"The weather seems a little off. If it starts to rain, it's likely to be a heavy one."
Fang Shuwen nodded and looked ahead.
Once Cheng Bali took the helm, he began steering toward the depths of the Dark Sea. The way forward was an oppressive, inky blackness, as if they were crossing from the world of the living into the realm of ghosts.
The once-steady ship gradually began to pitch and roll.
The undercurrents and whirlpools in the water were pulling at the ship.
They were still on the periphery; the deeper they went, the more pronounced this effect would become.
Fang Shuwen glanced back. Zuo Xuan's message had been relayed, and all the ships had formed a single line, following in their wake.
Even so, the fleet still looked magnificent, its momentum unbroken.
Fang Shuwen walked to the bow, watching the waves churn on the sea's surface in silence.
Two hours passed in the blink of an eye.
The fleet had now entered a region of whirlpools and reefs.
