Inside the Sea Erosion Cliff limestone cave. The wind and rain raged fiercely, with rain threading into fine lines that struck the sea surface, creating endlessly violent ripples. Marcus, the divine official of the Arlan Kingdom's state religion, was not a man without intelligence. Beneath the "Petition Umbrella" tree, the Eternal and Timeless Dragon had long given its guidance. But Marcus was in no hurry to surround them. Within Arlan's borders, the Pope and the Emperor maintained a balance of power. Politics wasn't simply about life-and-death enmity between rivals—every move required careful calculation and unconventional thinking. Since your influence couldn't be eliminated, it had to be utilized somehow. Matters of state took priority. Even though the current Beima Principality harbored irreconcilable hatred toward Arlan. Religion possessed strong social service qualities—often, the poorer and more suffering a place was, the more it needed a system of logic to explain phenomena. The reason the old king had failed so miserably, making commoners' lives miserable, was because he had defied the Dragon Lord. If they just believed in the Dragon Lord, everything would improve. This sounded absurd—Beima had nearly lost an entire generation, with too many war widows reduced to prostitution. The remaining young men had no choice but to embark on the merciless "Golden Belt Road," conquered even when trying to flee at the first sign of trouble. Why would they believe in an enemy nation's religion? But this was indeed the reality. Just like when atomic bombs fell from the sky, even the most atheistic person would yearn for some existence to suddenly appear and save humanity, especially in the already superstitious Western Continent. The Eternal and Timeless Dragon was an existence that could be yearned for, and the nation that yearned for this deity was prosperous and powerful—ironclad proof. While covert and overt struggles bloomed like flowers on the other shore, the Dragon Lord offered you a home. Marcus was far from the brain-fried fanatic that Zachak imagined him to be. He understood the current situation and what this matter meant for Arlan. In this foreign land, constrained at every turn, the troops borrowed from the Admiral were mostly unreliable—just going through formalities. If real fighting broke out, they'd flee without a second thought. The only truly dependable ones were... The people of the Eternal and Timeless Dragon. Micah on the ship watched the people on shore, his eyelids twitching violently. "Fuck your mother..." Micah didn't know what other words could express his current state of mind besides these four. Hundreds of torches illuminated the entire limestone cave brightly. A mentally handicapped giant, over five meters tall and demented, hugged a large oil barrel and slammed it heavily onto the ground. This barrel was soaked with cloth strips—its purpose was self-evident. Zachak had previously dispatched a hundred Military Police for support, and they carried bows. They all wrapped arrows with cloth strips and lit them from torches. They also all took up fire arrows. Besides these, there were over twenty priests Marcus had brought from within Arlan Kingdom. Their grim, black heavy plate armor made them appear somewhat bloated, with black iron dragon-faced helmets revealing only two eye holes—dark and hollow like abysses. An incredibly terrifying pressure emanated from them. Even the usually composed Fen felt like he faced a formidable enemy, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead. His gaze involuntarily turned toward the stone tablet fragment stored in the seal demon stone in his embrace. Perhaps he could only use this thing as a medium, but he would definitely suffer backlash—maybe even die. Was it time to test his capacity? Marcus showed no intention of attacking yet, just maintaining his position. Though Fen didn't know what tricks they were planning, the longer this dragged on, the better. He knew the capabilities of the other Black Sails members—they would definitely return with reinforcements. Marcus could have attacked immediately, but he had reservations. The Dragon Lord had manifested. This wasn't completely unprecedented, but it happened extremely rarely. Each occurrence represented a critical turning point that affected the entire world's major trajectory. Even when that "Calamity Witch" was rescued from the great prison, the Dragon Lord hadn't given any instructions. Someone on this ship, or some item, or perhaps something metaphysical—this ship's fate was crucially important. This made Marcus hesitant to act rashly, as if protecting some astonishingly fragile object. "We would like to board and inspect. Please accommodate us." His voice was extremely hoarse, perhaps because of his metal jaw. Fen adhered to the principle of delaying as much as possible and didn't mind chatting for a while. "This is a private vessel. The captain isn't here. You can wait half an hour—he'll return then." Fen steadied his mind, already formulating a strategy. These people had been inland for too long and didn't understand the dangers of the coast. Though Marcus had ordered preparations for fire arrows, he currently had no intention of burning the ship—that would destroy whatever was important, and if it sank into sea currents, it would vanish without trace. But he had to show Fen some intimidation. He called out the name of the five-meter-tall demented giant. Made Micah's soul nearly leap from fright. How could they withstand this? "Everyone! Wolman! Defend the mast at all costs!" Fen shouted loudly. Even if the upper part of the hull got smashed, it wouldn't matter too much—there were materials in the warehouse, and Haywood could repair it. They couldn't protect the lower hull, but the mast was most critical. If it got destroyed, everyone would be trapped here. The demented giant lifted a large stone weighing about two tons from the ground—a truly terrifying spectacle. He hoisted the massive rock and then violently threw it toward the ship, following a terrifying parabola that flew nearly a hundred meters, hurtling explosively toward the mast. Fen quickly pulled out spell threads, forming a large net that tore the incoming boulder into a dozen rock fragments, dispersing the force. But it still punched through part of the hull, the massive impact creating holes while the ship's railings were shattered as easily as rotten wood, sending wood splinters flying wildly. Wolman's large frame reached out a hand to block it, stopping the fragment, but his arm trembled and began bleeding. Fen understood that Marcus meant business now. "You inland people—your brains have already rusted." Fen adjusted his monocle. If one asked who the strongest in the Black Sails Pirate Crew was, it wasn't himself, nor was it Morrison. It was the Fumark Vengeance. Currently positioned with T-shaped advantage facing the shore. The ship mounted thirty-six reinforced cannons total—eighteen per side. Now the wooden boards protecting the naval guns from seawater and rain erosion flipped open, revealing eighteen terrifying large cannons. Marcus's eyelids twitched.