The next day, in Mooncrown City's harbor district, the ruined docks fell into a temporary deathly silence after several rounds of covering fire from the First Fleet.
Knife-in-the-Butt drew a deep breath of air mingled with gun smoke, the briny tang of the sea, and a heavy stench of sulfur. He was the first to leap from the violently rocking landing craft, his heavy army boots striking the filth-soaked planks of the dock.
"Mountain Tiger, all units, land quickly and establish a circular defense!"
He growled the order, his wary gaze sweeping the collapsed warehouse ruins ahead.
Behind him, the players of the Mountain Tiger Warband filed out.
They wore matching black Krieg-style gas-protective greatcoats, their tall boots striking the ground with dull thuds. Identical gas masks covered their faces, World War I-style German steel helmets sat on their heads, and regulation high-carbon steel breastplates covered their coats.
Their equipment made them look like a band of silent, cold war machines marching in from another world.
There was no shouting, only the clatter of weapons and hurried footfalls, displaying exceptional discipline.
Nearly a thousand players slowly and methodically stepped onto elven soil.
Landing was no simple task. Even with revolutionary inflatable landing bridges and kayaks, and the assistance of experienced player combat engineers, it still took more than an hour for those thousand Mountain Tiger Players to reach the docks.
And the demons clearly had no intention of surrendering this area easily.
Just as the last group of players stepped onto the docks, piercing howls rose from deep within the ruins.
As though someone had kicked a hornet's nest, countless lesser demons and horned demons poured out of the shadows and broken windows. Among them were several enormous, foul-smelling berserker demons. Brandishing twisted limbs and rusty weapons, they swept toward