As the Storm dragged its battered hull, laden with spoils and prisoners, quietly into the night-shrouded sea on its return voyage to Bagnia.
Far to the west, in another stretch of ocean, Casarina Island-a frontier colony of the Makon Alliance bordering elven territory-welcomed a very different night, one filled with slime and fishy stench.
Even with winter approaching, the nights on Casarina Island still carried the lingering reek of snakes.
Hask, the sentry, leaned on his flintlock against the watchtower's rough wooden railing, struggling to keep his heavy eyelids open.
For some reason, the sea breeze was particularly salty and rank that night, making the tiny, scabbed-over wounds on his face itch uncomfortably.
The moon had yet to reach the center of the night sky, but Hask was already sleepy, his eyelids constantly drooping.
He could hardly be blamed. He had barely gotten any proper sleep during the day.
The snake-men on the island were a real nuisance. Even with winter approaching, and despite how terrifying the mercenaries from the Kingdom of Bagnia were, they still refused to die off or simply leave Casarina Island and the nearby islands.
Just that day, a small band of snake-men had suddenly emerged at the docks and killed several Makon Alliance sailors who had only just arrived on the island.
The officer responsible for security at the docks had been furious, putting all of the Casarina Docks on edge. The rank-and-file soldiers like Hask had borne the brunt of it. Everyone had been deployed against the snake-men, with not a single man allowed to rest.
Hask yawned, blinked his dry eyes hard, then rubbed them, his gaze habitually sweeping over the small patch of sea below that the tower's lamps barely illuminated.
At the edge of the light, the water was a