[Now it's our turn to haul in the net!]
Sea Wolf's wild laughter echoed through the public channel, becoming a death knell for the Many-Armed Folk warriors.
The sound of harpoon guns firing through the seawater rang out ceaselessly across the battlefield.
Each shot sent a steel harpoon coated with Paralysis Potion hurtling toward an enemy.
After enduring the electric net and the shattering of the Dark Tide, the surviving Many-Armed Folk warriors could no longer mount an effective defense.
A knight slammed his heavy shield into an enemy's guard. His companion understood at once, thrusting a halberd through the gap beside the shield to sever the enemy's tentacle.
Similar scenes played out again and again across the coral reef.
Veylin's army was systematically slaughtering the Sea Folk.
Yet just as this one-sided massacre reached its height, a strange scene unfolded on the battlefield.
Glash watched his people get picked off one by one, harpoons pinning them to the coral, torsos going limp and necks lolling as strands of navy-blue blood spread through the water.
The light in his eyes faded little by little, until they resembled burnt-out coals, with nothing left but ash.
He knew it was all over.
As a general, he had lost.
But as one of the Many-Armed Folk, he still had one last thing to do.
He turned to face the few wounded guards who remained beside him.
"Go home."
Glash's voice was soft, almost inaudible amid the chaotic battlefield, but his guards heard him perfectly.
They stopped resisting and stared at their general in confusion.
"Take those of our people who are still alive..."
Glash pointed a tentacle toward his people twitching on the ground, tormented by the paralyzing toxin.
"...take their heads home."
The order seemed bloody and cruel, yet no one questioned