Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 52: The Sailor

The warmth and noise of the inn continued to buzz around the group as they dug into their meals, laughing between bites and throwing playful jabs at one another. But the moment the heavy wooden doors creaked open, a strange silence swept through the room like a sudden wind.

Boots—heavy and uneven—thudded against the worn-out wooden floor. A rhythmic thump...thud...thump...thud that commanded attention even in the rowdiest of places. Heads turned, conversations died mid-sentence, and the clinking of mugs came to a halt. It was as if the very walls of the inn recognized the presence that had just walked in.

The dwarf appeared first, short legs moving with purpose and a sly grin curling on his lips. But beside him was a man—tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick grey beard that was twisted into knots, as though he hadn’t groomed it in years. A deep scar ran diagonally across his forehead, disappearing under the tangled mess of hair tucked beneath a weather-beaten sailor’s cap. Most noticeable of all, however, was the makeshift leg—crafted from iron and old wood, worn smooth with age and use. It made a clanking sound with every step, echoing across the floor like a slow-moving hammer.

The man’s name was Ander.

A sailor by trade. A legend by reputation. He was the Captain of the Sea Phantom.

And despite the years of wear and hardship written into his every movement, his posture remained upright, his chin held high like a king among peasants. People didn’t just look at him—they acknowledged him. Even the drunkest men in the corners of the inn straightened up when they saw him. A few gave small nods. One or two quickly looked away. There was something dangerous about the man... something feral.

The stench followed him like a cloud—rum, sea salt, and something else foul and unidentifiable. It made Eleanor wrinkle her nose immediately. Sophia leaned slightly away, trying not to breathe too deeply.

"He reeks..." Sophia whispered under her breath.

Eleanor’s brow twitched in irritation. "That’s not just rum. That’s a combination of bad hygiene and ego."

Jason stifled a laugh, but even he couldn’t hide the brief look of disgust on his face.

Ander didn’t seem to mind—or maybe he just didn’t care. He caught the girls’ expressions and grinned wide, flashing a row of mostly rotten, yellow teeth. One of his molars was missing entirely, and the rest looked like they’d been through several bar fights and a few shipwrecks.

"Aye, don’t mind the smell, lasses," he rasped in a gravelly voice. "Tis the scent of experience."

"Smells like something crawled up and died," Eleanor muttered, clearly not amused.

Ander laughed at that, a guttural, chesty sound that made even the nearby barmaid flinch. He slammed a hand on the table and took a seat without invitation, his iron leg groaning under him as he shifted into place. Two men followed closely behind—his servants, or perhaps his crew. They were lean and ragged, one with a blind eye and the other missing several fingers. Both stood silently behind him like statues.

The dwarf rubbed his hands together and took the seat next to Ander. His grin hadn’t left his face since the moment he’d walked in.

"Well then, now that we’re all here..." the dwarf began, looking across the table at Liam and the others, "shall we begin?"

Liam didn’t reply. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes quietly observing Ander—reading him. There was something about the man that didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t like the way he smirked at the girls. Didn’t like the cocky sway in his posture. And most of all, he didn’t like how easily the inn had fallen silent in his presence.

The tension around the table seemed to thicken as the stench-laden sailor leaned forward, his one good eye scanning the faces of the group like a wolf sizing up prey. His fingers drummed lazily on the mug in front of him, nails yellowed and thick from years at sea. After a long silence, he broke it with a question that seemed casual on the surface—but was laced with subtle challenge.

"So then... who’s the leader among ye?"

The question hung in the air, lingering like smoke after a fire. No one answered right away. The group glanced at each other, not out of uncertainty, but because the answer didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Still, they remained silent—perhaps out of pride, or restraint, or maybe simply to see what the others would say.

Ander raised a brow. "No one, eh? Bunch of lost kids without a leash?"

It was then that Marcus leaned forward with a grin and puffed out his chest slightly, elbows resting confidently on the table. "Well, if we’re being fair," he began with a smug expression, "I am the smartest."

Jason immediately let out a snort, but stifled it with a cough. Sophia rolled her eyes. Eleanor just shook her head with an amused sigh.

The sailor tilted his head and stared at Marcus for a long, quiet moment—long enough for Marcus’s grin to falter just slightly. Then Ander leaned back, let out a loud, grating laugh, and slapped his thigh hard enough to rattle his mug.

"The smartest, he says!" Ander bellowed. "Lads, did ya hear that? This one says he’s the smartest!"

His two servants began laughing immediately, one of them wheezing as though he’d just swallowed a mouthful of sea salt. The dwarf chuckled as well, leaning into Ander as if they were old drinking pals.

"You look the dumbest," Ander said with a grin, pointing directly at Marcus with a grease-covered finger. "Got that punch-drunk look in your eye, boy. Like someone dropped you on your head and forgot to pick you up."

The table erupted in more laughter—except from Liam.

Liam had been silent the entire time, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded but focused. He hadn’t even smiled when Marcus made his claim, nor when Ander insulted him. But now... something in his expression shifted, subtly but unmistakably.

He slowly leaned forward, his voice quiet—almost soft—but cold as winter steel.

"Are you laughing at my brother?" he asked.

The words weren’t loud, but they pierced the rowdy noise like a blade through cloth.

Ander’s laughter trailed off into a short grunt. The servants fell quiet. Even the dwarf’s chuckling faded into a nervous cough. The weight behind Liam’s voice hit them like a sudden drop in temperature. That tone wasn’t bluff. It wasn’t bravado. It was a promise.

Ander’s smirk faded into something more cautious as his gaze shifted from Marcus to Liam. The sailor tilted his head slightly, something flickering in his eye—respect, or perhaps a recognition of something dangerous.

He sat up straighter, then gave a slow nod. "Aye..." he muttered. "I see now. You’re the leader."

No one in the group said a word. They didn’t have to. The silence that followed was louder than any confirmation could’ve been. Liam’s quiet, watchful presence had always been the glue that held them together, the weight behind every decision. Now the sailor knew it too.

"Why are you here?" Liam asked flatly, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the tension already settling at the table. His eyes didn’t flinch, locked straight on Ander. He didn’t care for the sailor’s presence, not with that stench of old rum and whatever else clung to his worn, sea-bitten clothes. There was something about the man—beyond the odor and smug grin—that just rubbed Liam the wrong way.

Ander leaned back lazily in his chair, his wooden leg creaking against the floorboards as he shifted. He looked around the table, clearly amused by the lack of warm welcome. "This gentleman here," he said, gesturing a thick, weathered finger toward the dwarf with a grin, "told me of y’all’s little quest."

"Gentleman?" Sophia muttered under her breath with a scoff.

Eleanor smirked, adding her own sarcasm. "That’s a generous stretch of the word."

The dwarf turned toward them with a mock-offended gasp, placing his hand on his chest. "You wound me, ladies."

Sophia rolled her eyes. "You’ll survive."

Ander chuckled, clearly entertained by the group’s dynamic. He scratched the side of his beard with his metal ring, making a rasping sound that was as grating as his laugh. "Truth be told," he said, looking back to Liam, "I ain’t here to win hearts. I just came to see who I’ll be sailing with for the next several days."

Liam didn’t respond immediately. He simply studied the man, letting the silence stretch just enough to make Ander shift slightly. The others exchanged glances.

"You’ll be working for us, not the other way around," Eleanor said firmly, arms crossed beneath her cloak.

Ander raised an eyebrow, not insulted, just interested. "Aye, I get that. But when you’re out on the ocean, it’s not who pays who that matters. It’s who keeps the ship from turning into a coffin." He tapped his wooden leg. "Storms don’t care about titles."

"Neither do I," Liam replied calmly. "We’re just here to get the job done. Nothing more."

Ander gave a crooked smile. "Then we’ll get along just fine... as long as no one gives me a reason not to."

There was a flicker of tension, just a moment where everything felt like it might tip into something heavier. But then the dwarf clapped his hands and laughed nervously. "Ah, well, introductions made. Let’s continue to eat before the food gets cold again, eh?"

Ander leaned back once more, still eyeing the group like a seasoned predator sizing up a new pack. He didn’t say another word for now, but the way his rotten grin lingered showed he was watching—and waiting.

Sophia leaned slightly toward Eleanor and whispered, "I don’t trust that guy."

Eleanor didn’t blink. "Neither do I."

Liam kept quiet, but his jaw was tense. He didn’t trust Ander either.