Flames crackled merrily in the fireplace, filling the tavern with a warmth like springtime. Wilder sat at the bar, chatting easily with the owner. Through their conversation, he learned the owner's name was Barrett – an interesting name, one that hinted at something more.
Claire and the others found seats elsewhere, sipping their drinks but frequently glancing towards the two men at the bar.
"Nyehehehe! So, Mr. Barrett, you're saying you also ended up stranded on this island half a year ago after encountering a storm?" Wilder's hearty laughter echoed in the tavern, though an unreadable glint flashed in his eyes.
"That's right. But everything has two sides, doesn't it? If not for that storm, I might have already died at the hands of those pirates," Barrett replied. He was a middle-aged man with a refined way of speaking, his eyes consistently holding a hint of a smile. His hands never stopped moving, meticulously polishing a wine glass with a pristine white cloth.
"Pirates? Is there more to that story?" Wilder raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink, his tone inviting more details.
"Mm. I was originally a merchant," Barrett explained. "My fleet had just completed a cargo delivery and was on the return voyage. I happened to be aboard at the time. Unexpectedly, halfway through our journey, we ran into a band of pirates. I trust you know what happens next, Mr. Wilder; pirates rarely let a merchant ship pass unharmed. Under the protection of my guards, I abandoned the ship and escaped on a small boat. Unfortunately, those pirates pursued us relentlessly, right up until the storm hit. We were all swallowed by the waves – myself, my guards, and the pirates chasing us."
"My consciousness was lost to darkness for a long time. When I finally awoke, I found myself washed ashore on this island, far from where I'd been. I had lost everything, but fortunately, I still had my life."
"A blessing in disguise, indeed…" Wilder commented dryly, shrugging his shoulders.
Barrett looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, before smiling in agreement. "A blessing in disguise… that's the perfect way to put it. You have a way with words, Mr. Wilder, truly knowledgeable."
Wilder chuckled, deflecting the compliment. "I wouldn't call myself knowledgeable! More importantly, Mr. Barrett, could you perhaps tell me a bit about this island?"
"Of course." Barrett's smiling eyes, usually curved like crescent moons, opened fractionally, almost imperceptibly. "Speaking of this island… there's something you and your friends should be careful about."
"Oh? What's that?" Wilder asked, putting on a curious expression.
Elsewhere in the tavern, the others subtly pricked up their ears.
"There's a taboo on this island," Barrett said, his expression turning serious. "You mustn't go outside at night. Absolutely must not go out."
"Why?" Bacon, sitting nearby, couldn't help but ask.
Barrett glanced at him, nodding slightly. "Because this is a cursed island. Cursed by darkness and negativity."
His voice lowered slightly, and everyone listened intently.
"It's a local legend. Honestly, I didn't believe it myself at first. But then, one day, I saw something happening on the street outside through my window…"
"That's when I understood. It wasn't just a legend. It was real."
"What did you see?" Bacon pressed again, rubbing his arms as if suddenly chilled.
"Monsters!" Barrett stated plainly, looking directly at Bacon. "Huge monsters, pitch black all over! With no limbs! They swarmed the streets, dense hordes of them, completely filling the road."
"Monsters…" the group murmured, startled.
"Yes, monsters," Barrett confirmed gravely.
"And the curse?" Wilder asked after a moment's silence, his eyes fixed on Barrett.
"It's an old story. They say it began forty years ago, after a plague wiped out eighty percent of the island's population. The curse started then, and that's when the monsters first began to appear."
"Is that so…" A hidden light flickered deep within Wilder's eyes. "Thank you for the warning, Mr. Barrett."
"Not at all," Barrett replied, his eyes curving back into smiling crescents.
"We'll need lodging for the night, if you please," Wilder said, draining his glass and standing up.
Wilder and his group were soon shown to guest rooms on the second floor – several rooms, not just one.
The room assigned to Wilder was comfortable and tastefully simple. He stood motionless by the window, gazing out.
The last vestiges of the sunset were fading from the sky.
A bright moon hung in the darkening expanse, casting pale, ethereal light that filtered through the windowpane onto the floorboards.
As time passed, the sky turned completely black. The street outside dissolved into profound darkness. Wilder remained frozen in the same position he'd taken earlier, his sharp eyes fixed on the street below, his face calm and unreadable, concealing his thoughts.
Whether Barrett's story was true or false remained to be seen. However, Wilder knew one thing for sure: the island's 'legend'… was likely far more complex than the innkeeper had let on.
The newspaper he'd found on the street presented two possibilities: it was either genuine, or it was fake. Wilder leaned strongly towards the latter.
And if it was fake… then Barrett's words demanded careful scrutiny.
"Interesting."
A faint smile touched Wilder's lips, his eyes glinting with a strange light.
The newspaper's content matched Barrett's account – an event forty years ago, a plague that claimed the lives of the island's residents.
The only truly odd thing was that the newspaper failed to mention the island's name or its location. And that… was the biggest suspicious point.
If the incident was reported in a newspaper, it implied the island had contact with the outside world, that it was known and registered by the World Government and the Marines. For such a major catastrophe to occur on a known island, a newspaper report would be entirely normal.
What wasn't normal was the omission of the most basic information: the island's name and location.
That was suspicious point number one. The second suspicious point lay with the newspaper itself: it looked far too new. Impossibly new for a forty-year-old piece of paper.
So! If the newspaper was fake, what was the purpose behind its creation?
Deception? Yes, but deception to what end?
Wilder couldn't figure it out, nor did he particularly want to waste time trying. None of this was really his concern. He planned to spend the night here, and then, assuming the ship was repaired, leave tomorrow.
Unless Ashin hadn't finished repairing the ship by morning… Wait!
Repairing the ship… Leaving…! A sudden jolt of unease shot through Wilder. Can't repair…
His eyes slowly widened, then narrowed sharply. He thought for a moment, then turned his head abruptly, looking back out the window.
More than any legends or curses, he was wary of those who could potentially overpower him physically.
In an instant, his body vanished from the room without making a sound, without disturbing anyone, without even opening the door or window. Reforming into his human shape within the forest they had traversed earlier, Wilder sped back towards the spot where the Black Serpent was docked!