looking to get my hands dirty,” Evan said, sliding the mission confirmation slip across the counter. “Where can I get a ticket?”

“At the far end of the dock, look for the ‘Old Shark’ sailboat. The captain’s an old mixed-blood sailor who’s been running the Fourth Island route for twenty years. Hand him this token, and he’ll cut you a deal at half price.” The bartender handed over a wooden token carved with a shark tooth. “She sails at high tide this afternoon—don’t be late.”

Evan thanked the bartender and turned to head for the dock. The Twelfth Island’s harbor was busier than when he first arrived: Sala merchants were directing natives to haul spice crates, a Frankish merchant ship was anchoring in the basin, and a few supernaturals in animal hides were carrying hunting rifles toward the sailboats, likely heading out on missions too.

He walked to the far end and spotted a sailboat flying a shark flag. Though old, the hull was polished clean. On deck, a grizzled, mixed-blood sailor with a thick beard was mending a fishing net with hemp thread. His skin was a deep honey color, and sea salt crystals were embedded in the wrinkles around his eyes—this was Captain Old Shark.

“Captain Old Shark?” Evan offered the shark-tooth token. “One ticket to the Fourth Island.”

Old Shark glanced at the token, then down at Evan’s boots—still stained with wet mud from the mangroves, where he’d scouted the night before. “From the Palm Leaf?” He grinned, revealing a gold tooth. “The Fourth Island’s been rough lately. Last week, a ship never made it ashore—said they ran into a ‘sea monster.’ But if you’re a supernatural, you’ve got nothing to fear.”

“Just gathering some herbs,” Evan said, not mentioning the mission. He paid the fare and followed Old Shark into the cabin.

The cabin was small but clean, with dried palm leaves spread on the floor and sulfur blocks stacked in the corner to ward off dampness.

“We set sail at three in the afternoon, should reach the Fourth Island by dawn tomorrow. If you hear any noise on deck at night, don’t come out,” Old Shark said, then turned and went back to work.

Evan leaned by the cabin window, watching the harbor water ripple in the sunlight. He caught a glimpse of a figure in a gray cloak among the dock crowd, staring in his direction—the hood was pulled low, revealing only a pale hand clutching a silver badge similar to the one on his chest.

His heart stirred, but before he could get a better look, the figure melted into the crowd of natives and vanished into the shadow of the palm trees.

At three in the afternoon, the rising tide lapped over the dock steps. Old Shark’s whistle cut through the air, and the anchor chain of the *Old Shark* splashed into the sea, the sailboat riding the current southward.

Evan stood on deck, watching the Twelfth Island shrink into the distance. The First Island lay below the horizon, only the salty wind filling the sails, pushing the boat toward the unknown Fourth Island.

Just two hours after leaving the Twelfth Island’s waters, the calm sea suddenly turned hostile. The sun was swallowed by a sudden bank of dark clouds, and the wind howled like a mad thing, tearing at the sails. The canvas groaned, as if it might rip apart at any second.

Evan had just leaned against the deck railing to note the course when the ship lurched violently. He instinctively gripped the railing, his fingers turning white—the sea was no longer a gentle blue but churning with black whirlpools. A massive force was dragging the hull from below, as if trying to capsize the ship and pull it into the abyss.

“Hold on! It’s a treacherous current!” Old Shark’s roar cut through the storm. He tore off his coarse jacket, revealing a chest covered in old scars. His hunched back straightened, turning him into a mast that wouldn’t bend under the gale. Just as the ship tilted so far that the deck nearly touched the water, Old Shark punched the helm with a shout: “Steady!”

A white light burst from within him—not blinding, but soft and resilient like morning mist. It flowed down his arm into the helm, then spread along the ship’s grain, enveloping the entire *Old Shark* in a transparent armor in the blink of an eye.

Strangely, the black currents that had been tearing at the hull met the white light as if hitting an invisible barrier. The raging waves calmed, the whirlpools dissipated, and even the howling wind weakened.

Evan’s eyes widened, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the “Thornbird” token at his waist—he’d read about this light in supernatural texts. It was the core ability of Sequence 9 “Sailor”: “Ship’s Guardian,” which could commune with a vessel’s “life” to ward off supernatural dangers at sea. This old captain, who seemed so ordinary, was actually a deeply hidden supernatural.

Old Shark panted heavily as the white light slowly faded. He wiped the rain and seawater from his face, walked over to Evan, and pulled out a tin flask of rum from his pocket, taking a long swig: “Scared you, kid, didn’t it? That wasn’t a normal current. Someone used supernatural power to stir it up. The southern waters have been dangerous lately.”

“Are you a Sequence 9 Sailor?” Evan asked.

Old Shark grinned, his gold tooth glinting in the dim light: “You caught me. Used to be a boatswain in the Royal Fleet. Had a falling out with someone, so I ended up running routes here.” He glanced at the token on Evan’s belt. “The Fourth Island’s jobs aren’t easy, especially the Unicorn Python. That thing’s not just venomous—it can stir up the surrounding miasma. It’s a tougher nut to crack than that treacherous current.”

Evan was about to respond when a broken plank drifted across the distant sea. It was stained with dark brown blood and bore several clean, jagged bite marks.

Old Shark’s face darkened. He put away his flask: “Looks like that missing ship from last week didn’t just run into a sea monster. Stay alert tonight. This voyage is going to be more dangerous than we thought.”

Evan nodded, his gaze fixed on the broken plank. His fingers quietly reached for the silver badge in his watch pocket—it still felt cool to the touch, but now carried a faint tremor, as if warning of the danger ahead. The sea wind blew, carrying a salty, briny scent. The horizon under the dark clouds looked especially gloomy, and the direction of the Fourth Island seemed to hide secrets more terrifying than the Unicorn Python.