"Stop the boat! Stop the boat!"
Dawg Russ's voice came from the flagship, so hoarse that it almost broke.
He stood on the bow of the boat, holding on to the side of the boat with both hands, his knuckles turning white.
His face was as pale as a layer of powder, his forehead was covered in cold sweat, and his lips were trembling slightly.
He saw it.
He saw the whole process of the ship being dismantled in front of him.
He saw the miserable condition of the crew members under the crossbows.
He saw the scarlet water and the people splashing on the water.
He has been fighting at sea for half his life. He has seen storms, shipwrecks, and massacres by pirates, but he has never seen a scene like this - not a battle, but a massacre.
A one-sided massacre without the ability to fight back.
"Back off! All ships back off!" His voice became even sharper, like a string that was stretched to its limit and could break at any time.
The semaphore player waved the flag desperately, and the trumpeter blew the signal to retreat.
The ships ahead received the order and began to turn.
Some ships directly reverse their sails to slow down, some paddle hard to retreat, and some simply turn around - but in a narrow waterway, turning around is not easy.
One ship collided with another ship while turning, and the sides of the two ships collided with each other, making a harsh sound of splintering wood. People on the deck staggered, and curses and screams mingled together.
The formation of the fleet was completely disrupted.
Some ships are retreating, some are spinning, and some are still hesitating to move forward.
The wreckage in front blocked the way, and the ships behind were crowded together. On the left and right were the narrow waterways and the eye-catching fortifications on the islands on both sides.
The entire fleet was like a herd of sheep stuck in a dead end, panicking, pushing each other, but unable to find a way out.
On the flagship, Dawg Russ looked at the chaotic situation in front of him, his mind went blank.
He wanted to give an order, but he didn't know what order to give.
Forward? That is to risk death. Retreat? The formation is in chaos, how to retreat? Turn?
There are waterways on both sides. Who knows if there are ballistas waiting for them?
He turned his head and looked towards the stern of the ship.
Redd is still standing there.
The young Dragon King stood motionless on a high point at the stern, his cloak fluttering in the sea breeze, his eyes calmly looking past the chaos ahead, past the sinking ships, across the scarlet sea, and landed on the city wall in the distance.
There was no change in his expression - no anger, no shock, not even a trace of fluctuation.
It's like watching a show that has nothing to do with you.
King Ghidorah squatted behind him, with three heads raised, six golden eyes staring ahead, and a low, thunderous whine coming from his throat.
It didn't move, and it wouldn't move without Redd's command.
But its claws left deep scratches on the surface of the hull, and the tip of its tail was swinging restlessly, and every swing caused a ripple on the water at the stern.
Dawg Russ looked at Redd's back, his lips trembled, he wanted to say something, but he didn't.
He turned his head and glanced at the pale-faced sailors on the deck - some were shaking, some were vomiting, some were slumped on the deck unable to get up, and some were hugging the mast tightly as if they were holding the last straw.
His eyes fell on the sinking wreckage in the far distance.
There are still a few people splashing in the scarlet sea water.
Their movements became slower and slower, like seabirds knocked unconscious by the waves.
One of them seemed to have grabbed something, with half of his body exposed on the water, waving his hands in this direction and shouting something.
Then a crossbow arrow fired from the city wall accurately hit his position, water splashed, and the person disappeared.
Dawg Lars's stomach twitched suddenly.
He bent down, held onto the side of the boat, and retched twice, but nothing came out.
Acid surged in his stomach, burning his throat and nose.
He wiped the corners of his mouth with his sleeve, straightened up, took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly.
"Your Highness." His voice was so hoarse that it was almost inaudible, but he still said, "Should we... continue to move forward?"
There was no blame, no questioning, or even fear in his voice.
There is only a tired, resigned calm.
It's as bland as asking "What are you going to eat today?"
Because he already knows the answer.
He knew it from the moment Redd insisted on attacking from the front.
This city, these ballistae, these dead men - it's all part of the plan.
Dragon King His Highness does not want an easy victory, he wants to block all the mice in their holes and then burn them all with fire.
As for the bugs that died in the fire - who cares?
Redd There is no looking back.
He stood there, looking past the chaotic fleet, across the scarlet sea, past the still-operating ballistae, and landed on the distant city wall.
The corners of his mouth raised slightly, revealing an almost imperceptible smile.
"Continue."
The voice was very soft, but Dawg Russ heard it clearly.
He closed his eyes, was silent for three breaths, and then opened them.
"Send the order." His voice suddenly calmed down, so calm that even he himself felt unfamiliar, "Every ship pays attention, with the flagship as the center, shrink the formation.
The shield men come forward to block the side of the ship. The oarsmen prepare and follow orders to move forward at full speed."
The adjutant was stunned. "Sir, in front -"
"I said, move forward at full speed!" Dawg Russ's volume suddenly increased, and a fierce look flashed in his eyes, "Can't you understand human language?!"
The adjutant shuddered, turned around and ran to deliver the order.
Dawg Russ took one last look at the people still flopping on the water - there were not many left, most of them had sunk or stopped moving.
The scarlet water is being diluted by ocean currents, changing color from deep red to pink, and then gradually dissipates.
He withdrew his gaze and tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword at his waist.
"Full speed ahead." He repeated it in a low voice, as if speaking to himself.
The sails were full again and the oarsmen began to paddle.
The flagship slowly accelerated and headed towards the land of death.
The ships behind him hesitated for a moment, and then followed one after another.
On the city wall, the bowstring of the ballista was tightened again.
Redd stood at the stern of the ship, looking at the white city wall that was getting closer and closer.
His eyes were as calm as water, and the smile at the corner of his mouth had disappeared, replaced by a light, almost lazy calmness.
His hand gently rested on the top scale of the head in the middle of King Ghidorah.
"Wait a minute." He whispered, his voice blown away by the sea breeze, and only King Ghidorah could hear it.
The giant dragon let out a low whine, as if in response or urging.
"It's not yet time." Redd's eyes crossed the city wall and landed on the city farther away, "Let them be happy for a while longer."