Ghizlan leaned against the wooden hull of the transport ship, his breath coming in gasps. The dark aura surrounding the obsidian blade flickered and sputtered, completely struggling to maintain its form as the commander’s internal mana network began to collapse from blood loss.

Iron-Scale did not rush the execution or direct hit. He kept his daggers raised, his draconic eyes locked on his opponent, fully anticipating a desperate final counterattack.

"You fight with an efficiency I have not seen since the early purges," Ghizlan rasped, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the splintered planks. He tightened his grip on his sword one last time. "But efficiency alone does not win wars."

Ghizlan pushed off the hull with a sudden burst of speed, sweeping the obsidian blade in a desperate, wide arc aimed directly at Iron-Scale’s neck.

It was a predictable, exhausted strike. Iron-Scale stepped smoothly inside the guard, parrying the heavy longsword with his left dagger to deflect the lethal edge away from his body. Without hesitation, he drove his right blade cleanly upward, burying the serrated steel directly into the center of Ghizlan’s chest.

The dark aura around the longsword vanished instantly. The heavy weapon slipped from Ghizlan’s fingers and clattered onto the wooden pier.

Iron-Scale twisted the dagger sharply, ensuring the strike bypassed the ribs and pierced the heart directly, before pulling the blade free.

Ghizlan stumbled backward, his knees finally buckling under his own weight. He slumped against the ship’s hull, his hands instinctively covering the fatal wound as his life force began to bleed out over the docks.

Aaron slowly approached the scene, his boots crunching softly against the debris. The knight stood beside Iron-Scale, staring down at the dying commander with a complex mixture of vindication and hollow exhaustion. The man who had slaughtered his brother was finally broken.

Iron-Scale lowered his daggers and stepped closer to the fallen warrior. Despite the brutality of the siege, the Kobold respected the martial strength required to hold the harbor alone.

"You fought well," Iron-Scale said quietly, honoring the duel. "Do you have any final words?"

Ghizlan looked up, his vision already beginning to glaze over. A bitter, bloodstained smile touched his lips.

"Voranthar... abandoned us here," Ghizlan whispered, his voice barely audible over the crashing ocean waves. "He chained us to this rock... while he hides behind his throne."

The Conqueror coughed, struggling to force the final sentence out of his ruined chest.

"Revenge," Ghizlan demanded, his eyes flashing with a fleeting, desperate hatred. "Take everything. Reach the fourth continent... and make sure Aethelgard burns in flames."

His head rolled to the side, and the light finally faded from his eyes.

The docks fell completely silent. The suffocating pressure that had dominated the harbor for decades dissipated entirely, leaving only the scent of salt and blood in the air. Iron-Scale remained still for a long moment, verifying the kill, before finally sheathing his daggers.

"The Conqueror is dead," Iron-Scale announced, turning to face Aaron. He gestured toward the massive, tethered fleet waiting in the bay. "The ships are ours."

Iron-Scale knelt beside the Conqueror’s lifeless body, ignoring the pooling blood as he searched the commander’s belt. He quickly found what he was looking for, a heavy, runic cylinder forged from black iron.

Rising to his feet, Iron-Scale walked over to the central harbor control mechanism near the edge of the pier. He slotted the cylinder into the console and twisted it sharply. A deep, mechanical groan echoed through the water as the massive chains anchoring the transport fleet to the seabed finally released, retracting into the stone docks with a series of heavy clanks.

The harbor was officially unlocked.

Within minutes, the surviving Vanguard forces and Kingdom Knights poured through the ruined gates. A deafening cheer erupted across the docks as the local soldiers realized the impossible had been achieved.

The western shipyards, an impenetrable enemy stronghold for decades, belonged to them once again.

But there was no time for a proper celebration. Iron-Scale immediately began barking orders, turning the victorious mob back into a disciplined military force.

"Sweep the warehouses!" Iron-Scale commanded, pointing toward the eastern sector. "Loot every crate of artillery, every medical supply, and every grain sack the enemy left behind! Load it all onto the transport ships!"

The soldiers scattered to obey, rapidly transferring the Fourth Continent’s stockpiled resources into the holds of the captured vessels. Meanwhile, kingdom medics hurried across the splintered pier to tend to the wounded, carefully loading the injured troops onto the main decks.

Aaron walked slowly up the gangway of the flagship, leaning heavily against the wooden railing. His acid-burned shoulder had been hastily wrapped in bandages, and his face was pale from sheer exhaustion. Having pushed his core past its limits, the knight was in no condition to march.

He watched the organized chaos below, taking a quiet comfort in the sight of his homeland’s banner finally flying over the harbor.

Iron-Scale vaulted onto the deck and approached the injured knight.

"Gulag has been secured in the main medical tent at the camp," Iron-Scale reported, checking the activity on the docks. "She will remain with the vanguard infantry until she recovers from her berserker backlash. You, however, will be departing with this fleet."

Aaron frowned slightly, wincing as he shifted his weight. "We are not sailing to the Fourth Continent, are we? Our Gods’ plan involves marching overland through the Third Continent."

"Exactly," Iron-Scale confirmed smoothly. He gestured out toward the vast, empty ocean stretching beyond the bay. "The Fourth Continent does not even have a coastline for us to invade. We secured these ships for a completely different logistical purpose."

The Kobold turned his draconic eyes toward the horizon.

"We are sending this captured fleet to the eastern shipyards of our continent," Iron-Scale explained. "You will command the voyage, taking the injured and the looted supplies with you to reinforce the eastern borders. Keep the second continent safe from invasion. We must completely empty this western harbor by tomorrow morning."

Aaron followed the commander’s gaze, slowly realizing the sheer scale of the Sovereign’s strategy. "To make room." 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

"To make room," Iron-Scale agreed, a faint smile touching his lips. "The Spiral’s reinforcement fleet is already crossing the ocean. Five hundred thousand fresh Vanguard troops are going to make landfall right here. We needed this harbor intact and empty so they could dock seamlessly and begin our march into the desert. And remember, once you reach the eastern harbor, send an army of 100,000 kingdom troops."

Aaron nodded, a sense of awe washing over him. The liberation of the Second Continent was merely the prelude.

The real war was just arriving.