Lord of the Mysteries Chapter 1431 - Bonus Chapter: That Corner (1)

1431 Bonus Chapter: That Corner (1)

“Right there! See it?” A young man with flowing brown locks and a pirate bandana gestured toward an island emerging from the mist.

He stood on the starboard side of their three-masted schooner, his voice barely audible over the roaring surf.

A stout sailor with a black eye patch gripped the railing, his brow knitted in a mixture of bewilderment and alarm. “I don’t recall noting an island on this particular trade route…”

They had navigated these waters countless times before.

The young man replied with rising excitement, “That means it remains hidden! It only manifests at specific intervals. There must be untold treasures waiting on that land! Captain, as that eccentric monk once phrased it, a grand fortuitous opportunity has presented itself!”

He spoke in Loen; he had cobbled the term “fortuitous opportunity” together himself.

“That monk mumbled nonsense we couldn't fathom. Ignore him,” the burly captain replied, raking a hand through his unkempt yellow hair. “And I’ve warned you time and again: immense fortunes usually harbor deadly risks.”

He gestured with a thumb at his eye patch. “The cost is often steep.”

The youth in the bandana insisted with gleaming eyes, “But Captain, isn't that the very essence of our life? The pursuit of treasure!”

They were a roaming band of treasure hunters who occasionally moonlit as pirates, “requisitioning” supplies from merchant vessels when funds grew thin. Ideals, after all, offered poor sustenance.

After a brief silence, the captain nodded. “Assemble a landing party of four or five. The rest of you, prepare to weigh anchor on a moment’s notice.”

The youth’s face beamed. “You’re in, Captain? You’re really doing this!”

The captain chuckled dryly. “Weimer, if I had any other choice, I certainly wouldn't be hunting treasure at my age.” Though he looked to be in his thirties, his blue eyes betrayed the weariness of a much older man.

“Fair enough,” Weimer said, tossing his hands up. “Whatever you say. I’ll go grab Old Keaton.”

Old Keaton was the first mate, a devout follower of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom with a deep grasp of linguistics. Without his intellect, they might inadvertently toss priceless artifacts aside like common refuse. More importantly, Keaton was a formidable fighter.

By the time the ship pulled against the decaying pier, the landing party was already waiting: Captain Gray, First Mate Keaton, Boatswain Parvi, and the veteran, Weimer.

“Empty…” Parvi noted, peering toward the horizon with a trace of disappointment. The Berserk Sea was clear today, providing no shelter for anyone lurking in the small port.

The silence was suffocating, as if the place had been a graveyard for decades.

“It would be much worse if there were people,” Weimer muttered, acknowledging that an inhabited island this isolated would suggest a far more sinister reality.

Parvi, dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, turned her icy blue gaze toward Weimer. “Do you want to stay behind and spend the day scrubbing the deck?”

Weimer wisely clamped his mouth shut.

Captain Gray surveyed their surroundings and issued his command. “Time to land. Same protocol as always: explore slowly, touch nothing, only observe.”

“Understood!” Weimer sprinted for the gangway and vaulted onto the dock with the grace of a seabird. The thud of his boots echoed unnaturally through the stillness.

Gray, Keaton, and Parvi followed with practiced caution.

“If you act the part of a wild animal one more time, I’ll lash you to the stern and drag you through the shark-infested waters,” Parvi whispered, keeping pace with Weimer.

Weimer nodded slowly. “Boss, with your sharp tongue, you should have joined the Church of Storms instead of the Evernight Goddess.”

Parvi ignored him, keeping her eyes scanning the shadows as she trailed the captain and first mate.

The port was tiny—a lighthouse, two wharves, five granaries, and a dilapidated collection of service buildings. They looped the area quickly. Everything was in order, yet completely devoid of life.

Weimer paused, staring through a clean window into a nearby house. His expression turned uncharacteristically grave.

Inside, a cup sat on the table filled with dark, stagnant liquid, beside two moldy slices of toast. A stack of newspapers lay nearby, neatly folded.

It appeared as though the owner had sat down for a morning meal, only to be yanked away by some sudden calamity, leaving their breakfast to wither in time. And they had never returned.

One such incident might be an accident, but every house in the harbor mirrored this exact scene. The sheer uniformity of it made their skin crawl.

“They didn’t vanish long ago,” Captain Gray remarked, his voice rasping through the quiet.

Parvi nodded. “Agreed. If this port had been abandoned years ago, the decay would be far more advanced.”

It seemed as though this strange event had occurred merely weeks or days prior.

Old Keaton retracted his gaze from the street. “The local flora confirms it.” His voice was creaky, his face etched with wrinkles visible under his brass-rimmed spectacles.

“Ah?” Weimer looked confused.

Keaton pointed to the small patches of mushrooms sprouting on the wooden planks. The wilderness had simply not had enough time to reclaim the structures.

Keaton turned to the captain. “I fear lingering here invites disaster.”

“What kind of disaster? Are we going to evaporate into thin air?” Weimer started, but a calloused hand clamped over his mouth, driving his head against the wall.

“There won’t be a next time,” Parvi warned, her eyes flashing.

Weimer nodded, feeling the pressure. When she released him, he muttered, “That wasn't like you, Boss. I thought you would have slammed me harder.”

Parvi sighed. “I’m trying to avoid making noise that might stir whatever sleeps here.”

Captain Gray took out his pocket watch. “Fifteen minutes. That’s our limit. If all is clear, we return tomorrow.”

“Fine by me,” Weimer agreed. They adopted a guarded formation, drifting toward the outer edge of the port.

A stained locomotive sat on a set of tracks that led deep into the island. Beside it, a cement road paralleled the path.

Yet, they were baffled. The railway spanned a mere few hundred meters before terminating at the gates of a town. It was a bizarre, inefficient layout for a port.

“If I ran this place, I’d tie the person who designed this layout to the stern,” Weimer cursed. “It makes absolutely no sense.”

“There is likely a deeper purpose,” Keaton frowned. “And it likely has everything to do with why this place is silent.”

“Shall we?” Weimer prompted. Captain Gray nodded, checking his watch. “Twelve minutes remaining.”

They walked until they reached the town’s boundary, where a weathered wooden sign read: “Utopia.”

“Utopia,” Weimer repeated, glancing at Keaton for a reaction. The first mate just shook his head—they had never heard of it.

Inside, the streets were just as vacant. The wind seemed to avoid the place entirely. Every building they passed—the hotel, the telegraph office—was a time capsule of a life interrupted. Clothes half-washed, instruments left out, books open to unfinished pages. The entire town was a ghost of its final moment.

“Something is missing,” Weimer whispered as the town square came into view, sensing a void he couldn't quite name.