Magic was noble.
As the strongest and most authoritative of all countless extraordinary paths, mages' magic could explain everything.
Then naturally, magic could also destroy everything.
No mages had ever been born among the Dwarves. These naturally stubborn, one-track-minded little men could never possibly produce intelligent mages capable of thought.
But that was fine. Dwarves were born craftsmen. They could forge anything they wanted—such as offensive means equal to those of mages.
The Magic Crystal Cannons opened fire at full power, sparing no cost as they blasted in every direction around the Parrot, into the murky, empty fog.
Eyes that had been blocked could trick the brain into thinking there was nothing nearby, but mana could not.
Mana responded when it touched something, and so a dense barrage of explosions rang out from every direction. The power of a single Magic Crystal Cannon was no weaker than a spell attack unleashed after a fire-element mage's chant. When a packed array of Magic Crystal Cannons bombarded an area, even a legend would be unwilling to take it head-on.
The monsters in this ocean ultimately still could not transcend the extraordinary tier. Legends were apex existences no matter where they were.
They could not compare to legends, and so the calm sea erupted into towering waves. Thousands upon thousands of monsters were torn apart in the explosions, shattered into pieces. Their blood turned into a storm of gore amid the waves, surging toward the Parrot.
They died, but even after death, their corpses remained a form of attack—and even more so, a kind of howl.
The people aboard the ship finally "saw" clearly the dense mass of monsters hidden around the Parrot. They were extraordinarily bizarre. Some had no eyes, some had no heads, and some had limbs like human hands, yet