Bizarre Detective Agency

   Chapter 1230 One hundred and sixty-eight. Bizarre syndrome (eight)

  Belfast's brown sand beaches are nothing compared to many coastal towns I've been to. For example, the gravel is not fine and white enough, but it will not pile up the debris covered with shell snails.

  The rain falls like a sketch, and I walk aimlessly on the brown sand beach where the waves have faded, like a wanderer who doesn’t want to go home.

  When the vast ocean repairs my depression, it also increases my loneliness, the exploration of the past gradually deepens, and the remorse for leaving the ring in the longhouse also deepens.

I saw something buried under the gravel to reveal a corner, and I lifted it with my shoe - it was a board with rivets, which I recognized as falling off a midsize sailboat - something familiar to me that awakens the lost memory.

   So I walked along the tide to Rodster Harbor in the distance, looking forward to surprises there.

  Until I walked under the wooden bridge in Rodster Harbor, I didn't see any dead fish stranded and slapped ashore by the tide. Maybe all the fish in the coastal waters have gone extinct, or something like this self patrols the coast every day. I hope it's the former, because now I don't even have a kitchen knife and the sanctuary is right by the beach.

   I went back to the street from under the bridge, and walked across the spacious and empty sturdy bridge, and I came to one of the most famous ports in the Lord's Continent, Rodster Port. You can imagine how prosperous it would have been before it was abandoned, but now there is only desolation and loneliness.

  I didn’t climb up to the lookout next to the port. I only explored the workers’ dormitory next to it. Unsurprisingly, it was already torn down, and I couldn’t find anything useful. Each of the warehouses lined up can fit a large sailboat, but the darkness that devoured people made me dare not step into it without an oil lamp. And I think the survivors of the past will not let it go.

  I moved away from the darkness that symbolized danger, and continued down the road into the port, where I began to see the faded post on the edge of the port, and the chains hanging from it that fell into the sea.

   I approached the berth by the post and saw a log sticking out of the sea, enduring the pounding waves. I confirmed that it was a mast, and the chain that extended into the sea also showed that there was a sailboat sunk here.

  I walked to the harbour and looked out to sea, the leaden-grey dark water blocked my view, but when I looked along the mast, I seemed to see the mast under the sea, the sailboats lying quietly on the seabed, and the sailors running anxiously on the deck.

  Torrential rain poured, sailors hurriedly lowered the sails, and from time to time sailors on the deck were overturned by the huge waves that beat the hull, and they rowed far away on the slippery deck and were rescued by ropes wrapped around their waists.

"Renner! Renner!" I roared and rushed to an old Potoe crewman carrying a barrel: "Damn, how many times did you **** ask me to tell me! You don't need to come out to help in the storm! Now! Here! Me! Go back to the cabin! Monkey, take this old thing back!"

   The short crew jumped out from the side and forcibly dragged the old crew at the foot of the **** into the cabin. I continued to command on the deck, and saw the sailor who was knocked down and couldn't get up, went to help in the strong wind, and then heard a "be careful" in the strong wind and rain, I was hit suddenly, flew overboard, fell into Rough sea.

  Whoa——

   Foam washed the broken reflection.

   Standing on the edge of the port, I took a few steps back, stunned by the previous scene. Is that me before? I am a crew member?

   The ship I was on got caught in a storm and I was thrown out into the sea and lost my memory and drifted to Belfast?

   So is my ship here?

  I began to look up to search for the bay, but there was only an unsettled sea on a rainy day. It is conceivable that the abyss-like seabed of this bay must be covered with shipwrecks.

   I can't let go. Having lost my past memories, I have the urge to go home after a long time, even though I don't even know where my home is, and I haven't found any food for today. I had to keep wandering around Rodster Harbor, hoping to find more lost memories or things that would allow me to find food, such as fishing rods and nets, especially after hunger strikes.

   Rodster Harbor is big enough, but I can't find what I need here. Wood, steel, and industrial raw materials piled up like mountains around the warehouse, but neither the survivors nor I were interested in them. All I could really use was a tangle of broken fishing nets that I found in the **** heap in the corner of the workers' dormitory.

   It took me too much time just to unpack them, tens of minutes or an hour? To make matters worse, they end up in the **** heap for a reason - fishing nets have holes all over the place, and many holes have been scalded by cigarette butts or coal ash.

   Even so, I was still reluctant to throw away the fishing net that took me time to untangle. I took it back to the edge, swirled it and threw it out, watching it sink into the surging sea water, hoping to catch something.

During the    period, the rain was a bit heavy, the wind picked up again, and the sea in the distance was even more muffled and surging, and the slapped waves almost splashed on my face. I had to temporarily tie the net to the boat post and hid in the workers' shack, ready to harvest the net when the storm approached.

   Hunger was not weakened by the early morning grains, but intensified. I blamed it on my unhealed body’s need for nutrients and the scorched black ghost last night’s fight that consumed too much stamina.

   However, the storm clouds did not come to Belfast. After dozens of minutes, the sea in the distance returned to calm and dark clouds, and even the rain was much lighter. At this time, I was keenly aware that the sky was darker than before—the evening was approaching, and it took longer than expected to dismantle the fishing nets.

  I hurriedly came out of the hiding place and went back to the shore to pull back the fishing net. At this time, I saw in the distance as if the sea had lowered and exposed the riverbed, and a black mountain surging like a living creature rose from the sea. I vaguely felt the fear that culminated when I saw the endless thick fog rising with Montenegro. But hunger drove me to keep my hands, but the net seemed to be scratching on something and didn't move, so I could only throw it away again and return to the street as if running away. Even afraid of being discovered by the mist, I climbed from the back of the coastal street to avoid the shelter, and after returning to the attic and pressing the trapdoor, I hid by the window and blocked it, leaving only a gap for me to observe the outside world.

   I watched the fog engulf the bay, engulf the lighthouse, engulf the port of Rodster, seal the last crevices when the streets were to be engulfed, and return to the glowing fireplace.

   But the walls seemed unable to completely seal off the mist, a veil-like mist rose from the attic, and the fireplace flames became visibly tiny.

   Only after I poured in a bowl of kerosene did the firelight reoccupy the attic.

   Then I heard clattering of chains on the street, footsteps downstairs, and knocking on the walls.

  I no longer have the courage of yesterday, holding a wooden stick sharpened with a tin can and huddled by the fireplace nervously, waiting for the day to come and the fog to fade. And the hope that the fishing nets will yield something to prevent the last man in Belfast from starving tragically.

  Today is destined to be a sleepless night.

   (end of this chapter)