Judging by the degree of decay on their bodies, these things were the remains of those who once lived on the British Island, resurrected here for some unknown reason.
They sank back into the sea amid the thunder of cannon fire, but more of their kind relentlessly rose to take their place.
Explosions, crashing waves, and a cacophony of meaningless noise filled the air, but everything remained under control because Shanshan was sitting at the ship's bow, reading a book with a bored expression.
Wiping the seawater from his face and flicking it onto the deck, Charles said to Shanshan, "Keep an eye out. If things get out of hand, teleport our people back first."
Shanshan, her head buried in her book, simply nodded slightly without any other reaction.
He had expected this stalemate to continue, but a new situation soon developed. From the eastern sea, black, filthy foam began to churn and rise.
