Deathly silence.
It's as if the mute button has been collectively pressed; atop the deck of the "Flying Fish Oil Barrel" pirate ship, an eerie silence prevails at this moment.
In the air, only the howling sea wind remains, mingled with fearful, rapid panting, the sound of blood gushing from wounds, and the painful wails of a maimed Wanderer.
In less than five seconds, even the most pessimistic crew member onboard had never imagined such an outcome.
To them, this was supposed to be a routine, most ordinary plunder.
Kill all the remaining living creatures on the opposite ship, loot and plunder, bring all valuable things back to the ship. If the ship is intact, perhaps they could drag it to the black market for another profit.
Isn't this what sea adventurers do?
Otherwise, how could just the meager rewards from commissions ever fill the bellies of so many adventurers onboard?
They needed to earn some extra money along the way.
