Normally, the Northern Sea, where temperatures remained below freezing year-round, found it difficult to produce fog. Even if it did form, it would quickly turn into icy grit and fall into the sea.
Yet this dense fog, which nearly reduced visibility to the level of someone with a thousand-degree prescription, did not feel cold in the slightest. It even felt somewhat "warm."
Without question, that warmth was an illusion among illusions. If the body accepted that warmth, its pores would unconsciously open, and in an extremely short time, it would lose all its heat.
The howl of fierce winds came from behind them. Without question, the Storm Church members were trying to disperse the thick fog with wind, but this fog was clearly not the product of water vapor condensing under natural conditions. Although several Seafarers were doing their best to wield the spell-like abilities of Storm Clerics—the ancient name for Seafarers—neither wind nor water could thin the dense fog in the slightest.
"A fog-filled night. It seems we've already approached the target." Electric sparks flashed in Novat's eyes. As he recalled all sorts of information regarding the Ghost Empire, a hint of delight appeared on his face.
"Rather than celebrating, I think dealing with the fog should be our priority. This visibility is far too unfavorable for us." David wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. The moment the fog rose, the ability granted by the Seafarer pathway—"never getting lost at sea"—had completely stopped working. Usually, the sharper a sense was, the greater the impact when it was lost. These Sailor pathway Mandated Punishers were naturally no exception.
At this moment, the balance and sense of direction they had once taken pride in had completely vanished. It was as if they had experienced the full set of attractions at