Splash, splash, splash...
In the dim cyan witchcraft spiritual light.
A Level 4 battleship belonging to the military was zigzagging across the vast sea, breaking through the waves against the wind.
They continued the task of patrolling the coastal routes of the colony from south to north.
Given the limited military presence in the New Continent, and unable to reach too far, the "Storm Horn's" sailing route was always within a hundred kilometers of the coastline.
Ensuring the safety of this nearshore route was already the result of the utmost efforts from both naval bases in the south and north.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk..."
Aiven leaned against the foredeck, embracing the rising waves while admiring the beautiful silver-glowing potion in his hand.
Whew—
With the sea breeze, he felt an unrivaled sense of happiness.
