White Sea.
The Dawn Church had been in control of the isolated island for over a dozen years.
Inside a dilapidated wooden hut, a reticent middle-aged man was sharpening a knife.
His frail body leaned slightly forward, holding a sharpening stone carefully restoring the sharpness of the blade, the sound of friction between the blade and the stone continuously emanated.
Just then, a dark-skinned youth walked in from outside.
The middle-aged man also stopped sharpening his knife.
"Uncle."
"Do you really still worship that self-proclaimed god, the sea monster?"
The eyes of the dark-skinned youth were red with emotion as he questioned his trembling uncle; the middle-aged man raised his head to look at the youth, his eyes filled with complicated emotions.
The youth continued, "It's just a monster, not any kind of deity at all, it can't protect us!"
"You…"
The middle-aged man slowly rose to his feet, raising the knife and pointing it towards the youth.