Chapter 1245 - 612: Arrival and Wensar

Wensar had once held this ocean in boundless awe.

Growing up in a seaside town called "Salt Rock Port," born into a fisherman’s family, there was no one who understood the ocean’s fickle moods better than he did.

Sitting on the low stool at the door, mending fishing nets in the sun, his mother had nagged him countless times, repeating so often that even now he could clearly remember the bitter lessons that had befallen other fishing families in town;

It was the suffocating air before every departure, when his father was about to put to sea, and the almost festive ease and joy in the tiny house when he returned safely, regardless of the size of the catch.

Back when he was just a child and had only begun to form memories, Wensar had already, through his two elders at home, gained a perception of this mysterious and dangerous ocean—shallow, but reliable.

It wasn’t until he first set his feet on a deck that swayed slightly under the wash of the waves, first screamed himself hoarse in a storm helping his father furl the sails, first saw his mother, who had been silently waiting on the pier with his sister in her arms for he didn’t know how long, her eyes reddening the moment she saw him...

That Wensar finally formed a vague notion, one he could feel in his very flesh, of the ocean itself—and of himself.

Following a normal course, he should have grown up through one voyage after another, sometimes lucky, sometimes uneventful, gradually learning the tricks of fishing from his father, using the money he earned to buy his mother a few new clothes, and picking up a few colorful shells his sister liked best whenever he returned to port.

But the ocean is like this—capricious. He’d known that long ago.

"Splash..."

The dripping fishing net was hauled up from beneath the surface by a pair of rough, calloused hands, dragging the sea with practiced ease.

Damp seaweed tangled together like balls of yarn, and fish and shrimp, torn from their watery world, bounced and struggled in the mesh.

He had repeated this countless times. Wensar was like a machine without a soul, merely following muscle memory, hauling the net in again and again.

No matter how big the catch, nothing could stir any emotion in those empty eyes of his, rare for their gray-blue hue.

The boy’s gaze simply fixed on the water beneath the surface ahead—once mysterious and full of Fear, now only tranquil and reassuring—the bottomless pitch black.

"Merciful Lord of Shattering, please forgive me..."

Maybe... ending it here wouldn’t be so bad?

Whoosh——

Suddenly, a sharp rush of Water brought Wensar’s sinking mind back to reality.

He raised his head on reflex, looking toward the source of the sound.

He saw that on the surface roughly thirty meters away from the tiny fishing boat he was on—

It was as if something was darting rapidly beneath the surface, Water parting to both sides, clashing and spraying up fine droplets.

There was no shark fin slicing out of the water as one might imagine; Wensar guessed it might be a Demon that dwelled in these waters.

Close to Salt Rock Port, though mostly marked by Human activity and with most dangerous Demons already cleared out by passing adventurers, survivors still showed up from time to time.

They were a fair distance from shore, and his rickety little boat clearly couldn’t withstand the impact of those dangerous Demons.

It felt as though he could already smell that breath of death about to arrive, one he yearned for yet feared.

At that moment, Wensar shut his eyes, completely giving up on resistance.

Only, perhaps even the Divine he devoutly worshiped took pity on the miserable past of this boy from the shore.

The rush of Water came ever closer, right up to the boat’s side.

The pain and death he imagined did not descend.

What sounded in Wensar’s ears was only the clean splash of something breaking the surface, the heavy, sticky thud of soaked leather boots stepping onto the deck, and a rather courteous young male voice:

"My apologies for boarding uninvited."

"May I ask what month and day it is today?"

...

...

"Swish..."

The oar sliced through the Water, sending out ripples.

Soaked through, Xia Nan sat at the stern, wiping the Water off the surface of the Wooden Sword [Green Pine].

His expression seemed calm and untroubled, and together with the fully armed Good Equipment on his body, he looked very much like an Elite adventurer who had just happened to pass by.

Yet he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of emotion inside.

The facts proved that he wasn’t quite as much of a prodigy as he’d thought.

From the time he boarded the Wave Chasing Sea Teeth at Suo Yu Bay to the encounter with the Octopus Monster, the ocean had been gentle and calm for more than half a month, like a trap set by nature itself, subtly eroding his Fear of the sea.

So that in the end he made a decision which now, in hindsight, was clearly questionable.

If he only considered the distance to Salt Rock Port and the speed of the little wooden boat piloted by him, a professional—

If everything went smoothly as planned, although his arrival at Salt Rock Port would be delayed a bit compared to the original three days,

He should still have been able to reach their destination within the time agreed upon with the barbarian.

However, out on the sea, accidents are inevitable.

Who could have foreseen that when he was no more than three days’ sail from his destination, the ocean, quiet for nearly twenty days, would suddenly, without any warning, erupt into a violent storm?

A colossal, terrifying storm ravaged the coastal waters for a full five days.

It was only because Xia Nan’s physique was exceptionally strong, and he possessed a certain ability to operate underwater, that he was able to sit here now, completely unharmed.

Otherwise, had it been any ordinary sailor, or a low-Level adventurer, they would have been buried in the sea by that storm ten thousand times over.

And as the price for his contempt of the ocean, the only place he could rest on that vast sea—his fragile little boat—was completely torn apart under the onslaught of the raging waves.