Thieves

The three of them sat in a corner.

The wooden table was somewhat blackened, soaked by the damp sea air.

Sailors bustled all around them. Some gulped down soup from wooden bowls, others gathered around playing cards and swearing, while a few sailors who had just finished their shifts dozed against the wall.

The entire mess hall was lively and real. It was so real that it made one forget that this place did not belong to reality at all.

Simon had already finished his second piece of brown bread, while Alvin quietly gnawed on some cheese.

Only Ryan had not moved. The bowl of steaming hot soup sat before him. He stared down at the onions and beef floating in the broth, his gaze somewhat lost.

Ever since they boarded The Voyager, the Morris in his mind had stopped spewing trash talk.

But at the same time, fragmented memories were being forced upon him.

He saw snowstorms, he saw a lighthouse, he saw the silhouette of someone standing on a dock, and he saw a brass coin being inserted into an invisible crack.

These images were completely devoid of logic, jumbled up and crammed into his mind.

Ryan closed his eyes and tried to organize them, but a dull throb began in his temples.

He opened his eyes and gave up, for he had discovered a far more terrifying problem.

He could no longer remember certain deeper parts of his “past.”

Ryan knew he had a completely different background, but now, there was absolutely nothing left of that true “background.” No family, no friends, no school, no job—he couldn't even remember what he originally looked like.

That past had been completely uprooted, leaving behind only a vague yet absolute concept:

He came from another world that did not belong here.

Moth Port. When he first met Morris, Morris had taken out a brass coin and said he wanted to record his dreams.

At the time, he had found it bizarre, and as more and more things happened later on, the matter was pushed to the back of his mind.

But now, Ryan suddenly realized that he hadn't simply forgotten. He had just never seriously considered the logic behind it.

“Dreams...”

He whispered the word, and certain fragments in his mind that should have been dead and silent began to churn.

He vaguely remembered that he had once had a dream—of the real him, the original him.

Someone had been watching him long ago. Or more accurately, someone had been constantly peeling away, altering, and recording his dreams.

Those fragmented memories of another world—someone was using a clean, foreign dream that did not belong to this world at all to reverse-engineer a connection.

They had stolen his original memories to open the White Door.

He thought of the director, and perhaps there were others. More than one faction was scheming in this game, and he was the key.

At this thought, a sudden chill ran down Ryan's spine.

Simon noticed his expression and put down his bread.

“What's wrong?”

Alvin looked up as well.

“Did you find something?”

Ryan was silent for a few seconds before finally shaking his head.

“Nothing. I just thought of some things, but I'm not sure yet.”

Simon looked at him suspiciously, clearly not believing him, but he did not press further.

But in the next second, the entire Voyager shuddered violently.

Boom—!!

A deafening explosion echoed from the port side of the ship, the shockwave causing the iron sheets on the cabin walls to buzz. The entire captain's cabin tilted violently, sending the logbook on the desk flying and shattering the coffee cups.

Simon toppled to the floor along with his chair. “What's going on?!”

Alvin gripped the edge of the table tightly, his expression shifting drastically.

Outside, a sharp, ear-splitting alarm bell suddenly rang out.

Clang—! Clang—! Clang—!

Countless panicked cries echoed from the deck:

“Enemy attack!”

“Port side hit!!”

“Incoming fire!!!”

Ryan stabilized his balance and rushed to the porthole in a few strides, peering outside. His pupils shrank instantly.

On the sea beyond the thick fog, several pitch-black warships had actually appeared out of thin air.

They were typical two-masted pirate ships flying the Jolly Roger. Their hulls were covered in crude patches, and their filthy white sails whipped loudly in the sea breeze. From their battered gunwales, gaping black smoothbore cannon muzzles were continuously spitting hot tongues of flame.

At that exact moment, the broadside cannons of one of the pirate ships flashed with blinding fire once more.

Boom!!!

A second solid lead cannonball tore through the thick fog, accompanied by a piercing whistle, and slammed heavily into The Voyager's gunwale. The entire deck jolted violently, sending wood splinters flying everywhere. In an instant, the captain's cabin was illuminated by the smoke and fire outside the window.

“It's pirates.”

Listening to the dull thuds of cannonballs smashing into the wooden walls, Alvin quickly calculated the location of the damage, his face turning slightly pale.

“Damn it, I knew this wouldn't be so simple.”

Outside the window, the steam whistle shrieked frantically.

The crew members slowly stopped their work and turned their heads in unison, staring fixedly at the approaching pirate ships.

“Port side guns one and two, prepare!!”

First Mate Evans's raspy roar was instantly shredded by the storm.

The sailors on the deck were jolted awake by the shout, and their ship-handling instincts immediately kicked in.

“Move! Smash open the iron doors of the gun deck!!”

Alvin was the first to rush out of the captain's cabin. Stepping onto the tilting deck, he ripped off his overcoat and slid straight down the iron ladder into the lower gun deck.

The gun deck was filled with a pungent smell of grease and mold. Four heavy black iron smoothbore cannons were secured tightly in their gun ports, and two gunners were frantically clearing the barrels.

“We don't have enough gunpowder and fuses!” Simon jumped down to the lower deck right after him. He reached into a nearby wooden barrel, finding only a small fraction of dry black powder left inside.

“Load all of it!” Alvin kicked open a jammed gun carriage and roared roughly. “We don't need accuracy! Shoot them when they close in!”

The two gunners violently pulled the thick hemp ropes, ramming the heavy solid shot into the barrels.

“Fire—!!”

Boom!!! Boom!!!

The two port-side cannons of The Voyager roared simultaneously. The massive recoil sent the entire ship jolting hard to the starboard side. Searing smoke instantly flooded the gun deck, and the pungent smell of sulfur set Simon coughing repeatedly.

The solid lead cannonballs tore through the storm, slamming heavily into the bow of the leading pirate ship.

A massive shower of wood splinters exploded alongside the pirates' screams. Ryan could see clearly through the porthole: the pirates on the opposite ship had fierce, rugged faces, their eyes flashing with suicidal madness.

“They're boarding us!!” the first mate's cracking voice yelled from the deck.

Braving The Voyager's cannon fire, the shallow-draft pirate cutter used its agile sails to force its way to within ten meters of the port side. Dozens of grappling irons tied to thick hemp ropes whistled through the air, accurately latching onto The Voyager's gunwales.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A dense volley of flintlock fire swept over like a rainstorm, striking the windproof glass of the captain's cabin and fracturing it into countless white spiderweb patterns.

Bare-chested and with a steel cutlass clamped between his teeth, a pirate swung on a rope, howling as he became the first to land on The Voyager's deck.

Yet before his feet could even touch the ground, he was met with a massive iron wrench coated in dark grease.

Whoosh—!

Alvin had returned to the deck at some point. Veins bulged on his right hand as he swung the heavy wrench, whipping up a fierce wind before slamming it squarely into the pirate's temple.

Crack.

The sound of bone shattering was incredibly dull. The pirate didn't even manage a scream before he was sent flying sideways, crashing heavily into the sea.

“Simon! Cut the ropes!!” Alvin wiped the black grease from his face and roared sharply.

“I'm on it!!”