She looked at the still-smoking pile of mechanical wreckage, then at the white-clad figure ahead. Drawing a deep breath, she followed.
Wind swept through the valley, carrying the faint scrape of metal fragments, like some strange sigh.
Scrap Iron Island had once belonged to a mad scientist's laboratory.
After that scientist disappeared, another force took over.
Sprawling factories lined the island's edge. Atop the tallest building stood the nerve center of the entire island.
Inside a room enclosed by metal walls, tangled cables and pipes crawled across every surface like blood vessels, and countless control panels flashed with lights of every color.
Within the room, dozens of screens displayed live footage from across the island-some views kept sliding backward, evidently coming from patrolling mechanical guards.
Several people in white coats hunched over consoles, rapidly pressing keys while issuing instructions into handheld communicators, directing their armed forces toward a particular set of coordinates.
"That's impossible..."
The bespectacled middle-aged man seated at the main console stared at one screen, his voice low.
"A Sentinel Type Four costs enough to buy a warship... just one can annihilate an entire pirate fleet, and it couldn't even withstand a single punch?"
On the screen, the hooded figure moved slightly, seemingly saying something.
Then that gaze seemed to pierce the screen and stab straight into the middle-aged man's eyes.
He lurched backward-
His chair toppled, and he fell to the floor, cold sweat instantly soaking his back.
A hand reached from behind, caught his shoulder, and pulled him up.
"Th-thank you... Lord Bram Stoker."
An impeccably dressed man stood behind him.
Snow-white adornments trimmed the cuffs and collar of his dark red coat. Two rapiers, one long and one short, hung at his waist, and a long feather adorned his hat. He looked like a nobleman