The Offering

The sea beast reached the shore. Muri led Philomena and Bart into the woods to scout, while the others set about dismantling the "cabin" from its back. This served a dual purpose: it allowed the beast to properly rest, roll onto its back on the seabed, and scratch an itch, while giving the crew a chance to repair and remodel the cabin. Half an hour later, Muri and his scouts returned. Their expressions were not grave, but hardly relaxed either; they had clearly discovered something. "Captain, there's a rather peculiar area in the center of the island." "Did you spot any natives?" "No natives, but people definitely lived on this island once. They left behind plenty of signs of everyday life, though it seems to have been a very long time ago." "Understood." Karen hesitated briefly before giving the command. "Everyone, form up in battle formation. We'll go take a look together." Karen did not leave anyone behind to guard their gear on the shore. Losing the "cabin" wouldn't matter much anyway, and all important possessions were packed into their rucksacks. As for the sea beast, it could play in the sea on its own for a while. Dividing their forces in an unknown area often resulted in unnecessary attrition. When nothing went wrong, having a guard made no difference; when something did, the person left behind was usually the one to suffer an accident. The squad advanced through the forest. The deeper they went, the more stone tablets and man-made implements they came across, carrying a primitive aura. The peculiar spot Muri had mentioned was a deep pit. Unlike the lush greenery outside, the soil inside was pitch-black and devoid of any vegetation whatsoever. Only a ring of humanoid stone statues stood encircled along the edge of the pit. At the very center of the pit sat a well, topped with a water-drawing mechanism fashioned from stone. "Memphis, Mars, activate the array and investigate." "Yes, Captain." "Mr. Mota, do you recognize this place?" Karen asked. "This island isn't marked on our sea charts, and I can't glean anything from the style of these sculptures either. My apologies." Purr furrowed its brow, clearly baffled as well, even though it had used its own methods to locate this landing site. Looking over at Kevin, Karen saw the dog merely lolling its tongue as it gazed into the distance, not barking at all. Well, it didn't know either. Soon, the results of the array's probe were in. "Captain, no traces of arrays or fluctuations of spirituality were detected within the pit." Karen nodded. "So, it really is just a group of ordinary sculptures?" Mota chimed in, "The islands scattered across the vast ocean are simply too numerous to count. Furthermore, quite a few sink beneath the waves for several years before bobbing back up above the surface. Native tribal folk also easily give rise to all sorts of strange and bizarre beliefs. Many times, these faiths don't even revere true gods, having merely branched off from other churches." "Let's go down and take another look." Karen descended into the pit. The black earth underfoot was slightly soft and damp, feeling like asphalt softened under the summer heat. Walking past the statues, one could only discern that they were shaped like human figures. Nothing else could be made out, as time had long since worn away most of their finer details and engravings. Finally, Karen reached the well at the lowest and centralmost point. Leaning forward, he glanced inside. There was water within, and it was remarkably clear. As for the stone-carved water-drawing device, it was purely ornamental and could not function under normal circumstances. After a thorough on-site investigation, no one turned up anything out of the ordinary. In the end, everyone simply treated it as an ordinary local curiosity, and the group made their way back to the shore. The "cabin" remained right where they had left it, untouched. Of course, with the sea beast cruising nearby, they wouldn't have had to worry even if mischievous monkeys roamed the island. "We'll rest and regroup here for two days. By the way, there don't seem to be many animals on the island." Karen had wanted to improve everyone's meals, but their earlier search through the woods had yielded no game. Though a few seabirds wheeled overhead, their meat was poor—scant, tough, and dry as firewood. "Alfred, go gather some wild greens and mushrooms." "Understood, Young Master." The rest of the daylight hours were spent busily, and the repairs on the cabin proceeded smoothly. Once night fell, everyone gathered around the campfire to eat. The main staple remained fish, complemented by a pot of vegetable soup. After finishing their meal, they began playing Werewolf again. Karen sat by the campfire, flipping through a book—still *Guardian of the Moon*. It was packed with content and quite thick, but Karen had always been a fast reader. The reason he had not finished it yet was that he verified and cross-referenced the text as he read. It could not be helped; every faction's mythological canon suffered from obvious partisan revisions and omissions. Often, uncovering the true "historical reality" required reading and comparing them side by side. Karen had now reached a passage where the protagonist arrived on an island and met a group of people who also worshiped the moon. There, he encountered a young woman who captured his heart. The protagonist originally intended to confess his feelings to this beautiful maiden and, if possible, settle down on the island to conclude his long journey. This was a very common trope in stories. After prolonged travel, a person inevitably grew weary and wished to rest. Or perhaps the author had simply grown tired of writing and wanted a break. To a devout believer, a land sharing the same faith was essentially a "home." Ending the tale there would have been quite reasonable, perhaps closing with an explanation like: "In the enchanting eyes of this beautiful maiden, I beheld the moonlight that belonged to me." It would elevate the theme into a romantic and lovely conclusion. Yet here, the story took an abrupt, jarring turn that left Karen feeling distinctly uneasy. There had been no prior foreshadowing, creating a stark, jarring contrast with the earlier tone of the narrative. On the eve of his confession, the protagonist went to the home of the girl he loved, only to find her family sharpening their knives. The girl's grandparents, parents, and siblings were whetting their blades while casually discussing how to deal with him the following day—whether to dismember him, boil him, fry him, or cure his flesh in salt… Crouched by the corner of the wall, the protagonist listened to their conversation and was scared out of his wits. That very night, he packed his belongings and prepared to flee. Along the way, he ran into local figures like the village chief, all of whom warmly asked where he was heading at such an hour. These people had all shown him kindness and been formally introduced when he first arrived. But in this passage, every word they uttered seemed loaded with sinister undertones. It was as if overnight, every soul on the island possessed a second, shadowy face, eager to torture and slaughter him. In the end, relying on his wits, the protagonist managed to evade them, fled to a small pier, and boarded a boat. Once out at sea, the boatman suddenly flashed a hideous grin and moved to kill him. Just as the protagonist was on the verge of being throttled, he managed to kick the boatman overboard in the struggle. Before the man could climb back aboard, a shark seized him and dragged him beneath the waves. The protagonist immediately rowed away from the dreadful place. The passages before and after this episode were written in the style of a travelogue—lighthearted, witty, and humorous. Only this particular section gave Karen the eerie sensation of reading *Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio* from his past life. If both sides worshiped the moon, why would they try to slaughter a fellow follower of the Moon God? Karen took out a pen and drew two circles around the passage. Could the protagonist have stumbled onto Dark Moon Island? Yet Dark Moon Island only revered the Dark Moon, and they didn't even realize the Dark Moon was a goddess. Ophelia, despite being royalty, had been ignorant of that history until he told her himself. Still, the legacy of the Dark Moon Goddess might not be confined solely to Dark Moon Island. At most, Dark Moon Island was merely one small faction that had preserved a portion of her inheritance reasonably well. Across the vast river of history, countless faiths and heritages had been lost to oblivion. "Haha, I won! I deduced who the Witch and the Hunter were—I gunned straight for slaughtering the gods this round!" Mota, having won as a Werewolf, could hardly conceal his excitement and joy. But the moment the words left his mouth, he realized he had spoken taboos. Pressing his hands before his chest, he said devoutly, "Please forgive my offense. Praise be to the Moon God." ... *Hum!* As Mota uttered that praise to the Moon God, a sudden flash of crimson light flared from within the well at the bottom of the deep pit in the forest. Immediately after, the crystal-clear water inside began to turn red. A woman clad in a sumptuous crimson gown rose slowly from the well. Her limbs were somewhat stiff. As she slowly lifted a hand, a succession of crisp cracking sounds echoed from her body, sending a chill down one's spine in the silent pit. Her face was entirely concealed beneath long hair, masking her true features. Soon, most of her body fell still, leaving only her head tilting around in a posture of listening, as if searching for something and discerning a direction. Everything remained dead quiet. ... A new round began. "Praise be to the Moon God, I drew a Villager card," Ansi said with a smile. Purr immediately chided, "Hey, you can't do that! That's swearing an oath out of game!" Ansi realized her mistake at once and hastily apologized. "I'm sorry, my fault! How about we start this round over?" This was a verbal habit they had banned earlier, as it was practically the same as saying, *I swear to the heavens, I'm a good card.* "All right, re-deal, re-deal!" ... *Crack!* Having determined the direction, the woman in red began drifting toward it. From within the pit came low, muted chanting, as if a mysterious ritual long severed across countless ages had been rekindled at this very moment. ... "Well, I'm tired. Time to turn in." Karen closed the book and gently kneaded his neck. By the looks of it, they would probably play until late into the night. He might as well get some sleep early so he could make them breakfast in the morning. Just as Karen was about to step into the tent Ventura had pitched for him, a strange warmth flared in his eye sockets. *Hmm?* *What is this?* Puzzled, Karen looked up at the moon in the sky, only to discover that it had turned blood-red. "Alfred, pour me a glass of water." "Right away, Young Master." Alfred immediately stood up and brought a glass of water over to Karen. "The moonlight is lovely tonight," Karen said. Alfred looked up, smiled, and agreed, "Yes, Young Master, the moonlight is gorgeous." "Mm." Once Alfred returned to the game, Karen held his glass and sat down on a boulder at the perimeter instead of heading into the tent. *Is there something wrong with my Eye of the Dark Moon?* Karen gently rubbed his eyes, looking up at the sky every now and then. The moon was still blood-red. Suddenly, a strange woman's voice whispered beside Karen's ear: "Thank you... for the offering you have delivered."