On the deserted aft deck of the Unicorn, Charles downed one shot of spirits after another, but the usual cure for sorrow had lost its effect this time. Drinking only intensified the feeling of powerlessness in his heart.
Watching his crew members die before his very eyes was an unbearable feeling, which was why he deliberately tried not to grow too attached to new crew members.
Yet this time it was the bandages—starting from that initial island to now, bandages had been by his side for over four years, and another old crew member had left him.
"Is there really not a single thing I can do?" A drunken Charles sprawled on the deck, leaning against the ship's hull, staring into the darkness ahead.
He had been questioning this over the past few days, but he was not the ship doctor; he was utterly useless in the field of medicine.
