A complicated look flashed in Nissa's eyes.
"He owes us," she said, "If he comes out of Lys alive."
With a flick of her tail fin, her whole body shot into the deep sea like a blue arrow.
Behind him, the sea area where the massacre had occurred was returning to calm. The sun was shining on the sparkling water, and nothing strange could be seen.
Only the floating dark blue wreckage and the gradually spreading indigo bloodstains prove what happened here.
And higher in the sky, the head on the right side of King Ghidorah suddenly turned and glanced in an extremely distant direction.
The middle head let out a low whine.
Redd looked in that direction - the sea was empty, with only a few black rocks sticking out of the water. The waves were beating against the rocks, splashing white foam.
"What's wrong?"
King Ghidorah The head in the middle shook, as if to say "nothing", and then withdrew his gaze.
But the head on the right side glanced in that direction one more time, a thoughtful light flashed in the golden eyes, and then turned around.
The three heads made a low sound at the same time, as if they were communicating with each other, but also as if they didn't say anything at all.
Redd did not ask any further questions. His eyes fell on the reorganizing fleet below, on the damaged hulls and the busy sailors on the decks.
"Dawg ras." He shouted.
Dawg Russ on the flagship below immediately raised his head and shouted in his half-dumb voice, "The general is here!"
"Count the casualties and repair the ship. Set off in half an hour."
"Yes!"
Redd glanced at the distant reef again, and then patted King Ghidorah's neck.
"Go up there. Keep an eye on the sea and don't let anything get closer."
King Ghidorah The three heads were raised at the same time, their wings flapped, and they rose into the sky again.
On the sea, the fleet is moving slowly.
And in that bottomless dark sea, Nissa led her people to dive deeper and deeper and swim farther and farther.
The white conch in her hand emits faint fluorescence in the deep sea, like a star falling to the bottom of the sea.
She never looked back.
The din of the battle gradually dissipated, replaced by a heavy, breathless silence.
The sun finally penetrated the remaining fog, illuminating the entire sea area.
There are broken wooden boards, broken masts, scattered ropes, and dark blue wreckage floating on the sea.
But at this moment, the surviving crew members had no intention of paying attention to the mess on the sea.
They have more pressing and disgusting things to deal with.
The deck was a mess.
Human blood is scarlet and will turn dark brown after drying on the wooden board. It can be cleaned by rinsing it with sea water several times.
These sailors are all people who make a living at sea. They have seen many bloody scenes, and cleaning up blood stains is commonplace.
Several old sailors have already picked up barrels and brushes, ready to start washing the deck as usual.
But when the first bucket of seawater was poured on, everyone was stunned.
The blood of fishmen does not melt in water.
Those dark blue viscous liquids were like living things. Instead of being diluted and washed away by the sea water, they curled up into balls of gelatin and stuck firmly to the surface of the board.
They are like some kind of mashed jellyfish or rotten fish eggs, with a translucent, jelly-like texture. They just change their shapes under the repeated scrubbing of the brush, but they never leave the board at all.
"What the hell!" A young sailor couldn't help but cursed, and stabbed the blue gelatinous substance with the brush in his hand.
The bristles passed through the colloid, bringing up strands of sticky threads, like melted wax oil, or some kind of inexplicable mucus.
He was so disgusted that he almost threw the brush in his hand.
What's worse is the smell.
When the fish-men were alive, they had a strong smell of the sea - a smell that all sailors are familiar with. Although it doesn't smell good, you can tolerate it if you get used to it.
But after they died, the fishy smell quickly fermented and deteriorated, turning into a stench that made people feel sick to their stomachs.
The smell was like rotten seaweed mixed with spoiled fish oil, and like intertidal mud that had been exposed to the hot sun for three days and three nights. It was so strong that it could almost be cut with a knife.
"Ugh--" One sailor finally couldn't bear it anymore and lay on the side of the ship and retched.
The sound of his retching seemed to be contagious, and soon, the sound of vomiting was heard one after another on the deck.
"Hold it!" Dawg Lars strode over holding his nose, his face ashen.
He himself was also fighting back the surging stomach acid, but as a commander, he could not show his timidity in front of his subordinates.
He lowered his head and glanced at the deck under his feet - a large dark blue blood stain was seeping into the gaps in the wood grain, like some kind of ominous dye, dyeing the originally tan oak board into a strange indigo color.
He knelt down and poked the blood-soaked wooden board with the tip of his sword.
The tip of the sword penetrated easily - the blood had penetrated at least half an inch deep, and was still seeping down.
The layer of glue on the surface of the board is invading deep into the wood fibers at a slow but visible speed, like a living vine taking root.
"This thing... seeped in." Dawg Lars frowned and stood up, taking a step back.
The stench seemed to become stronger, and he felt that his nasal cavity was burning.
He looked around. The same complaints and vomiting sounds were heard from several adjacent battleships. The entire fleet was facing the same dilemma.
The blood of these murlocs is like a carefully designed pollution - it is insoluble in water, difficult to wipe off, and will continue to emit a stench after seeping into the wood.
"Demolish it." Dawg Lars finally made up his mind, with a voice that sounded like a broken vessel. "I will dismantle all the blood-soaked ship planks and throw them into the sea."
The sailors looked at each other.
"Sir, this..." the adjutant came over and said in a low voice, "There are not many spare planks on the ship. If too many are removed-"
"Don't you smell this smell?" Dawg Russ glared at him, "Do you want to smell this smell all the way to Lys?
Or do you want the brothers to fight on this thing on the deck?"
The adjutant opened his mouth and stopped talking.
Indeed, if this stench stays on the ship, let alone fighting, it will be lucky if the whole ship doesn't get sick.
"Demolish it!" Dawg Russ waved his hand, "Move quickly!"
The sailors finally took action.
Axes and crowbars were taken out, and the clanging sound of disassembly echoed on the deck.
The blood-soaked ship planks were pried up piece by piece, with dark blue slime dripping from the edges, and were quickly thrown into the sea by the sailors like hot potatoes.