The scorching sun hung high, casting its rays directly downward.
The Estonian River surged like molten silver, with each crest of its waves bursting with golden sparks, while the pine forests on both banks swayed gently in the breeze, their shadows just touching the riverbank before being swallowed by the shimmering reflections.
In the river channel, a merchant ship was moving forward, leaving a long trail of white waves behind.
The hull was not made of ordinary wood, but treated Black Iron Wood through alchemy, as sturdy as steel yet able to float on the river surface, with faintly visible runes carved on its surface, and equipped with heavy cannons and crossbows on its sides and at the bow and stern.
On the deck.
Nick leaned against the ship's railing, his arm half-resting on the rune-engraved protective rail, his eyes following the dancing glimmers on the river's surface.
The Treasure Ship — this vessel belonged to him.
