On the sea, the Eight Clans of the Serpent had already prepared to meet the enemy.
Before Lu Mingfei went underwater, he had complained that "the logistics team is way too huge." At the time, he had merely said it in passing, thinking these Japanese people were making far too much of a fuss. They were only going underwater—did they really need thousands of people standing around to watch?
But he had not known that these people were more than just a logistics team.
They would fight as well.
That flower of death blooming in the depths of the Abyssal Zone had indeed wiped out most of the Corpse Guardians. But there would always be some that slipped through the net. Those survivors were returning from the yellow springs of hell, craving the blood of the living as they swam upward.
There would not be few of them.
That was why they needed this force of several thousand.
They were warriors, and they were bait.
Minamoto Chisaki climbed to the highest point of the Sumeru Platform. Searchlights from every direction shone upon him as formations of helicopters, Coast Guard Ships, and fishing boats surrounded the floating platform. The helicopter doors were open, black-clad young men lined the bows of the ships, and every gaze was fixed on Minamoto Chisaki. Thousands upon thousands of raindrops reflected the light, and his long black coat billowed in the wind. Minamoto Chisaki seemed to stand amidst a rain of light.
"Gentlemen!" He looked around. His voice carried far across the sea, broadcast from all six floating platforms.
"I'm counting on you!" He bowed deeply.
He should have delivered a rousing speech to send his troops off.
But suddenly, he did not want to say anything at all.
Everything was too heavy, nearly enough to