A fishing village, as its name suggested, was a village whose people made their living by fishing.
Fukangxi asked in a commanding tone, "Have you sketched out the general route we just sailed?"
"Father, we have finished calculating and charting it," a navigator said.
Since mist covered every corner of this world, calculations and charts were essential to safe travel, and these skills had developed considerably as a result.
Gradually, the village drew closer.
"Look, there are people!" Someone spotted them at once.
"Prepare for battle!" Heklin said, drawing his sword.
The fishing village was now visible in the distance. Its tallest structure was a lookout tower, a necessity along the coast for observing the weather and watching for monsters approaching from the sea.
The village had a simple wooden pier, with several small fishing boats bobbing beside it on the waves that gently lapped against the pilings.
Once they reached the pier, however, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
"It's a merchant caravan, Father!" The caravan clearly bore the mark of the Romon God.
It's been three months. Are they still at it? Fukangxi wondered.
The boat pulled alongside the pier. Someone glanced over and bowed. "Father!"
Five warriors greeted them, while everyone else was busy working.
Around the corner from the pier, beyond a large cluster of fishermen's houses, stood a very plain but spacious building. It was a warehouse.
"Father, what good timing. Two of our people have been injured. Could you heal them for us?" one warrior asked.
"Of course. You are all believers in our Lord. It is my duty to save you," Fukangxi said.
"Thank you, Father!"
One of them led him into the warehouse. It should have been filled with miscellaneous goods, but now an enticing aroma wafted from within.
Several people were