The pit was massive.
It lay far from the salt-sprayed sea-cliffs, carved into a stretch of meadow as soft and lush as a velvet carpet.
However, Dick found no trace of the "Black Beast" Tadra within the crater. All that remained was an uneven smear of pulverized gore coating the bottom of the pit, radiating a thick, cloying stench of iron. In the fading amber light of the sunset, swarms of insects and ants—drawn by the scent of death—were already descending like a black tide toward the floor of the crater.
By tomorrow morning, the local fauna would have picked the bones clean.
Returning to the cliffside, Dick found that the emergency treatment for Falugo had concluded. Eschbach was calmly wiping the blood from his hands.
"Hey, would it kill you to leave a live one for once?" Dick grumbled, having just returned from inspecting Eschbach's handiwork.
"Is there a problem?" Eschbach asked tonelessly. "Trash belongs in the dirt. It makes for good fertilizer."
"The problem isn't the trash, it's the money! How are we supposed to collect the bounty from the Marines if you turn the guy into a meat-slurry?" Dick's eyes widened in exasperation. "That was over a hundred million Berries! A hundred million! Not one million, not ten... a hundred!"
He emphasized the figure repeatedly. A hundred million Berries might be a drop in the ocean for a sovereign state, but for a single individual, it was a staggering fortune.
Dick wasn't a miser by nature. As an adjutant to Elus, he never wanted for anything. His food, clothing, and housing were all provided for, and his salary sat untouched in a bank account with nowhere to be spent.
But he understood the weight of currency. Prince Elus was still only a Crown Prince; he couldn't simply liquidate the kingdom's treasury on a whim. Having a private war chest allowed the Prince to act with far more autonomy and grace, free from the prying eyes of the royal accountants.
In that regard, Dick was a quintessential adjutant.
"...I'll be more careful next time," Eschbach conceded.
A hundred million Berries. To be honest, the number stung. Eschbach hadn't considered the political implications, but he couldn't help but think of how many orphanages that kind of money could have funded. Still, what was done was done. Regret was a waste of energy; he would simply adjust his output in the future.
He finished cleaning the grime from his fingers and looked down at the unconscious Falugo. "And this one? Did you save him just to trade him to the Marines for pocket change?"
"Depends."
"What game are you playing now?"
"Unlike that animal you just turned into compost, 'Strangler Ghost' Falugo isn't known for pointless massacres. I think His Highness might actually have a use for a man with his backbone," Dick said, crouching down to poke at Falugo's shoulder. "Of course, that's just my personal take. If the Prince doesn't want him, we sell him. Either way, we win."
"You and your schemes," Eschbach sighed, shaking his head.
He knew Dick's eccentricities weren't something that could be fixed with a few sharp words. Besides, the Prince seemed to appreciate Dick's proactive nature. "He's your prey; do as you wish. But we need to get back to the harbor."
He gazed toward the south of the island.
The battle at the port had surely begun.
Actually, it hadn't.
The grand fleet of over fifty warships was an unstoppable force, a wall of wood and iron bearing down on the coast.
Elus had no intention of stopping them—at least, not in the traditional sense. He had zero desire to engage in a naval battle. He only had eight ships, and even with the three local garrison vessels, he was outnumbered nearly five to one.
More importantly, a long-range exchange of cannon fire was hardly conducive to harvesting souls.
The strategic outcome of the battle was secondary to Elus. What truly mattered was filling the void within the Hogyoku. He had intended from the start for this war to be his private hunting ground, and every flickering life on those ships was a prize to be claimed.
To that end, he had ordered his fleet to sail out of the harbor and maintain a significant distance. It was a calculated retreat—far enough to bait the Amento fleet into ignoring them in favor of seizing Whale Tail Island before nightfall.
He, meanwhile, had landed on the island with Fran. They had taken up residence in a stone tower overlooking the harbor, waiting patiently for the prey to deliver itself.
...
"Still no word from Falugo or Tadra?"
On the flagship of the Amento Kingdom, "Ghost Sword" Venculla stood at the bow. He held a pair of binoculars to his eyes, scanning the town of Whale Tail Island as it basked in the orange glow of the setting sun.
There were no fires. No pillars of black smoke. No panicked crowds screaming through the streets. Instead, he saw disciplined ranks of heavily armed soldiers patrolling the docks with clockwork precision.
This was the third time he had asked the same question.
"Nothing, Captain. Those two didn't take a Transponder Snail with them when they landed. We have to wait for them to steal one or seize a communication hub before they can signal us," replied a man juggling a set of colorful balls, his tone echoing his boredom.
"...It seems they failed."
Based on their experience taking Whale Head and Whale Belly, the "Strangler Ghost" and the "Black Beast" should have already plunged the town into a blood-soaked chaos. The fact that the island remained eerily calm meant the vanguard had been neutralized.
"Were we a step too late? Echemondo's reinforcements are already here," Venculla muttered, his brow furrowing.
As the leader of this mission, he knew exactly how strong Falugo and Tadra were. Individually, he could best either of them, but together, even he would have to tread carefully. According to their initial intelligence, Whale Tail should not have possessed the power to stop both of them simultaneously.
There was only one logical conclusion: a new player had entered the board.
Whoosh!
Venculla took a deep breath.
He glanced at the sun, which was now half-submerged in the sea. He couldn't wait any longer. If he delayed further, total darkness would set in, and even a master of his caliber would be at a disadvantage in a nighttime assault.
"Standard procedure. Saturated bombardment. Level the coast."
The order was relayed instantly.
The fleet clearly possessed a competent tactical commander; every warship opened fire almost simultaneously. They targeted every structure along the shore that could possibly house a garrison. After three volleys of synchronized cannon fire, the harbor front was reduced to a smoking wasteland of splintered wood and pulverized stone.
Except for one structure.
A single stone tower stood stubbornly amidst the ruins, untouched by the ferocious barrage. It sat there, solitary and defiant, in the heart of the wreckage.