The night deepened, and the temperature carried by the sea breeze was frighteningly low.
Grrr...
At the soft sound, Dracule Mihawk opened his eyes. After sitting up, he looked bitterly at his shriveled stomach and sighed helplessly. These were all hardships one had to endure on the path to becoming the world's greatest swordsman.
That was how he consoled himself.
The straight fishing rod still lay beside him. At a time like this, Mihawk truly wanted to throw it far out into the sea. Even though it had only been an afternoon, he had had enough of the despair of sitting there idly.
Glancing at Shin, who was still seated cross-legged in the distance with his eyes closed, he shook his head and cast aside that suicidal thought.
Shin had told him while they were chatting before that if you didn't court death, you wouldn't die. Thinking about it now, those words did make sense.
A cold wind swept past, and Mihawk shuddered. During the day, the sea could sometimes be as hot as a furnace. The seawater reflected the scorching sunlight, and prolonged exposure without cover could even leave one's skin split and burned.
Not only could seawater not cool you down, but the salt it contained made the consequences of getting soaked even worse. This was one of the problems one had to face when sailing for long periods on a small boat.
Fortunately, as had been said before, this emerald-green leaf was very magical. The slowly spreading aura of life it emitted could solve many problems, including the excessively harsh sunlight that often beat down on them.
But the cold was not included.
In some ways, the sea was much like the desert: damnable weather that made people feel like dying from the heat during the day,