Evening.
The sun had not yet fully submerged beneath the horizon.
Urgent intelligence arrived from the northernmost lookout of Whale Tail Island. The enemy had arrived.
A grand fleet of over fifty warships appeared on the sea, their snow-white sails clustered so densely they resembled a vast, rolling sea of clouds. They bore down on Whale Tail Island with terrifying speed. Even from a significant distance, the sentries perched in their high towers could feel the biting chill of the fleet's collective killing intent.
The warships drew closer to the jagged, vertical cliffs of the coastline.
This was not a place where a large-scale landing could occur. The ships couldn't even get close enough to dock. Instead, they fired a purely intimidatory volley of cannon fire at the stone sentry towers perched on the precipice. Most of the shells splashed harmlessly into the sea; the few that struck the cliffs merely shattered great slabs of rock, sending stone raining into the surf like a landslide.
But while the sentries' attention was entirely consumed by the thunder of the cannons, two figures slipped into the water. Like predatory fish, they darted through the waves, weaving between submerged reefs and dodging the jagged maws of hungry sea creatures as they struck out for the shore.
The fleet continued its southward crawl along the coastline. The sheer scale of the procession acted as a magnetic distraction, keeping the eyes of the sentries glued to the horizon.
None of them noticed that two "large fish" had already reached the base of the cliffs. Emerging from the spray, the two figures exchanged no words. Sopping wet, they began to scale the nearly inverted, 120-degree incline of the sea-cliffs. Their movements were silent and blurringly fast, their grip more reminiscent of geckos or rock lizards than human beings.
The fifty-meter climb was conquered in moments.
Fingers hooked into a jagged outcropping, and a dark shadow kicked off the rock, soaring upward like a black waterfowl to land gracefully atop the cliff. His companion followed close behind. The second man, clad in nothing but a pair of micro-swim trunks that showcased his lean, pale, and incredibly toned physique, stood firm and scanned the area.
"You certainly don't waste time."
The man in the swim trunks walked to the entrance of the stone lookout tower and peeked inside. As expected, it was a mess of crimson splatters and splintered bone. It looked as if a hundred elephants had performed a frantic tap-dance inside the confined space. The gore was so pulverized it was impossible to discern human shapes, let alone count how many soldiers had occupied the post.
There wasn't a single "corpse" left—only meat.
He flared his nostrils slightly. The air was thick with the heavy, metallic stench of fresh blood. A look of instinctive disgust crossed his face.
"A beast remains a beast, after all."
He watched his companion descend the stone stairs. The man was similarly dressed in only black trunks, but his entire body was coated in a layer of grime and gore. He left a bloody footprint with every step. A small section of intestine dangled from his shoulder. With his darkened skin and horrific appearance, he looked like a Rakshasa—a blood-demon freshly crawled from the pits of hell.
The pale man couldn't resist a sneer.
"Do you want to become my next meal?"
The blood-slicked man bared his teeth, revealing two rows of jagged, shark-like fangs. His pitch-black eyes were filled with a primal, gluttonous malice.
"Back off. Get anywhere near me, and I'll snap your neck," the pale man said with a flick of his hand, backing away several meters. He watched the disgusting creature emerge from the tower, leaving a trail of red in his wake.
He loathed working with such types. That kind of unrefined, animalistic combat was beneath him. Unfortunately, they were both assets of Lord Umit; regardless of his distaste, he was bound to cooperate with this savage.
"I'll eat you eventually," the dark man chuckled. Then, before his partner could lash out, he snapped his head toward the south. "More food is delivering itself."
The pale man made a mental note to settle the score later before turning his gaze southward. A gravel path wound its way from the tower toward the heart of the island. At the far end of that path, two silhouettes had appeared—one towering, one short.
Whale Tail Port.
"Over fifty warships... how intimidating."
Elus was finishing a chilled dessert when the news arrived. He let out a soft, mocking laugh and set his spoon down, turning to the adjutant standing at his side. "Where are Dick and Eschbach?"
"We made contact three minutes ago. They were four kilometers from the northern lookout. By now, they should have eyes on the Amento fleet."
The speaker was Dillen. He was a mountain of a man, standing two hundred and fifty-two centimeters tall. The muscles on his arms were like braided steel cables, and his coarse black hair was brushed back into a perfectly neat, unyielding style.
Dillen was the type of man who was stubborn to a fault, reliable in action, and fanatically devoted to duty. He believed that rules and order were the only things keeping this chaotic world from collapsing into the abyss. Consequently, he took great pleasure in using the "Iron Fist of Order" to introduce lawbreakers to the concept of consequences. He believed that without such force, the wicked could never truly appreciate the beauty of a regulated world.
(Though his name sounded similar to Dick's, the two shared no blood relation.)
"Remind them," Elus said coolly, "that I do not wish to see a single civilian on this island harassed."
Before the fall of Whale Head and Whale Belly, they had received crucial intel: powerful individuals had bypassed sentries and landed at "impossible" locations to ambush the garrisons. By striking from within while the fleet pressured from without, they had easily shattered the defensive lines.
It was a simple trick.
The stretches of beach suitable for a mass landing were limited, but for a handful of experts whose physical capabilities far exceeded the norm, no cliff was too steep, no reef too sharp, and no current too swift to bar their entry. When executed well, it was a devastatingly effective strategy.
To ensure Whale Tail didn't suffer the same fate, Elus had dispatched two of his own adjutants to the island to monitor the fleet's progress. Their orders were simple: find any "claws" reaching onto the island and sever them. No survivors required.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Dillen stepped aside and pulled out a Transponder Snail to contact his companions on the island. The call went through, but no one answered.
He didn't dial a second time. He simply returned to Elus's side and reported the silence.
"No answer? It seems they've caught the little mice."
Elus chuckled softly.
His emerald eyes were as clear as the finest jewels, reflecting the dying embers of the sunset. "Dillen, go make the preparations. If Dick and Eschbach have already started their work, things will likely get lively on our end soon. I'd hate for us to be caught scrambling when the curtain rises."
"And don't forget Caspar. That lazy wretch needs some exercise."
"Caspar will fight with all his heart," Dillen said solemnly. He tightened a fist the size of a dinner plate. Whether Caspar wanted to or not, Dillen was clearly prepared to "motivate" him into the fray.