The Wind Does Not Move, Nor Does the Banner
Aboard the boat for seven days, a thousand years passed in the world.
Putting the spirit of moderation to full use, Fu Qian was the third person to pass through the entrance and board.
He was behind the two Night Watchers, Stos and Aiko, but hadn't deliberately waited until last. He'd perfectly embodied the demeanor of an armed technical specialist.
The instant his feet touched the plank, he took in the scene before him, and a feeling of wonder naturally rose in his heart.
It was the right place. This was indeed the ark he had visited before.
But there seemed to be something wrong with the boarding point. Even though Su Gao had stabbed her sword into the exact same spot as last time, what lay before him wasn't the private cabin where he and she had first boarded.
Instead, there was a thick layer of feathers, with more than one emaciated body crawling atop them. Their bodies had structures that looked like both fish fins and wings.
Gray feathers covered every part of them in a pattern that made one deeply uncomfortable, yet couldn't conceal their webbed hands and feet—or the gill slits like those of sea creatures.
That's right. They were the peculiar creatures they'd encountered before: Feathers and Fish.
As expected of Su Gao. With a single sword thrust, she'd pinpointed the layer where the Angel Lord had fallen, demonstrating the meaning of precision to the fullest.
Looking at the Feathers and Fish, still undisturbed, as if they'd been crawling here for countless ages, Fu Qian felt the ark's transcendent relationship with time and space—even though they'd already confirmed last time that the difference between the flow of time inside and outside wasn't quite so exaggerated.
It