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Chapter 17: Mental Asylum
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 02:39:12 +0000 UTCAt dawn, Kyle struggled to sit up on the beach; everything in his vision doubled.
On the beach, two energy-overloaded monsters had already begun their morning training.
"Ora ora ora ora!"
"Muda muda muda muda!"
Roger swung his sword while Gaban wielded his axes, engaged in a meaningless but incredibly intense clash.
The clanging of blade against axe, their vigorous battle cries, and the completely unrestrained shockwaves precisely tormented Kyle's fragile nerves.
"Good morning, Kyle! Sleep well?" Roger managed to flash him a big grin even in the middle of their exchange.
"Good my ass..." Kyle held his head, feeling like his brain was about to be shaken into tofu pudding.
"Haha, young people have such poor recovery," Gaban commented while splitting one of Roger's attacks with his axe, still having energy to shake his head judgmentally.
A rich coffee aroma drifted over - the only salvation in this chaos.
Rayleigh sat beside the extinguished bonfire, leisurely brewing coffee in a small pot, as if the surrounding commotion had nothing to do with him.
"Want some?" He handed Kyle a wooden cup.
Kyle accepted it like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline, crawling over desperately. The warm liquid sliding down his throat finally dispelled some of the confusion.
"Speaking of which," Kyle looked at their little broken boat abandoned on the shore, "we need to talk about transportation. If we cram Mr. Gaban into that boat too, I suspect it'll immediately choose to sink in protest. You guys might be fine, but I'll definitely die."
Rayleigh sipped his coffee, looked at the boat, and nodded in agreement: "It has fulfilled its mission."
"Hey, hey! How can you say that!" Roger and Gaban's morning training had somehow ended, and they stood nearby. Roger looked heartbroken as he patted the boat's hull. "It was our first companion at sea! How can you talk about abandoning it!"
The hull let out a groaning creak under the strain, as if protesting Roger's iron palm.
"Exactly!" Gaban chimed in with his booming voice. "A ship's value lies in the dreams it carries, not how new its planks are!"
Kyle looked at these two hot-blooded idiots like they were insane.
"Gentlemen," Kyle pointed to several cracks in the hull barely patched with seaweed and mud, then to the mast that looked ready to "bow out" at any moment, "its soul might be about to report to the next world soon. And Mr. Gaban, with your build plus those axes that weigh at least a hundred pounds each, are you sure it won't split in half the moment we step on it?"
"Gu ha ha ha! Piece of cake!" Roger waved his hand with grand confidence. "Real pirates can cross the ocean on a single plank! These little problems are perfect for training our survival skills!"
"I don't want to train those skills!" Kyle's roar echoed across the beach.
In the end, with an overwhelming "two to one" vote (Rayleigh abstained), Kyle's protests were ruthlessly overruled. The group reached a consensus to "temporarily use the dangerous boat while saving money for a bigger one."
So under Kyle's tragic gaze, Roger and Gaban cheerfully loaded their belongings (mainly wine barrels and dried meat) onto the boat. With each item they placed, the hull let out tooth-grinding groans and sank a little deeper.
When it was Kyle's turn to board, he stood at the boat's edge, took a deep breath, and wore an expression of solemn resignation.
He reached out and gently patted the weather-beaten hull, whispering in a farewell tone: "Old buddy, I know you've done your best. If... if we really are going to sink, please sink slowly and give me a chance to grab a plank..."
"Kyle! What are you dawdling for! We're setting sail!" Roger's urging voice came from the bow.
Kyle steeled himself, closed his eyes, and stepped onto the deck.
Uncle, I'm going to die!
"Creeeak—groan—!"
The wooden plank under his feet let out a long, piercing scream. The entire boat lurched violently toward his side, nearly sending him straight into the sea.
"See! I told you!" Kyle's face went pale as he gripped the rail tightly.
"Relax, it's just saying hello!" Roger grinned as the little boat swayed away from the beach toward the blue ocean.
The moment they set sail, disasters came in rapid succession.
"Bang!"
A muffled sound came from the cabin, followed by a water spout shooting up through deck cracks like a little fountain, precisely soaking Kyle's head and face.
"Ah—the boat's leaking! It's that spot Roger smashed when he was moving the wine barrel!" Kyle wiped seawater from his face, his voice cracking.
"Oh, minor problem." Roger glanced over, casually grabbed a cork from an empty barrel nearby, ran over to the hole, and stomped down hard with his foot!
"Thud!"
The cork was jammed perfectly into place, and the fountain instantly disappeared.
"See, fixed." Roger dusted off his hands with an "I'm so clever" expression.
Kyle's eye twitched. Are you serious? How is this different from using a Band-Aid to stop arterial bleeding?!
Before he could finish complaining, Rayleigh's calm voice rang out: "Roger, the sail won't go up."
Everyone looked over to see Rayleigh pulling the rope to raise the sail, while the other end was completely empty. The badly worn hemp rope had simply snapped in two the moment it was put under tension. The massive sail came "whooshing" down like a giant net, completely covering Gaban, who was standing under the mast.
"Mmph—!" Gaban let out a muffled grunt from under the canvas.
"Gaban-san! Are you okay?!" Kyle cried out.
The canvas bulged into a large lump, then a thick arm punched through, giving a thumbs up. "I'm fine! This canvas... has good resilience! Quality material!"
"Gu ha ha ha! Gaban, you can help hold up the sail!" Roger laughed unconcernedly.
So for the rest of their voyage, Gaban became a "human mast," using his massive frame and arms to forcibly stretch the sail into a wind-catching angle.
Kyle was beyond complaining - he was completely numb.
"Hmm?" Rayleigh, who was steering, suddenly let out a light "eh."
Kyle's heart sank as an ominous feeling washed over him.
He stiffly turned his head to see Rayleigh holding up his right hand.
In his grip was a lonely wooden rod with a broken end.
It was the helm's handle.
It... had broken.
The helm - a ship's steering wheel - now existed only as a stub in the vice-captain's hand.
"..."
"..."
"..."
The boat fell into eerie silence, with only the sounds of wind and waves.
Kyle's mouth slowly fell open as he froze in place like a statue.
"Oh my," Rayleigh looked at the broken helm handle in his hand with a slightly troubled expression, "this is a bit problematic."
"Gu ha ha ha ha!" Roger's explosive laughter shattered the frozen atmosphere. "Interesting! Even the helm broke! This voyage definitely won't be boring!"
He turned to Gaban, eyes sparkling with manic light: "Gaban! Let me borrow one of your axes!"
Gaban's eyes lit up, instantly understanding Roger's intention: "Great idea! We can stick the axe blade in the water to control direction!"
"Exactly!"
The two hit it off like they'd found the solution to a world problem.
"No way—!!!" Kyle let out a despairing wail. "Are you going to dismantle the ship and use it for parts?!"
But no one paid attention to his breakdown. Gaban quickly handed over a battle axe to Roger, who excitedly ran to the stern and stuck the massive blade into the water, moving it left and right like paddling a kayak.
Under his control, the little boat began moving forward in an extremely bizarre S-shaped zigzag pattern.
Kyle completely gave up struggling. He slumped onto the deck, cold seawater splashing randomly on his face.
This man, who aspired to become the "Big Boss," now had only one thought - praying his connections might be useful in a Sea King's belly.
"Yo-ho—! Boys, sing along!" Roger bellowed enthusiastically while "rowing."
"Binks' sake, we'll deliver it to you..."
Gaban and Rayleigh joined in humming, their cheerful and bold song drifting across the ocean.
Kyle silently covered his face. He felt like he hadn't boarded a pirate ship.
He'd boarded the mental asylum of a pirate ship.
