"Hurry up! We don't have time to prepare. The Pope will bring our past selves here any second," Future Charles said to his present counterpart, a hint of irritation on his face.
This was understandable; anyone would grow impatient after experiencing the same event three times.
Charles waved his right hand and the crew followed, but the four distraught men were not among them.
Seeing their dispirited state, Charles frowned slightly, grabbed West by the neck, and started dragging him along. "Get them all on their feet! We don't have time to waste."
Although he regretted it, Charles had to act. Otherwise, it wouldn't just be the four of them who couldn't return, but everyone.
Despite their troubled expressions, the other crew members obeyed. At sea, the captain's command was everything—an ironclad rule of the ship.
Faced with the terrifying prospect of imminent death, West began to tremble as he recited his last words to Charles.
