This is an Order

When the last transport boat, fully loaded with refugees, slowly drew away from the Northern Wind's side and pulled in beside the temporarily reinforced pier, and the final group of shell-shocked survivors helped one another step onto solid land, the enormous stone that had hung in Brendan's heart for seven days and seven nights, heavy as a thousand jun, finally crashed to the ground.

He personally stood at the bow of the transport boat, waiting until he had confirmed that every sailor and every escorting soldier had left the vessel before he was the last to step off, setting foot on Giant Island's rough yet incomparably steady gravelly ground.

The firm sensation beneath his feet made this old general, so accustomed to horseback and land warfare, involuntarily let out a soft breath, almost too faint to notice.

The sea's pitching and perils were, in the end, not his strength. Only with his feet on the earth did he feel truly at ease, truly in control.

Though his body was utterly exhausted from prolonged tension and lack of sleep, he still forced himself to straighten his spine and swept his gaze over the noisy yet orderly dock.

Under the guidance of officials and soldiers, the refugees were being led in batches toward the temporary settlement areas. Though the scene remained chaotic, there was already a method to it.

Seeing all this, a trace of barely perceptible relief flashed through his bloodshot eyes. The mission, at last, had not been failed.

Just then, a slight commotion came from the dock entrance.

Brendan looked up and saw a squad of Guards in fine mail, wearing Carnford's deep-blue surcoats, escorting a figure as they strode quickly toward the dock.

The man at their head was none other than Carnford's lord, Karl von Schmidt.

Brendan's