North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws-Chapter 540 - 314: Mutation, The Game Begins! (Two in One)_1

Amidst the uneasy atmosphere on the ship, a soft call from Dean broke the silence. In the distance on the sea's surface, the decrepit bow of an old ship came into view. It was an aging cargo vessel!

Although the others didn't have Dean's impressive vision and couldn't see it clearly, the open sea offered a much wider line of sight than land. Squinting, they could just make out a small black dot heading their way.

"That is..."

Barton, the mercenary leader, squinted, somewhat uncertain. "Is that a ship?"

Dean nodded and whispered, his voice low enough for only Barton to hear, "From the looks of it, it should be an old cargo vessel."

Barton's spirits lifted. Any change was good, no matter what it was. Otherwise, starvation loomed after just a few more days. To maintain a certain level of combat readiness, I might have to do some unsavory things! And those things would undoubtedly force these originally independent individuals to unite and resist, or even turn on me—which could include my own team members. I don't want to take that step unless it's absolutely necessary.

His mood lightened somewhat. Barton couldn't help but joke, "Dean, I'm the team's sniper, yet I never expected your vision to be better than mine. Maybe after this is all over, you could consider a career change."

Dean just smiled without replying.

The others, still unclear about the black dot in their view, relaxed considerably upon seeing Barton joke, especially the gaming experts.

Although it wasn't quite like chasing a mountain that seems close yet is far away on land, the cargo ship was moving very slowly. It took more than ten minutes before they could clearly make out what the black dot was.

It was an old, almost derelict cargo ship, perhaps half the size of the cruise ship they were on. It rode low in the water, its hull deeply submerged, raising concerns that an oncoming wave might swallow it whole.

As it drew closer, they could even make out white painted lettering on its side—the cargo ship's name.

As the image sharpened, one of the athletic ones exclaimed in surprise, "That looks like the Annika Cargo Ship!"

Barton immediately stepped forward and grabbed the speaker, his voice agitated. "You know this cargo ship?"

Everyone perked up their ears. If it's a normal cargo ship, that would be fantastic! Food, water, and a distress radio! More importantly, we could get off this cruise ship! Even if it costs us everything, none of us want to stay on this eerie cruise ship any longer. Our lives aren't guaranteed, and we're constantly under mental torment!

Seeing everyone looking at him, the athlete who had spoken shook his head, his face troubled. "I wish that were true, but the Annika Cargo Ship went missing during a storm two years ago!"

"What?"

Everyone was shocked by this revelation. Missing at sea for two years—they all knew what that implied. Could this cargo ship be a ghost ship?

Just then, the woman with the spider tattoo standing behind Barton frowned. "This ship's speed is off," she said. "I estimate it's only doing about five to six knots, and it seems heavily laden—it's riding very low!"

A knot is a unit of speed at sea. One knot is equivalent to traveling one nautical mile per hour, or approximately 1.85 kilometers per hour. This meant the cargo ship's current speed was likely slower than the sea current itself!

"But this cargo ship is clearly under power!" Barton felt a vague sense of unease.

Dean glanced at the woman with the spider tattoo and continued, "This means the people on the cargo ship are deliberately controlling its speed. They probably have bad intentions. We need to prepare some weapons."

One of Barton's team members, who seemed to dislike Dean on sight, scoffed, "I saw you and your teammate slacking off earlier. You probably don't realize this cruise ship hasn't left us a single thing."

Dean shrugged. "Did you forget those glass cabinets we found when we woke up? I checked when I woke up; those cabinets aren't bulletproof glass. Their stands could easily be dismantled and used as weapons."

The team member who had spoken, now even more annoyed by Dean's retort, glared at him. "Then why didn't you say so earlier?"

"If I'd said something earlier," Dean replied, looking at the man as if he were an idiot, "are you sure your little group could have subdued a dozen armed people without anyone getting hurt? This is the age of firearms. These modern mercenaries might be good shots, but in unarmed combat, they're probably only slightly more skilled than an average person. Not to mention, among the other two groups, there are seven strong athletes. If everyone had weapons and a fight broke out, even if Barton's group managed to control the situation, they couldn't guarantee they'd escape unscathed. In a predicament like this, everyone knows what getting injured means."

Behind Barton, the team member who had spoken flushed crimson, his nostrils flaring. He wanted to retort but couldn't find the words. An indescribable rage surged through his chest. His eyes began to turn bloodshot, one thought dominating his mind: Fuck, I'm going to rip that pretty boy's mouth off!

This guy's reaction is off, Dean thought. Sensitive to malice, he noticed the man's deteriorating condition, and his own expression changed. He turned to Barton and his teammates. "Something's wrong with him! Calm him down, quickly!"