Byron looked up. The speaker was a low-ranking sailor in tattered clothes. His unkempt hair, seemingly ungroomed for ages, was greasy and matted like hemp rope. His weathered face couldn't hide the sallow yellow of malnutrition. He was a typical deep-sea sailor and appeared not to have had sufficient rest or fresh food for a very long time. Judging by the "Teapot," their ship had likely just arrived at Banta'an with a long-distance fleet. They were likely rushing to purchase supplies, preparing to return to the Old Continent during the monsoon shift at the turn of spring and summer.
However, this sailor was still in good spirits, and his speech was logical, making him much better off than the other illiterate sailors who looked numb and couldn't even speak coherently. Additionally, the information the [Nautical Logbook] read from him piqued Byron's interest in what he was about to say.
"Ron, shut up!"
