"A double advantage." He murmured softly, with both calculations and anticipation.
......
The night was heavy, and the sea fog rolled over Breakwave Bay, like brewing a silent storm.
Twelve black-sailed ships rose and fell among the waves, shadows of masts intertwined, and the beast bone decorations on the ship's prow creaked against the tides.
Bag stepped onto the railing, his flask swaying in his hand: "Hahaha, sixty brothers, twelve ships, enough to give them a fright."
The crew responded, shouts mixed with the sound of the waves, some were banging on the barrel lids with their drinks, others gesturing with long knives.
Laughing and cursing echoed one after another, filled with a long-suppressed agitation.
"Boss, are we really moving now? The fog is so thick, no one can see anyone." The deputy helmsman leaned over, softly reminding.
