Early the following day, Foxy and the others set off again on the warship from the naval base. This time, they reached the edge of the Calm Belt in just three to four hours. The base was very close to the Calm Belt, likely established there by the Navy for research purposes, given that a seasoned vice-admiral commanded it.
The world appeared polarized; on one side, the sea was wild and stormy, while on the other, it was calm and still, without a single ripple.
Everyone gathered on the deck, ready to draw lots. Each person would be randomly assigned an island where they would live for the next two months. During this period, they could only bring weapons, and there was no support available. Survival depended entirely on their skills and luck.
“Draw your lots,” a lieutenant commander said, holding a box of lots. Zephyr stood with his arms crossed, watching everyone.
“I won’t say much more. I hope to see all of you in two months,” Zephyr said.
After everyone had drawn their lots, the warship sailed into the Calm Belt. Foxy didn’t overthink about how the ship could sail without wind. This world was strange—sometimes technologically advanced, like with the Pacifistas, but at other times, using flintlock guns and relying on sails for most ships.
Before long, the warship stopped by a deserted island. From a distance, they could hear the roars of various beasts. The island was half shrouded in rain, half under the scorching sun—an abnormal, illogical weather pattern.
“Who’s first?” Zephyr asked.
“Me,” Drake said, looking grim.
“Get ready,” Zephyr said, walking over to Drake. Suddenly, he grabbed Drake by the shoulder, surprising everyone.
Foxy had a bad feeling.
Sure enough, Zephyr lifted Drake like a chicken and threw him toward the island.
“Ah! I’ll be back!” Drake screamed as he flew through the air, disappearing into the island’s foliage and scattering a flock of birds.
“Next island,” Zephyr said as if he had done something trivial.
“Yes, sir.”
Sicily, Shuen, Berry Good, and the others were also thrown onto their respective islands by Zephyr one by one.
When it was Foxy’s turn, he looked at the island with a sense of foreboding. His luck seemed terrible. The island had black thunderclouds lightning, and it was snowing. Occasional lightning strikes hit the forest, starting fires that were quickly doused by torrential rain.
The weather was atrocious, and the beastly roars were deafening.
Holding his lot tightly, Foxy swallowed nervously.
He braced himself, gripping the short sword at his waist as Zephyr’s large hand settled on his shoulder, transmitting a sense of overwhelming power.
“Are you ready?” Zephyr asked.
“Ready,” Foxy replied, his eyes unwavering.
Zephyr flung Foxy into the air like a rocket. As Foxy flew, a lightning bolt passed by, making his face turn pale. The odds of being struck by lightning were one in a billion, right?
Just as he finished the thought, a lightning bolt hit him directly. With a scream and a puff of black smoke, Foxy fell to the ground, narrowly avoiding a fatal landing thanks to some tree branches that cushioned his fall.
Lying on the ground, Foxy’s body twitched, his face blackened, and only his teeth were white. If it were night, he would blend into the darkness.
As he tried to get up, he suddenly tensed, gripping his short sword and forming an orchid hand with his left hand. In front of him was a massive, scarred tiger, five meters long, with bloodthirsty eyes fixed on Foxy, drooling as if it saw a delicious meal.
The tiger pounced, but Foxy was faster, shooting a pink beam from his left hand, hitting the tiger on the head. The tiger slowed down, and Foxy stood up, walked over, and slit its throat without hesitation.
The tiger’s eyes showed fear as it died.
Before Foxy could catch his breath, he heard more roars from the surrounding forest. Quickly, he climbed a large tree. The slow-motion effect wore off, and the tiger’s blood gushed out, dyeing the ground red.
Wolves emerged from the forest, each over two meters long. They surrounded the dying tiger, their fangs bared and dripping saliva. In moments, the tiger was reduced to bones.
From his perch, Foxy watched calmly, his expression darkening. This island was more brutal than he had imagined. He needed to find a safe place quickly; the night would be even more dangerous.
Just as he thought he was safe in the tree, a foul stench hit him. A ten-meter-long python wrapped around him, squeezing tightly. Foxy’s face turned red as he struggled to breathe.
Using his free hand, he shot a pink beam at the python, slowing it down. With a burst of strength, he pried himself free and decapitated the snake with his short sword. Panting, he stood on the tree trunk, looking at the snake’s body with lingering fear.
He had encountered two life-threatening situations in such a short time. He needed to be even more vigilant.
Gripping his short sword tightly and keeping his left hand in an orchid position, Foxy stayed alert, his senses heightened. He scanned the area and decided to head toward a barren mountain. It seemed safer than the ground, filled with hidden dangers.
He moved from tree to tree, encountering various threats along the way. There were more pythons, leopards, and even strange predatory birds. He only advanced when his slow-motion ability had cooled down.
Without his ability, Foxy wouldn’t have been able to handle the constant attacks so easily.
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