Thick fog like milk, eerie light accompanied by bizarre chanting echoes.
The tone is strange like merfolk crying blood, mixed with the harsh sound of dragging iron chains. Xian Ashui's Damin's conical hat hangs at the edge of the altar, a half-blood-stained ribbon drooping under the brim, while the other two sailors have turned into withered corpses, their flesh clinging tightly to their bones, eye sockets sunken like dry wells.
Li Yan crouched behind the reef, his fingertips gripping the handle of the Duan Chen Blade, not rushing forward.
Outnumbered and outmatched, moreover, these "Sea Monks" exuded a sense of evil, encountering them would lead to marine disasters, likely difficult to handle.
And this scene vaguely made him somewhat uneasy...
"At least three hundred!"
