Detective Agency of the Bizarre
Chapter 463 - 463 Three hundred twenty

463: Three hundred twenty.

Survival 463: Three hundred twenty.

Survival “Cough…

cough…”

The sound of coughing echoed in the cramped cabin.

“Damn it…

cough…

the temperature.” Drenched, Oliver huddled in the corner, clutching his only layer of clothing, shivering uncontrollably from the cold.

He felt as if he were locked in an ice cellar, the iron around him emitted an unbearable cold, his buttocks nearly numbed by the ice.

The oil lamp in front of him emitted a trivial warmth, the temperature felt by Oliver’s palm close to the lampshade was so faint it seemed like an illusion.

Oliver shivered, not from fear, but from the cold.

This place was safe.

The horrifying Banyan Trees encased this river, Oliver had seen how they treated those who disturbed them, like hundreds of snakes, entwining, tightening, then burrowing into the flesh to feed…

No monster dared enter here, except for these monsters themselves.

“But, but this place…

is…

like a frozen hell.”

Oliver muttered through chattering teeth as he looked around the cabin.

This place was formerly a crew’s quarters or something, but without any signs of use, just metal bunk bed frames without mattresses or blankets.

Otherwise, the freezing Oliver might at least have dried off and wrapped himself up.

The rusted, peeling walls resembled the rugged rocks by the sea.

The only round window had been covered by Oliver’s coat to prevent being spotted by whatever was outside.

Oliver sniffled, his nose almost numb as well.

Even without a mirror, he knew his nose must look clownish.

He barely endured for about fifteen minutes in the ice-cellar-like conditions before his nose started to feel blocked and his cough worsened.

Oliver knew what this meant—he was getting sick.

Getting sick deep in the swamp was not a good idea.

He might lose strength, faint, and then die in ignorance.

And…

Oliver tilted his head to check his shoulder.

His nose obstructed part of his vision.

It was hard to see the wound clearly in the dim light, but all Oliver had to do was touch it to feel the snot-like viscous fluid covering the wound.

The wound was oozing pus.

Perhaps that bone knife had cursed him or something…

Oliver’s erratic thoughts made it increasingly hard to sit still.

Thinking that doing nothing could also lead to a tragic end, he gritted his teeth and got up.

The ship was most likely safe, and he could certainly find warm clothing and food, and possibly even some antibiotics…

Driven by the hope of survival, Oliver pushed open the creaky cabin door, lifted the oil lamp, and walked along the gloomy corridor filled with the echoes of the stream and footsteps.

Oliver had been a sailor for a few weeks but left the deck regretfully due to seasickness.

He knew where the most valuable items were—above deck in the first-class cabins and the captain and first officer’s rooms.

However, he needed to survive now, not treasure hunt.

So for now, he had no plans to venture above deck—at least not for a while.

This must be an ocean liner, which could explain the rows of cabins on either side of the corridor.

Although Oliver couldn’t understand why such a large ship was deep in the swamp, it must have had no passengers on its “journey” here; otherwise, Oliver would have found skeletons on this rusty ship that had been stranded for over a decade.

To conserve energy, Oliver ignored the less valuable cabins and headed directly to the kitchen or dining area below deck.

The latter was easier to find since a dining hall usually needed to accommodate over a hundred people eating, was large, and conspicuous.

The exaggerated rust stains corroded layer upon layer, the reddish-brown walls making the corridor feel like the inside of some giant creature.

Silently navigating the corridors below the deck, Oliver didn’t take long to find the restaurant tucked away behind a blurry sign.

The restaurant was arranged like a tavern, with tables and chairs piled on the left side, amidst broken bowls and wine bottles, as if the ship had once capsized severely.

Oliver didn’t hope to find any rare and delicious ingredients; the ship had been abandoned for at least a decade!

Anything left this long would have decayed into…

decayed into…

Well, Oliver had seen plenty of rotting food, but never food that had rotted for over a decade—usually, the slightly “fresher” rotten stuff would be taken by him to carry home and share with Jojo.

As he entered the restaurant, Oliver approached the kitchen area, but as he got closer, he began to feel uneasy.

He found many clothes, shoes, and discarded luggage on the surrounding rotted floors…

These shouldn’t be things found on an empty ship…

Perhaps the crew’s belongings?

Oliver didn’t want to scare himself, reminding himself not to overthink, and pushed open the door to the kitchen.

The sound of a stream became clear, flowing into the kitchen from the broken porthole outside.

The unsettling silence was dispersed, and Oliver breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the kitchen.

He didn’t want to overthink things, but like the furniture in the restaurant, the debris scattered at the edges contained bones—cow bones, pet bones, pig bones, and some indistinguishable ones.

Oliver let out a painful moan.

This ship had passengers on board when the disaster struck…

Recalling the cabins he had passed on his way here, his body gradually stiffened.

And there were many.

Oliver dared not turn around because he sensed that many figures were silently standing at the kitchen doorway behind him.

Whether or not to turn around tormented the frightened Oliver; he felt he was just scaring himself, but he vaguely heard breathing sounds that weren’t his.

Standing rigidly for a few minutes, Oliver slowly turned around—everything remained as it had been initially.

Oliver gasped for breath several times, not daring to linger any longer, scrambling through the cabinet for a few unopened cans, and without stopping to inspect them closely, he grabbed the oil lamp and fled with them back to the cabin at the end.

Bang.

The cabin door shut, and the cans clattered to the ground, rolling away from his feet.

Oliver gasped deeply, wiping the cold sweat or water stains from his forehead, took several steps out, then suddenly turned around, staring intently at the cabin door.

One minute, two minutes… until the heat and tension faded and the chill resurfaced, Oliver finally confirmed that there was indeed no one chasing him.

Having had an experience once, Oliver wasn’t as terrified the second time he explored the cabins.

He controlled himself not to think about where the passengers might have gone, returned to the restaurant, murmured prayers for the deceased, picked some usable damp clothes from the luggage, found some kerosene and charcoal in the kitchen, took the remaining canned food, and went back to his hideout.

He didn’t disturb the cabins along the corridor, the rows of coffin-like rooms felt to him like the Banyan Tree forest outside the ship.

Closing the cabin door, leaving only a sliver of a ventilation gap, Oliver returned to the piled-up charcoal, poured on something, trembling as he struck the last match.

The burning fire brought warmth and vitality, and Oliver relaxed, collapsing in front of the fire.

Now, he didn’t have to just wait to die.