"Plop!"
When the corpse fell on the deck, the air fell silent.
The cold sea breeze, mixed with the scent of blood, reached everyone's nostrils.
Although it was four o'clock in the morning, no one felt sleepy.
They looked at the incredibly powerful man in front of them, their hearts already saturated with fear.
They had fought for their lives on the edge of death so many times; they couldn't count how often they had lingered on the line between life and death, but they had never felt fear like they did today.
Death itself wasn't scary.
What was terrifying was the absolute overpowering of strength.
Mr. Hart was among the top three in strength of these people, and the others combined might not have been able to beat him.
But now, with just one encounter.
Hart was dead.
And the man at the bow of the ship, draped in a golden robe with eight dragons, holding the Great Zhou Stormy Night Sword, looked down on them with pride.
