Southeast of Heaven Port, where it connects with Mirror Sea.
The sky here was gloomy, the moisture was exceedingly heavy, and a thick fog hung over the sea.
The Daffodil sailed relentlessly forward, not far from Dead Man Bay, a pirate port full of criminals from Mirror Sea.
Morison had bought an abundance of board gas during the New Year, not just post-apocalyptic wastelands, but also things like the Craftsmanship Survey Team.
While there were fantasy, Dungeons and Dragons types of gas, Morison didn’t buy them.
Because real life was tough enough, the Western Continent was all swords and magic—why bother with Dungeons and Dragons?
It was like a blessed man about to die suddenly playing a role-playing ga about work—it felt incredibly dull. In fact, this kind of ga also had the poorest sales in that ga company in Lostra.
Fisher had already turned into an animal friend.
However, the rest of the extortion squad had been arranged to co over and dominate Dead Man Bay with Ox, excluding Nishi and Violet, there were three other Heroic Level adventurers.
Morison truly felt he was on the rise. Heroic Level was quite rare; Black Sail had only beco a regional power, capable of maintaining servants of this level.
Including Gawain and Weber, they were now formidable in the Seven Martial Seas.
Playing board gas daily with the Seven Martial Seas, they’d all get chopped up by the rfolk.
Inside the navigation room of the Daffodil.
"It’s your turn to make a check."
Violet, smoking a cigarette, urged Weber. This urge was stranger than the ga itself—the Necromancer’s zombie horde, person eating person, everyone in the Western Continent had beco a resurrected corpse.
Wouldn’t this really be a problem? Too much violence in the content was bound to bring feudal superstition knocking.
With the onset of the great voyages and the advancent of the Magic Energy Industry, the number of atheists was steadily rising. Even if things like the Divine Mother Sect’s Miracle of Suffering dated back eighteen hundred years and no one took them seriously—Dragon Lord Holy Spirit, Holy True God, and various others—no one had seen them with their own eyes; it was all just scare tactics.
Before departing, the blacksmith had already crafted Weber a set of Super Heavy Armor, absurdly bulky, ivory white in color, and sothing only he would enjoy wearing, relying entirely on brute strength in battle, carrying the Fla Scholars Promotion with him.
Weber tossed a specialized twelve-sided die.
"I heard that rfolk... eat people."
Gawain said abruptly.
Because there were poachers who went to Mirror Sea to traffic humans, capturing rmaids—a related species to the rfolk—many rfolk harbored deep hatred towards humans, genuinely wanting to cook them.
"Really?"
Weber was instantly stunned. It was one thing inland, but along the coast, the combat power of rfolk grew exponentially. Dead Man Bay was known to be a place of intense moisture filled with dense fog. If a thousand rfolk all ard with charms arrived to devour him, it would be a direct entrance into a zombie horde scenario—a colossal failure.
Mirror Sea.
It didn’t an that all rfolk lived underwater.
Once a society ford, once a community erged, generating classes, the higher structures had demands; majestic spectacles and grand palaces were needed, and being underwater did not satisfy these conditions.
The rfolk of Mirror Sea still chose to live on islands at the sea surface, even if not considering spectacles, but also thinking about food storage, seasoning, and so life quality-improving imported goods, which could only be stored and preserved on land.
Except for the Mirror Sea Holy City.
It was said to be an extraordinarily bizarre and enormous hollow underwater cave at the bottom of the sea, ten thousand ters deep, capable of accommodating millions of people.
But historically, only a few Magicians with god-reaching abilities had visited; ordinary people could not glimpse its appearance.
Emrich had Area 51, the Western Continent had Ancient Divine Continent, and Mirror Sea Holy City—all places filled with endless mysteries.
"Ox has eaten humans."
Archer, drunk, started bluffing. Looking at the calendar, today was the 15th, right? They would soon reach Iron Soul Island in the New Continent.
"My hair!"
Weber thought it over. It was quite possible; with that monstrous height of two ters eighty, not just eating humans—swallowing a person whole wasn’t beyond him! And on this ship, they all were re sashimi.
"Are we almost at Iron Soul Island?"
Archer inquired.
"Uh... Iron Soul Island is still far away, but we’re almost at Dead Man Bay."
Nishi was speechless. She was open to all, known for her promiscuity, but she could not stand Archer—the only exception. It wasn’t that he was utterly detested, just nauseating.
As they sailed deeper into Dead Man Bay, the air beca denser with moisture. Archer sneezed, his snot drying up almost instantly. He wiped it casually on his sleeve, ready to grab so snacks from the plate.
"Just... don’t touch, please, I’m begging you."
Nishi handed him a wooden platter to pick from instead.
Morison nodded in approval. True to Archer’s nature, the man he admired, despite being a director of a colossal corporation, never forgot his roots. Despite having traveled to many places, he had never seen such a godlike man.
At that mont,
the center of the ship shifted slightly to the side.
As the captain, Ox imdiately ordered to drop anchor and co to a rapid stop.
Sensing that sothing was happening, Morison and his companions all ca up to the deck.
What a surprise—they were in the navigation room with the oil lamp unnoticeable, but it should be around noon. Outside it was dark as dusk, shrouded in dense fog.
The visibility was extrely low, not even a few miles, which was significant on the ocean.
With the heavy moisture, Nishi felt her skin dampen imdiately. What would happen if they were attacked now? Would the entire island’s rfolk... take them for Star Crossbows?
Nishi bit her lip tightly.
"What’s happening?"
Morison, skilled and brave, was undergoing arduous training, forcing himself to adapt to any environnt for combat.
The pocket-sized Elf Lu also stood on Gawain’s shoulder. She, too, had joined this adventure but was almost unnoticed, not even officially hired by the company.
"There are two ships ahead stopping us; if we don’t stop, they might open fire."
Ox spotted the signal from the other side, a faint red light flickering in the fog. Among the rfolk, there were witches as well.
Even the rfolk needed ships if they were dealing with humans—after all, cannon suppression was always more reliable than boarding combat.
And boarding combats were rare; it was uncommon for two hostile ships to co close together in the vast ocean.
"Then let’s fire at them."
Morison said casually, having been a ship gunner himself, ready to fire loud and clear.
"No, I will handle this," Ox said calmly.
Fifteen minutes later.
Two ragged ships, about thirty-five ters long with rusty cannons, flanked the Daffodil from both sides at half a mile’s distance. If both ships fired at once, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
Yet, Ox remained unflustered.
And Morison loved this dangerous ga.
The pirates from the Seven Martial Seas were baffled, trapped in dense fog; how could the captain make such a reckless decision?
Although Ox said he would handle it, they were now at a complete disadvantage, all ready for close combat.
From the two ships, sounds of splashing water ca as dozens, even hundreds of silhouettes in the mist dived into the sea, their slapping on the water filled the air. The rfolk’s flippers had strong suction, enabling them to even climb the ship’s sides.
Shortly, sixty to seventy rfolk, bare-chested and wearing only trousers, all drenched, gathered on the deck of the Daffodil.
This was the first ti Archer had seen so many of his kind, and he was quite nervous.
They removed the weapons they had clenched in their mouths, scanning the people on the deck.
Morison was genuinely interested, now to see how influential Ox was among his own.
The rfolk were indeed a bit taller than humans, but only slightly; Ox was exceptionally gifted, standing out at first glance.
"The... General, have you returned?"
The leading rfolk, covered in tattoos and sporting fins, let his scimitar clatter to the deck.
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