"Ugh..."
The cold, damp sea wind threaded through the jagged reefs, and a sharp whistling like the wail of ghosts echoed eerily through the air.
To the islanders who had lived by the sea since childhood, the endless sound of the tide had long since become a kind of white noise their minds filtered out unconsciously.
But at that moment, the seemingly eternal splashes and crashes of water were so loud, grating, and irritating.
Steven, the village chief of Sheer Cliff Village, stood at the very front of the group.
In his right hand, he held a well-maintained Iron Sword whose grip clearly bore the marks of age. In his left, he carried an equally old and mottled Iron-rimmed Wooden Shield.
Behind him were a dozen or so villagers gripping all kinds of weapons, scattered loosely across the gap with nervous expressions. In front of him were crude traps hastily set up, and farther beyond them, reef walls and the vast sea.
According to the plan, Steven had brought a dozen young and strong men from the village to block the other exit of the cliff area in northern Sheer Cliff Island.
Compared with villagers in remote inland settlements, who used Pitchforks and Iron Pots as weapons and armor, the fishermen of Sheer Cliff Island, who lived upon the ocean, often had to face Pirates and Monsters, and were only five days' journey from Barracuda Bay, were clearly far better equipped.
At the very least, what they held were proper weapons, and some had even put on ancestral Studded Leather Armor.
Combined with their somewhat rusty formation and the makeshift wooden traps, the dozen or so people standing together actually looked rather convincing.
They were far more presentable than the village brawls between remote settlements in his memory, and could