The Last One to Leave

"When do we... set out?" Knight Klein lowered his voice and asked the most crucial question.

His gaze also flicked involuntarily toward the great ships that were loading their "foundation."

Baron Werner finally turned around and looked calmly at Knight Klein. His voice was not loud, but it carried an unquestionable finality. "It won't be long. Once the last batch of important supplies and personnel is aboard, we leave. At the latest... before dawn tomorrow."

A great stone in Knight Klein's heart finally fell. He nodded heavily. "Understood! I'll go urge the defenses along and ensure nothing goes wrong!"

With that, Knight Klein turned and strode away, continuing to arrange the death line built from countless human lives.

Baron Werner turned his gaze back toward the Shantytown Area beyond the harbor, shrouded in gun smoke and weeping. His eyes were deep and cold.

He seemed able to hear the even more brutal sounds of slaughter about to erupt there. Those abandoned people—their struggles and deaths—in his eyes, were merely the necessary price paid to ensure the smooth evacuation of himself and his core strength.

At dawn tomorrow, he would take the last essence of the Iron Islands, set sail, and voyage toward unknown Carnford.

And the land behind him, the land that had raised him, along with the tens of thousands of abandoned subjects upon it, would all become stepping stones on his road to power, sinking into an abyss of blood and fire.

In troubled times, mercy was a luxury. To survive, and to survive with capital in hand, was the only truth.

The afterglow of the setting sun dyed the edge of the sky a mournfully vivid blood-red, like the blood now flowing through the Iron Islands.

In the harbor district, the clamor, chaos, and despair reached their