Since the moment he first gripped the helm, Duncan had gained true control over the Forsaken—and with it, the ability to sense every movement and fluctuation aboard his ship.
But even with that heightened awareness, he chose to assign the ever-observant goat-head the task of monitoring the cursed doll's activities. After all, Duncan wasn't an expert in the occult. His understanding of this world's supernatural forces was laughably shallow, and a walking, talking doll pushed far beyond the limits of his knowledge.
Alice might seem harmless enough—elegant, polite, even a bit endearing—but if she possessed any unseen "influence," Duncan knew he might not be able to recognize it.
At the very least, the goat-head was far more specialized in these matters.
Besides, Duncan couldn't monitor the Forsaken at all times. While he was resolved to survive in this strange new world, there remained the possibility—however slim—that he'd need to return through the "door," back to his apartment on the other side. If that time came, would he still be able to sense the ship's condition?
That thought made his gaze darken subtly. He turned slightly toward the edge of the navigation table, casting a glance at the carved goat-head. Its obsidian eyes returned his stare with their usual hollow gaze.
What did the goat-head perceive when Duncan stepped through the door? What state was the Forsaken in when he left it behind? And more disturbingly… what existed on the ship while he was gone?
These questions unsettled him.
Suppressing the ripple of unease, Duncan redirected a sliver of his attention downward, toward Alice's room. Of course, it wasn't as though he had voyeuristic tendencies—she may not be human, but even so, he had principles. He simply maintained a general awareness of the lower decks through his link with the ship, enough to know her location and confirm she wasn't tampering with anything.
Because beneath her harmless, almost fragile surface, Alice remained a cursed doll—classified as "Anomaly 099" in the eyes of civilization. A potentially dangerous entity.
For now, she remained in her cabin. It seemed she was genuinely preoccupied with examining the furniture and settling in.
Duncan allowed himself a breath of relief.
Just then, the goat-head sprang to life beside him. "Captain! What are your next orders? If you're feeling bored, your loyal first mate could always…"
"Quiet." Duncan cast him a sharp glance, then rested both hands on the edge of the navigation table.
With a flicker of thought, the now-familiar sensation surged through him—his spirit once more ignited with emerald flame.
The green fire flowed like liquid over his skin, and his body once again assumed its spectral form. The flame spread outward, crawling across the table, slipping through the door, racing up the rigging and across the sails. The translucent soul-sails of the Forsaken billowed to life once more, as the massive three-masted vessel began to slowly gain speed on the open sea.
As the sails adjusted and caught the wind, Duncan turned back to the navigation chart—and just as he expected, the foggy haze on its surface shifted. The silhouette representing the Forsaken moved steadily forward, and the mist around it began to dissipate.
Focusing on the chart, Duncan allowed the green fire to extend like fingers of thought. They pulsed and flexed with his will, channeling his intent into the ship itself.
With an experimental shift in his awareness, the ship's marker enlarged slightly—then shrank back to its original size.
The chart zoomed.
It was crude, almost absurd, but it worked.
No matter how far he zoomed, the map's borders remained shrouded in haze—but he could now confirm that the chart was dynamically mapping every league of sea the Forsaken traversed, displaying it with precise, real-time accuracy.
Though his expression didn't change, a quiet thrill stirred within him.
So this chart too was a supernatural artifact—one governed by the captain's will. His eyes passed over the ghostly flames still trailing up his arms, feeling the heartbeat of the ship, the subtle shift of wind in the sails, the ever-changing tides beneath the hull.
The green fire… it was the key.
The key not just to commanding the ship, but to activating all the strange relics onboard. This, then—this was the power of the captain.
To survive in this world, he'd have to master it.
First step: master the fire.
As for the goat-head's question earlier—what was his "next plan"?
Duncan glanced at the fog thinning on the chart, watching the silhouette of the Forsaken forge ahead.
His decision was simple.
If he knew too little about this world, and the map showed nothing but mist, then clearly—the only right thing to do… was to uncover the map.
After all, wasn't that what sailing was for?
They were already drifting aimlessly before—this way, at least, the drifting had purpose.
Besides, the name "Captain Duncan" already had a reputation in this world as some wandering sea-borne boss monster. Whether the Forsaken wandered or not, it wouldn't improve his public image.
And realistically, what danger could random wandering bring? The ship had been floating aimlessly for who knew how long before he ever took the helm. What he was doing now wasn't any riskier—at least now he could make progress on the map.
He stepped away from the navigation table, the green fire gradually fading from his body. Yet even with the flame extinguished, the ghostly sails remained raised, and tendrils of emerald still lingered on the masts and rigging—echoes of the captain's command.
Duncan understood now.
The Forsaken didn't rely on his power alone. The ghost ship had its own energy source—its own will, perhaps. The captain's role was not to provide the strength, but to command it.
Issue orders… and the ship would obey.
He turned his gaze to the rear of the cabin—toward the small door that led to his private quarters.
He'd used that room as a base of operations during his first few days aboard. Now, he needed its silence again. He needed space to reflect, to test the limits of what he could do as this ship's captain.
But first, someone had to mind the helm.
Duncan looked at the goat-head. "You take the helm."
"Huh?" the goat-head tilted slightly, surprised. "But Captain, you—"
"I have something to attend to," Duncan replied flatly, already turning toward the door. His senses, still laced through the ship via residual green flame, could still feel the subtle webwork of connections crisscrossing the Forsaken: rigging, masts, rudder, cannons…
All of it linked.
Like nerves or blood vessels, the threads ran throughout the ship—and all of them converged on the captain's quarters.
And the goat-head… it was connected too.
Perhaps the goat-head was the Forsaken itself. Or maybe it was a failsafe—a mechanism to take command if the captain couldn't.
Duncan wasn't the builder of this vessel. He didn't know the ship's secrets. But if the real Captain Duncan were here, he'd surely know what the goat-head was capable of.
And if the goat-head truly was the ship's "first mate," then it made perfect sense for it to stand watch at the helm when the captain stepped away.
Time to take that risk—time to act like a real captain would.
After all, even captains had to rest.
A second later, the goat-head's excited voice echoed behind him:
"Aye aye, Captain! You go do your business. Your loyal first mate will keep everything on course…"
Duncan didn't reply.
He simply waved a hand dismissively and stepped through the door, letting it close softly behind him.