Silence descended upon the tavern. Claire and the others exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes darting around the room, but they saw none of the monsters Wilder had mentioned.
At the bar, the two men stared at each other. An atmosphere thick with stillness and gravity permeated the air.
"Mr. Wilder," Barrett finally said after a moment, seemingly processing Wilder's earlier words, "what exactly did you mean by that?"
"Hahaha!" Wilder burst out laughing. "Just kidding! After hearing your story about those monsters earlier today, I suddenly felt like trying to scare you. My apologies! Apologies!"
Wilder certainly sounded like he was joking. Anyone in the tavern with eyes could see there were no monsters present. What else could it be but a joke?
Right…?
Barrett adopted an expression of relief, looking up with a helpless smile. "I must say, Mr. Wilder, you achieved your goal. You certainly gave me quite a fright."
The tavern seemed to liven up slightly. Whether it was due to Wilder's acting… or Barrett's, it was impossible to tell if the innkeeper himself was performing. Regardless, the heavy atmosphere dissipated somewhat.
Only Claire and the others remained deeply unsettled. They knew Wilder must have a purpose; he wouldn't be sitting here chatting idly after Ashin's disappearance.
Monsters…
The thought lingered in their minds.
Yves, Bacon, and Claire continued to surreptitiously scan every corner of the tavern, but ultimately, everything indicated that Wilder had indeed just been making a poor joke.
"Is there something behind the bar?"
Just as the atmosphere began to normalize, Wilder spoke again, his words once more plunging the room into stillness.
…
The smile faded slightly from Barrett's face. A different, calculating light entered his eyes as he looked at Wilder.
"I've been thinking, Mr. Wilder… and I don't believe your previous words were truly a joke. So… what is your real objective here?"
"That's the question I should be asking you," Wilder retorted, taking a slow drink. Shadows seemed to gather around his eyes as he looked askance at the innkeeper, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Barrett, what is your objective?"
Silence fell upon the tavern once more. The crewmen accompanying Wilder instinctively placed their hands on the hilts of the swords and guns at their waists, their eyes fixed intently on Barrett behind the bar.
Barrett glanced briefly at the wary crewmen, dismissing them, before turning his gaze back to Wilder.
"Apologies… I simply live here. I have no grand objective. If I were to claim one, perhaps it would be the simple hope that people could be more… authentic."
"Authentic?" Wilder played along, forcing an interested smile.
"Yes. What do you believe makes a person truly authentic, Mr. Wilder?"
A strange quality entered Barrett's voice. His eyes swept over the group, and inexplicably, everyone felt a sudden chill, as if the earlier warmth in the tavern had completely vanished.
"I was originally a noble," Barrett continued, not waiting for an answer, his voice now laced with a suppressed, feverish excitement. "From birth, I enjoyed privileges and wealth that most people could never imagine."
"If I recall correctly," Wilder interjected smoothly, "this evening you told me you were just an ordinary merchant."
"Correct." Barrett nodded, not denying it. "That came later. Before that, I was a noble. You understand, Mr. Wilder, out here on the seas, the people most despised are nobles – I speak, of course, of the lowly commoners. They despise us simply because they lack what we have. They might offer countless other justifications, but it all boils down to the fact that they are not nobles. Therefore, they detest us for being what they are not."
"Imagine two companions, getting along perfectly well, who gradually realize the disparity between them as they grow. They drift apart. Then, the 'inferior' one develops feelings of imbalance, which fester into hostility and hatred, ultimately leading to harm. Do you understand my meaning, Mr. Wilder?"
"The commoners harmed the nobles. They plotted against them, tore them down from their lofty seats. So, tell me, are truly 'authentic' people just as ugly and evil as they are?"
"Human nature is sinful! The authentic self is sinful! Therefore, I wish people would stop plotting and pretending! Wouldn't it be better to let raw, naked evil reveal itself?"
"No matter how they acted before, their essence is the same! Sin! Myself included! And naturally… you and your companions as well, Mr. Wilder! Of course, I can forgive those unable to recognize the sin within themselves. That is why I gave them the chance… I allowed them to become evil!"
His voice dropped lower, growing hoarse, sounding as if it crawled up from the depths of hell. Wilder found the tone disturbingly familiar – just like the roars of the monsters in the jungle earlier.
Barrett shifted his gaze, focusing now on Claire. "You, young lady, are far too hypocritical. You wanted to pity that old woman today, didn't you? But it was all pretense. Your true self is actually evil; you simply haven't realized it yet. I can help you. I can help you recognize your own inherent evil." As he spoke, Barrett's eyes, previously narrowed into slits, opened fully. A swirling black mist coiled within their depths. He seemed to have completely lost his composure.
"I've had enough of your rambling, Barrett," Wilder cut him off sharply, losing patience. He reached across the bar and grabbed the man, hoisting him partly into the air, staring coldly into his face. "Now… tell me the truth about this island."
Barrett looked down, past Wilder's grip, and a deeply unsettling smile spread across his face. "I was a noble. Later, I became a merchant. I nearly died. I discovered my own evil. Now, when someone actively makes contact with me… they will fall into evil, just as I did."
The malicious whisper felt like a hellish chant. Wilder's pupils flickered slightly. That agitation in his soul returned, stronger this time, intensifying with every second he maintained his grip on Barrett.
"This island will have a story," Barrett continued, raving like a madman now. "A story to cover up the evil! Let me keep those who are ready to embrace it! There are too few people here. I need the story to keep them anchored, otherwise, they'll grow suspicious and flee – just like I needed it to keep you here!"
"Without the story, wouldn't you have doubted? Wouldn't you wonder where all the island's inhabitants went? You'd feel fear! You'd try to escape! Night… night is my world! They will all fall into darkness in the night! Like them," he gestured vaguely, "they will become members of the evil!"
Despite being held firmly by Wilder, Barrett made no move to resist physically. His gaze, however, swept maniacally over everyone in the tavern. His low, hoarse words took on the cadence of an incantation, and gradually, something began to change within the room.
Wisps of black mist started to drift through the air, seemingly appearing from nowhere. Thin strands at first, they slowly coalesced, growing thicker, more tangible.
Hoarse, guttural roars began to echo, seemingly from the very walls of the tavern. The comforting warmth vanished completely, replaced by a creeping chill that settled deep within the hearts of Wilder's crew.