The sky and the sea rged into one, their boundary blurred in a vast expanse of blue, making it difficult to distinguish. Continuing upward, it was the imnsely magnificent sky, as if the radiance was no longer pouring down from above, but rising from the deep seabed. Countless rays soared, leaping through the edges of the clouds, crossing layer upon layer of the celestial curtain, reaching straight into that unknown deep space.
This is a scene rarely witnessed by ordinary people, but Bola was sowhat bored with it. He put down the binoculars and tossed them onto the small table beside him, his whole body slumped on the bench, then picked up a book to cover his eyes, shielding them from the sunlight.
This is the sixth day of the voyage, everything passed quickly, it felt as if Bola had just set sail from Reindona’s port yesterday. He vividly rembers the scene at that ti, Red Falcon waving tearfully, as if they might never return.
Ah... such things, who knows?
In terms of the speed of the Morning Glow Advance, Bola should be nearing the seas of the Viking nations by now, but only the Morning Glow Advance had been modified with the Perpetual Motion Pump, while the other three cargo ships following still used ordinary technology, unable to match its speed at all.
So the fleet had to slow down, drifting across this boundless ocean.
Life at sea is extrely dull. The first few days were manageable, but now Bola’s mood was beginning to grow restless. Whether it was the shadow cast by past Silent Sea actions, or so other underlying issues, Bola and Heracles were sowhat alike in their extre aversion to the sea.
The ocean, vast and beautiful... It’s just a bit too vast and profound, inducing boundless fear.
In Bola’s view, the large ship beneath his feet was essentially a cage, imprisoning everyone on the sea’s surface. Worse still, now it was leading everyone toward the dark sea region.
Silent Sea.
The mories pierced Bola, prompting him to tear away the book covering his face and sit up on the bench.
His complexion was as pale as a dead man, unchilled by the direct sunlight, Bola rubbed his face vigorously, as if trying to wake himself. Then he drew out the weapon from his waist, the revolver nad Funeral Bell. It seed only by holding it could he feel a hint of security on this ocean.
Gazing at the weapon, the silver barrel reflected the light, but the hand gripping the gun could only feel the tallic coldness. The Ghost God’s engraving on the cylinder remained clear, perhaps it was the glow that made the pattern subtly warp.
"For whom does the Funeral Bell toll..."
Bola murmured softly, as if it were a curse, uttering it would awaken sothing.
"Are you really a fetishist?"
A voice suddenly sounded from behind, interrupting Bola’s thoughts. He turned to see a beach boy leisurely walking toward him.
The beach boy was all wet, seemingly returning from the sea, with swimming goggles on his head, wearing a floral shirt with its buttons undone, revealing a scarred chest. His lower body wore matching floral shorts, his fur-covered legs in flip-flops.
In his left hand, he held a fish tail, carrying a hefty tuna on his shoulder, the plump fellow seemingly not quite dead yet, occasionally twitching. In his right hand was a bloodied Nail Sword, like a harpoon, skewering several small fish.
Seeing Lorenzo like this, Bola’s face imdiately darkened.
Life at sea is quite monotonous. Many sailors experience varying degrees of psychological issues during prolonged periods at sea, and any effort to seek entertainnt slowly gets exhausted. The atmosphere aboard the ship is often calm and gloomy, especially with a heavy mission weighing on them, the psychological pressure grew more intense.
But among them erged an anomaly.
Lorenzo, this oddball, is clearly unsuitable for reasoning with common sense. In his words, "Saving the world is saving the world, a joyful daily life is a daily life, the two don’t conflict. So even on the eve of the end of the world, you must have a good dinner."
Thus when everyone was somberly executing their duties, he tied a rope around his waist, then dived into the sea to fish, and continued to do so for several consecutive days.
Honestly, everyone envied Lorenzo. The dull life on the ship made it difficult for everyone, yet nobody could match Lorenzo’s entertaining antics. After all, ordinary people would likely faint and beco fish feed if they jumped directly into the sea.
Lorenzo tossed today’s catch onto the ground, seeing it bounce, he slamd it a few more tis until it was silent.
"I am not a fetishist."
Bola replied lazily, typically disliking arguing with Lorenzo, as he always loses, but this ti was different. Life was too monotonous, he needed sothing to alleviate his boredom.
Thinking of this, Bola felt a suffocating frustration, look at how this damned life had forced them.
"Really? I see you’re about to kiss it."
Lorenzo sat on another bench, looking at the silver revolver in his hand.
Since Lorenzo knew Bola, he was inseparable from this silver revolver, as if they were one. And since boarding the ship, this beca even more apparent, Bola intermittently picked up the revolver, caressing it gently.
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