The Yang Kings paced back and forth on the wooden decks of their ships, their faces twisted with anger.
They shook their fists at the horizon, shouting insults at the demon wyrm that had already disappeared into the waves.
Despite their loud words, not a single one of them was brave enough to jump into the water. The red fog, known as the Blood Congealing Mist, rolled over the surface of the sea like a thick, poisonous blanket.
It hissed as it touched the air, and anyone who breathed it in would find their blood turning as hard as stone.
On Xiao Ming's ship, the sailor let out a long, shaky breath.
His shoulders, which had been tight with fear, finally relaxed. His eyes were bright with a mix of exhaustion and relief as he looked at the dark water.
"The crisis is finally over!" he muttered underneath his breath shortly after.
He did not waste any time worrying about the red mist.
