The sails were swollen by the sea breeze, making a "clattering" sound, mixed with the "squeaking" sound of the wooden oars cutting through the waves, creating a monotonous rhythm in the thick fog. Yun Han leaned against the side of the ship, his fingertips stroking the silver patterns flowing on the Staff of Judgment - this staff, which was a fusion of the three holy instruments, was emitting a faint warm light at the moment, like a tame little beast, gently holding down the surging divine power in his body. As soon as he coughed up a mouthful of spit with light golden blood streaks, a warm hand held his lower back.
