Messenger

Inside the command center of the main island fortress of the Iron Islands

It was nearly dusk. The setting sun was as red as blood, casting the rough stone walls of the cramped command center in a dim crimson glow.

The air was so stifling it was almost suffocating, thick with the salty tang of sea wind, the lingering smell of gunpowder, and another, deeper presence known as despair.

Baron Werner stood before the island defense map spread across a crude wooden table, its edges worn and frayed from handling. His once-straight figure now seemed slightly hunched, and his deep-set eyes were sunken, their whites webbed with blood vessels.

With a charcoal pencil, he forcefully marked several X's on the beaches along the eastern side of the main island where landings were possible. His voice was hoarse, as if it had been scraped raw by sandpaper:

"The last batch of sampans we sent out... three returned, and five were lost. The news they brought back... is terrible." He raised his head and swept his gaze over the senior officers gathered around the table, including Knight Klein, whose face was livid.

"Harald's large fleet of landing boats has finished gathering at Shapu on the opposite continent. They're packed together as far as the eye can see. They can land at least five hundred men in one wave. The Hound Corps' banners... I saw them clearly."

He dropped the charcoal pencil. It bounced once on the table, then rolled to the floor with a crisp clatter that sounded especially jarring in the deathly silent room.

"The attack will come within the next day or two. The tide and wind are both in their favor."

Knight Klein gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles whitening with the force. He remained silent for