The Weight of Authority

Jacob's search for Reggie led him deep into the island's labyrinthine alleys, where the noise of the market faded into the background and the shadows grew longer. It was a place where the unwary could easily disappear—either by choice or by force—and Jacob knew he had to be cautious.

He finally spotted Reggie near the entrance of a rundown tavern, speaking in hushed tones with a group of men who bore the unmistakable marks of another pirate crew. The young sailor's face was pale, his eyes darting nervously as he gestured toward the harbor.

Jacob's blood ran cold. He couldn't hear what Reggie was saying, but he didn't need to. The implications were clear—Reggie was selling them out, and the information he provided could endanger the entire crew of The Abyss.

Without hesitation, Jacob stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his cutlass. "Reggie!"

The young sailor's head snapped up, his eyes widening in fear as he saw Jacob approaching. The men Reggie had been speaking with turned to look at Jacob, their expressions unreadable, but they made no move to intervene.

"Boatswain, I—I didn't—" Reggie stammered, backing away from the group.

"Save it," Jacob snapped, his voice cold. "You know what you've done. You've betrayed the crew, Reggie. You know what that means."

Reggie's face twisted with desperation. "Please, Jacob, I didn't mean to—I just wanted out, that's all! I didn't say anything that could hurt the crew, I swear!"

Jacob's grip tightened on his cutlass as he wrestled with the decision he had to make. The punishment for desertion was clear—Old Sam had made sure of that. But enforcing it was another matter entirely. The idea of taking another man's life, of ordering his death, was something that gnawed at Jacob's conscience.

He was no stranger to death. His time in the military had taught him to compartmentalize, to focus on the mission and push through, even when things got ugly. But this was different. This wasn't a battlefield; it was a quiet alley on a pirate-infested island, and the life he was about to take wasn't that of an enemy combatant—it was of a scared, desperate man who had made a terrible mistake.

In the silence that stretched between them, Jacob's thoughts drifted back to his life after the military. The years he had spent trying to fit into a world that didn't make sense anymore. The countless days he had spent behind a desk, staring at a computer screen, trying to convince himself that this was what he wanted, that he could be content with a life of routine and predictability.

But it had never been enough. The camaraderie, the sense of purpose, the thrill of pushing himself to his limits—those things had been missing, and no amount of civilian normalcy could fill the void they left behind. He had drifted, aimless and restless, until the system had pulled him into this strange new world.

And now, standing in that alley with Reggie's life in his hands, Jacob realized that this world, brutal and chaotic as it was, had given him something he hadn't had in years—a reason to keep going.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. "Reggie, you've left me no choice. You know the punishment for desertion. I have to take you back to the ship. The captain will decide your fate."

Reggie's face went ashen, and for a moment, Jacob thought he might try to run. But the young sailor seemed to realize the futility of it, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Jacob motioned for Reggie to walk ahead of him, keeping a firm grip on the hilt of his cutlass as they made their way back to the harbor. The men Reggie had been speaking with watched them go, their expressions unreadable, but they made no move to interfere.

As they approached The Abyss, Jacob's mind raced with the decision that lay ahead. He had captured Reggie, but the hardest part was yet to come—enforcing the punishment.

When they reached the ship, Jacob handed Reggie over to Garrett, who had been overseeing the loading of the goods. The grizzled veteran gave Jacob a knowing look, his expression grim.

"Captain's expecting you," Garrett said quietly. "Best get this over with."

Jacob nodded, his stomach churning as he made his way to the captain's cabin. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear the low murmur of voices inside. Taking a deep breath, he knocked and stepped inside.

Captain Rourke looked up from the map he had been studying, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of Jacob standing before him. Elias was also present, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his sharp eyes watching the interaction closely.

"Boatswain," the captain said, his voice steady. "I've heard you've had a bit of trouble with one of our men."

Jacob nodded, his mouth dry. "Reggie deserted, sir. I found him selling information to another crew. He's been brought back to the ship."

The captain's expression darkened. "Desertion is a serious crime, Jacob. You know the punishment."

Jacob swallowed hard, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. "Yes, sir. But… I wanted to consult with you before carrying it out."

Captain Rourke studied Jacob for a long moment, as if assessing his resolve. Then he nodded slowly. "Very well. Bring Reggie to the deck. The crew needs to see this."

Jacob's heart pounded in his chest as he left the captain's cabin and made his way back to the main deck. The crew had gathered, their faces tense as they realized what was about to happen. Reggie stood in the center of the deck, his hands bound, his face pale with fear.

Captain Rourke stepped forward, his voice carrying over the gathered men. "Reggie has been found guilty of desertion—a crime that puts the entire crew at risk. The punishment for desertion is death."

There was a murmur of agreement from the crew, though Jacob could see the unease in their eyes. Punishments like this were not uncommon among pirates, but that didn't make them any easier to carry out.

The captain turned to Jacob, his gaze piercing. "As boatswain, it's your duty to enforce discipline on this ship. The responsibility falls to you."

Jacob felt the eyes of the entire crew on him, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. This was the moment where he would prove himself—or fail.

Taking a deep breath, Jacob stepped forward, drawing his cutlass with a steady hand. Reggie's eyes widened in terror, but he didn't beg for mercy. He knew there would be none.

In one swift motion, Jacob carried out the sentence, the blade cutting cleanly through the air. Reggie's body crumpled to the deck, his life ended by the very ship he had tried to betray.

The deck was silent for a moment, the crew absorbing the gravity of what had just happened. Then Captain Rourke spoke, his voice calm but firm. "Let this be a lesson to all of you—betrayal will not be tolerated on The Abyss. We are a crew, and we stand together. Dismissed."

The crew dispersed, some with solemn expressions, others with a look of grim acceptance. Jacob stood there, his cutlass still in hand, the weight of his actions settling over him like a shroud.

He had enforced the punishment, but at what cost? The blood on his hands was a reminder that leadership came with a price—a price that he was only beginning to understand.

As he cleaned his blade and returned it to its sheath, Jacob's mind wandered back to his life before all of this. The monotony, the sense of purposelessness that had plagued him for so long. In a twisted way, this new world had given him something to focus on, something to fight for.

But as he looked down at Reggie's lifeless body, he wondered how much of himself he was willing to sacrifice to keep it.

[Your soul count has increased by 1. Current soul count: 5/10.]

The system's cold, emotionless voice echoed in Jacob's mind, cutting through the heavy silence that had settled over the deck. He stood there, his hand still resting on the hilt of his cutlass, the weight of what he had just done pressing down on him. The number on his soul tally was a stark reminder of the dark path he was on—a path where power was gained through the death of others.

Jacob closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. The system's tally was a constant, inescapable truth. Each death, each soul added to his count, was another step deeper into this new reality. He had known this from the moment the system had first spoken to him, but knowing it didn't make it any easier to accept.

As the crew dispersed, their murmurs fading into the background, Jacob found himself lingering on the deck. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, memories from his old life mixing with the harsh realities of his new one. The military had taught him to compartmentalize, to push through the horror and focus on the mission. But even then, he had never been the one to pass judgment, to decide who lived and who died. That responsibility had always rested with someone higher up, someone more detached from the bloodshed.

But here, on The Abyss, things were different. The lines between right and wrong, duty and survival, were blurred beyond recognition. And Jacob was no longer a soldier following orders—he was the one giving them. The thought was both empowering and terrifying.

He wondered why he wasn't more shaken by what had just happened. Why wasn't he freaking out? Any normal person would be. But then again, he wasn't exactly normal anymore, was he? The system, the absurdity of this situation, it all felt so far removed from the mundane life he had led after the military. That life had been a kind of death in itself—endless days in a sterile office, surrounded by people who couldn't understand the things he had seen, the things he had done.

In a twisted way, this new world was a blessing. Here, he had purpose again. He was no longer just going through the motions, waiting for the day to end so he could start the cycle all over again. Every day was a fight for survival, a test of his strength, his will. And as much as he hated to admit it, he thrived on it.

But with that purpose came a heavy burden. Reggie's death was proof of that. He had been forced to make a choice, to enforce the rules that kept *The Abyss

afloat. The crew needed to see that there were consequences for betrayal, that no one was above the law—especially not Jacob. But the weight of that decision, the finality of it, was something he hadn't been prepared for.

He leaned against the rail, staring out at the endless expanse of the ocean. The setting sun cast a fiery glow across the water, a stark contrast to the cold darkness settling in his heart. The military had taught him discipline, had given him the tools to cope with the horrors of war, but it had also left him adrift when it was all over. The transition to civilian life had been harder than any battle he'd fought. There was no enemy to face, no mission to complete. Just a monotonous existence that slowly drained him of everything he had been.

Here, on this ship, surrounded by danger and death, he had found something that felt almost like a home. The crew, rough and brutal as they were, reminded him of the men he had served with. They were bonded by the hardships they endured together, by the constant threat of violence that loomed over them. It was different from the military, more raw and unrefined, but the essence was the same. They were a family of sorts, bound together by necessity, by survival.

But that bond came with its own price. Losing someone in battle was hard, but it was part of the life he had chosen. Executing a man for desertion, for betrayal, was something else entirely. The system's tally was a cold reminder that each death, each soul absorbed, brought him closer to a power that could consume him if he wasn't careful.

Jacob shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering doubts. He couldn't afford to second-guess himself, not now. The crew looked to him for leadership, for strength. If he faltered, if he showed even a hint of weakness, it could all come crashing down. He had to stay focused, had to keep moving forward.

The sound of footsteps behind him broke through his thoughts. He turned to see Garrett approaching, his expression as unreadable as ever. The older man had seen more than his fair share of bloodshed, and Jacob wondered how much of it had weighed on him, how much had hardened him into the man he was today.

"Hell of a day," Garrett said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Jacob nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

Garrett leaned against the rail beside him, following Jacob's gaze out to the horizon. For a moment, they stood in silence, the only sound the gentle lapping of the waves against the ship's hull.

"You did what you had to do," Garrett said finally, his tone matter-of-fact. "Reggie made his choice. You made yours. That's how it works on a ship like this."

Jacob let out a slow breath. "I know. But knowing it doesn't make it any easier."

Garrett nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "It never does. But that's the burden of command. You've got to live with the choices you make, and you've got to be strong enough to carry them. The crew needs to know that you'll do what's necessary, even when it's hard."

Jacob looked at Garrett, seeing in him the reflection of a path he might one day walk—a man who had seen too much, done too much, and had learned to live with it. "How do you do it?" Jacob asked quietly. "How do you carry that weight?"

Garrett was silent for a moment, his gaze distant. "You learn to compartmentalize, to put it in a box and shove it deep down where it can't touch you. Doesn't always work, and sometimes that box gets too full. But you keep going because you have to. Because there's always another fight, another day. And because those men out there"—he nodded toward the deck where the crew was still busy with their tasks—"they're counting on you to be the one who can make those hard decisions."

Jacob nodded, taking in Garrett's words. They were eerily similar to what he had heard from his old commanding officers, back when he was still green, still trying to find his place in a world that made no sense. But hearing them now, in this context, made them hit harder. The truth was, this pirate crew wasn't so different from the squads he had led in the military. The stakes were higher, the methods more brutal, but the core dynamics were the same. Leadership, trust, and the ability to make decisions that others couldn't—that was what set a man apart.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Jacob felt a renewed sense of resolve. He had chosen this path, and he would walk it to the end, whatever that might be. The system, the souls, the power—they were tools, just like his cutlass, just like his training. And he would use them to ensure that he, and his crew, survived.

"Thanks, Garrett," Jacob said, his voice steadier now.

Garrett simply nodded. "Get some rest, boatswain. Tomorrow's a new day, and there's always work to be done."

Jacob watched as Garrett walked away, then turned back to the sea. The darkness had settled in, but the stars were beginning to appear, tiny points of light in the vast expanse of the night sky. He had made his choices, and he would live with them. But he wouldn't do it alone. He had a crew, a mission, and a purpose. And for the first time in a long while, that felt like enough.

He pushed off from the rail and headed below deck, ready to face whatever the next day would bring. The system's tally would continue to grow, and with it, so would his power. But he would keep it in check, use it as a means to an end, not let it define him. There was still a part of him that was Jacob—a soldier, a leader, a man trying to find his way in a world that had turned upside down.

And he would hold onto that part, no matter how many souls he had to collect.

The echo of Reggie's final moments still lingered in Jacob's mind as he went below deck.. The crew had dispersed, returning to their duties or seeking solace in the brief moments of respite that the ship allowed. But for Jacob, there was no such solace—only the heavy weight of his new responsibilities.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck, Jacob felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was as if the very air around him had thickened, charged with an energy that he couldn't quite place. His pulse quickened, and before he could make sense of the feeling, a cold, electric shock surged through his body, causing him to stiffen involuntarily.

His vision blurred, and then, as if emerging from a deep fog, a voice spoke in his mind—clear, direct, and utterly emotionless.

[Soul count: 5/10. Progress to next threshold: 50%. Continue accumulating souls to unlock increased mental reserves and enhanced Necrotic Focus.]

Jacob's heart pounded in his chest as he processed the words. He had known the system was a part of him, a strange force that had granted him the ability to curse, but this was the first time it had spoken to him so clearly, so directly.

"What… what happens at ten souls?" Jacob whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and curiosity.

[Upon reaching ten souls, a threshold will be crossed. The souls of the slain will be absorbed, their energy contributing to your mental strength. Your Necrotic Focus will be enhanced, increasing your capacity to wield the power granted by the system.]

Jacob felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. The idea that he was absorbing the souls of those he had killed was unsettling. He had already been struggling with the moral weight of Reggie's execution, and now this? But at the same time, he couldn't deny the strange sensation of power that accompanied the system's words. His mind felt sharper, his thoughts clearer, and the weariness that had clung to him seemed to have lifted slightly.

"So… the more I kill, the stronger I become?" Jacob asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the concept.

[Correct. Each enemy you slay contributes to your power. The first significant increase will occur at ten souls. The next thresholds will require more souls as your power grows.]

Jacob's hands clenched into fists as the reality of his situation settled over him. His strength was directly tied to the lives he took, and the more he killed, the more powerful he would become. But at what cost? The thought of becoming a monster, driven by the need to kill to grow stronger, chilled him to the bone.

"Is there… is there another way?" he asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

[There are other sources of power. Artifacts, ancient relics, and places of great death can also increase your strength. These sources are rarer, often hidden in dangerous locations, but they can provide significant boosts without the need for further killing.]

Jacob's heart steadied as he latched onto this new possibility. The system's response had given him hope—a way to grow stronger without becoming a mindless killer. If he could find these artifacts, these places of power, he might be able to increase his abilities without sacrificing his humanity.

"Can you… can you guide me to these places?" Jacob asked, his voice steadier now, driven by newfound determination.

[Guidance is limited. I can provide general information when you are near a source of power. Precise locations and instructions must be discovered through your own efforts.]

It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was something. Jacob felt a flicker of determination ignite within him. He could use this power, but he wouldn't let it consume him. There were other ways to grow stronger, and he would seek them out, no matter how dangerous the path.

The system's voice faded, leaving Jacob alone with his thoughts once more. But the knowledge it had imparted stayed with him, a constant reminder of the path he now walked. He was no longer just surviving—he was growing, evolving, and the power he sought was within reach.

But for now, he had more immediate concerns. The island of Isla de los Perdidos awaited, and he still had to ensure the crew's safety and maintain his authority as boatswain. The system's revelations would have to wait until he could find time to explore the island and seek out the sources of power it hinted at.

Taking a deep breath, Jacob steeled himself for the tasks ahead. He had a role to play, and the eyes of the crew—and the captain—were on him. But now, he had a new goal, a new path to follow, and he would not be deterred.

The next morning, Jacob returned to the island with a small contingent of trusted crew members, overseeing the trade of the goods they had looted from the merchant ship. The market square was a bustling hub of activity, with traders and pirates haggling over everything from weapons and food to exotic trinkets and stolen goods. Jacob kept a close eye on the negotiations, ensuring that his men weren't being cheated.

At first, the trading went smoothly. Jacob's presence, along with the disciplined demeanor of his crew, discouraged any attempts at underhanded deals. But as the day wore on, tensions began to rise. A rival crew, led by a scarred and ruthless captain, approached the market square, their eyes fixed on the goods that The Abyss was trading.

It wasn't long before the scarred captain, a man with a cruel grin and a dangerous reputation, confronted Jacob directly.

"Your men are trying to cheat us, boatswain," the scarred captain sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "We had a deal, and now they're trying to back out of it."

Jacob's eyes narrowed as he sized up the situation. He knew that any sign of weakness could lead to an all-out brawl, but he also knew that he couldn't let the rival crew push them around.

"There's no cheating here," Jacob replied evenly, his voice firm. "The deal stands as agreed. If there's a problem, we can settle it like men—or you can walk away."

The scarred captain's eyes flashed with anger, but before he could respond, one of his men—the same who had been dealing with Jacob's crew—spoke up, casting a furtive glance at his captain. "No need for trouble, Cap'n. We'll take what we agreed on."

The tension lingered in the air, but Jacob's firm stance had its intended effect. The rival captain glared at Jacob for a long moment, as if weighing the consequences of pushing further. Finally, with a grunt of displeasure, he motioned for his men to take the goods and leave.

Jacob watched them go, his hand still resting on the hilt of his cutlass. He knew this wouldn't be the last time they would have trouble with rival crews, especially in a place like Isla de los Perdidos. But for now, the situation had been defused without bloodshed, and that was a small victory.

With the trading complete, Jacob turned his attention to another matter—the search for information. The system's mention of artifacts and relics had sparked his curiosity, and he knew that this island, with its long history and hidden secrets, might hold the clues he needed.

After ensuring that the crew rotations were in place and that those staying on the ship were prepared for any trouble, Jacob set off to explore the island. His first stop was one of the larger taverns near the docks, a place where information was as valuable as gold. The tavern was rowdy and dangerous, filled with pirates and smugglers, but Jacob knew that if he wanted to learn more about the island's secrets, this was the place to start.

He ordered a drink and listened carefully to the conversations around him, hoping to overhear something useful. It wasn't long before a hushed conversation at a nearby table caught his attention.

"You hear about the strange lights off the eastern coast?" one man was saying to his companion, a rough-looking sailor with a scar across his face. "Some say it's the work of spirits, others think it's some kind of lost treasure."

"Spirits, eh?" the other man replied with a skeptical grunt. "I don't buy it. More likely it's some kind of trick—maybe a rival crew trying to keep people away from something valuable."

Jacob's ears pricked at the mention of strange lights. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He approached the two men, offering to buy them a round of drinks in exchange for more information.

The men, eager for free ale, were happy to oblige. They spoke of rumors and old legends—stories of ghost ships, hidden islands, and ancient maps that led to places no sane sailor would dare to go. It was clear that much of it was superstition, but Jacob couldn't shake the feeling that there was a kernel of truth hidden among the tall tales.

As the conversation continued, Jacob probed for more details about the island and its history. The men spoke of old ruins hidden deep in the jungle, places that had been abandoned long before the first pirates had arrived. They also mentioned an old cartographer who lived on the far side of the island—a man who was said to have maps of places no one else knew about.

The information was tantalizing, and Jacob knew he had to follow up on it. He paid for the drinks and left the tavern, his mind racing with possibilities. If there were ruins on the island, they might hold clues about the world's true nature. And if the cartographer had maps of unknown places, those could be the key to understanding where he was—and how he might find his way back, if that was even possible.

As Jacob made his way through the island's winding streets, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of purpose. The weight of leadership was still heavy on his shoulders, but it was balanced by the need to uncover the truth about the world he was in.

The cartographer's home was a small, weathered building on the edge of the jungle, its exterior covered in vines and moss. Jacob knocked on the door, half expecting it to be abandoned. But after a moment, the door creaked open, revealing an elderly man with a long, white beard and sharp, piercing eyes.

"What do you want?" the old man asked, his voice gravelly.

"I've heard you have maps," Jacob replied, keeping his tone respectful. "Maps of places that others don't know about."

The old man studied Jacob for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Aye, I have maps. But they're not for just anyone. You'll need to prove that you're worthy of them."

Jacob frowned, not sure what the old man meant. "And how do I do that?"

The cartographer's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and challenge. "There's a place in the jungle—a temple, long forgotten by most. If you can find it and bring back something that proves you've been there, I'll share my maps with you. But be warned—many have tried, and few have returned."

Jacob felt a thrill of excitement mixed with apprehension. The jungle was dangerous, filled with wild animals, treacherous terrain, and who knew what else. But the prospect of finding answers—of discovering the truth about the world—was too tempting to resist.

"I'll find the temple," Jacob said, his voice filled with determination. "And I'll bring back whatever proof you need."

The old man nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes. "Then you'd best prepare yourself. The jungle doesn't take kindly to intruders."

As Jacob left the cartographer's home and made his way back to the ship, he couldn't help but feel that he was on the brink of something important—something that could change everything. The answers he sought might be within his grasp, but the journey to find them would be fraught with danger.

And he knew that he couldn't afford to fail.