Nioh scrambled to regain his focus as pain shot through his body like a jagged blade. His wounds had reopened, and the white bandages wrapped around him were now soaked in crimson.
"You really should see an astronomer about your luck," a familiar voice muttered dryly. "Because why are you always so banged up?"
Through the haze of pain, Nioh recognized Ekoh's voice. Even now, in the aftermath of a shipwreck, the bastard still had time for sarcasm.
"I really don't have time for your commentary at the moment," Nioh replied through gritted teeth, using the fractured remains of the ship's walls for support as he forced himself upright.
Pain tolerance had always been one of his strongest traits. It wasn't that he didn't feel pain—it was that he had long learned to endure it.
Around him, groans and muffled curses filled the air as the other passengers began regaining consciousness. But Nioh's focus wasn't on them. He turned his gaze toward the cockpit.