Duncan… Duncan, where are you?"
He remembered it clearly. When the explosion tore the ship apart, it was Duncan, his friend, who kicked him into the sea at the last moment. That single action had saved his life. He was alive now, washed ashore on this island, but Duncan was nowhere to be found.
"No… I'm not Gordon. My name is Cassian."
Inside his mind, two sets of memories overlapped and intertwined. One belonged to Gordon, a young sailor living in Havana, struggling to survive in this brutal age of sails and gunpowder. The other belonged to Cassian, a man from the twenty-first century, living in a modern metropolis where the world was relatively stable and peaceful, yet suffocating in its own way.
In Cassian's memories, he lived an ordinary life. He graduated, wandered through job interviews, and spent long days waiting for responses that never came. His life had stalled, drifting without direction. In his last clear memory, he was waiting for the next interview notice, bored out of his mind, when he opened a standalone game to pass the time.
Assassin's Creed: Black Flag.
At that moment, the dominant consciousness was Cassian's, and a single thought surfaced with undeniable clarity.
The Animus.
The Assassin's Creed series revolved around a machine known as the Animus. Through it, users could access genetic memories, travel back into the consciousness of people from the past, witness their lives, and uncover hidden truths. Thinking of his current situation, Cassian could not help but associate everything with the Animus.
Only the Animus could explain why he was here.
As soon as the word crossed his mind, a familiar interface unfolded before his eyes. A translucent menu hovered in his vision, displaying sections for tasks, achievements, crafting, and enhancement. It was eerily similar to the Animus interface from the game, though there were no obvious attributes or character panels visible.
At the moment, there was only a single mission listed.
Mission: Leave Huaye Island
Difficulty: One Star
Mission Reward: Assassin outfit, Constitution enhancement
Mission Failure: No penalty for failure
Looking around at the few coconut trees on the island, the lack of permanent fresh water, and the limited food supply, it was clear he could not survive here for more than a week at most. Of course, the reason there was "no penalty" for mission failure was painfully obvious.
Failure meant death.
Night gradually deepened. The sea breeze weakened. Through the gaps in the leaves, the bright moon hung high in the clear sky. Suddenly, a brilliant streak of light burned across the heavens, splitting into two before vanishing completely.
…
For the next several days, he lived like a savage.
Bare-chested, he spent his days kicking coconut trees, learning to climb them, collecting fruit, and catching birds. When boredom or desperation struck, he would dive into the sea, hoping against reason that he might catch a turtle by sheer luck.
From Gordon's memories, he knew Huaye Island was far from the mainland and isolated from major islands. Building a bamboo raft to escape was unrealistic. The most likely outcome would be becoming food for sharks or fish. Fortunately, this stretch of sea lay along a prosperous trade route. If a merchant ship passed by, there was still hope.
After stabilizing his food situation, he began gathering branches and laying them out in an open area to dry. The island's humidity was extreme, making it nearly impossible to start a fire by friction alone.
One day, a corpse washed up on the beach.
The machete the man carried became Cassian's most valuable weapon. He stripped the clothes from the body, using them to make a slightly softer place to sleep at night.
On the fourth day, a violent storm swept across the entirety of Huaye Island. The dried firewood, the coconuts hanging from the trees, all vanished in the raging wind and rain. That night, he could only hide behind rocks, clinging desperately to tree roots as waves crashed over the island, praying for the storm to end.
Huaye Island was simply too small. When the storm passed, nearly the entire island had been washed clean. Two coconut trees had fallen. Only one remained standing, and there were just three coconuts left on it.
Cold despair seeped into his bones.
Brave people could endure hardship, but true despair came when no hope could be seen. He had food for only two more days. Thankfully, fresh water was not lacking. Rainwater collected on large leaves, and he stored as much as he could. Fire, however, was completely impossible now.
Cassian opened the menu again, stared at the one-star difficulty rating, and cursed under his breath. If this was one star, then five stars would probably mean the end of the world.
There was nothing in the interface to help him. This task felt like the most basic trial imaginable.
That day, he began collecting flat stones, sharpening one end, finding rattan vines and thick wooden sticks, and binding them together to create a crude stone axe. If no one came to rescue him, then he would have to rely on himself.
Cutting down the fallen coconut tree and chopping it into suitable lengths for a raft was exhausting. The primitive axe, held together by vines, cracked after dozens of strikes.
"Damn it!"
A fragment of stone sliced deeply into his palm. In such a humid environment, the wound would not heal easily. If it became infected, death would be inevitable.
He collapsed and flung the axe away. Using such a crude raft to sail into the open sea was madness.
At that moment, a patch of white suddenly appeared at the edge of his vision.
His attention snapped toward it instantly.
On the far side of the island, a mast stood tall, a flag fluttering at its peak. There was no mistaking it.
A ship had arrived.
Cassian felt strength surge through his body. Wanting to look less like a wild man, he put on the clothes he had stripped from the corpse, though they were torn and stiff from repeated exposure to seawater. He took his only possession, the machete, and ran toward the beach.
That stretch of shore lay beneath a cliff, which he had ignored before due to the lack of coconut trees. Now, it felt like salvation.
"One-star difficulty really isn't meant to kill me."
He ran with excitement and reached the top of the cliff. In the distance, he saw small boats anchored near a larger vessel. If he could just ask for help and pay a fee, he could leave this place.
As for payment, it could wait until he returned to Havana. His family should be able to afford it. He silently prayed that the ship was bound for Havana.
The white sails bore the emblem of the Duolun Chamber of Commerce. The ship was similar in size to the one he had served on, capable of carrying fewer than thirty sailors with limited cargo capacity. Humming an unfamiliar tune only he remembered, Cassian descended the side path toward the beach.
But before he reached it, he saw something unexpected.
These were not ordinary merchants.
Four sailors armed with machetes were binding the captain, the first mate, and two loyal crewmen. The scene was unmistakable.
A mutiny.
"What's the password to your central bank deposit account?"
One of the sailors pressed his blade against the wealthy captain's neck, his voice filled with naked threat.