Anges Port, nestled along the northern coastline of the United Kingdom, had always enjoyed a strange tranquility.
It was neither a frontline fortress nor a city of resources.
Though nominally close to the border with the Hidden Empire, the towering Redridge Mountains stood like a natural barrier, cutting off war and strife.
For nearly a century, even in the most tense years of kingdom–empire confrontation, the residents of Anges Port had still slept soundly in the salty sea breeze.
But now, as the continent’s situation grew ever more strained, the city’s lord had tightened inspections of all ships coming and going.
The order itself was reasonable—but once filtered through the ranks, it became a gleaming cash stream for the dock guards.
Merchants, fishermen, even small exploratory ships stopping for supplies—all became their prey.
A few silvers could “speed up” inspection, and a few gold could make questionable cargo conveniently “overlooked.”
The guards’ purses swelled, but under the busy surface, the harbor grew oily with greed and weighed down with unease.
Edwin was also a dock guard. But unlike the lucky ones, he was a lighthouse guard.The inside of the tower was cramped and damp, filled with the smell of lamp oil, sea salt, and old stone.
Edwin leaned against the cold wall, his rough fingers absently rubbing his flat coin pouch.
“Damn lighthouse!” His voice, heavy with exhaustion and resentment, echoed in the narrow space. “Those dockside brothers, the grease dripping from their fingers would feed us for a month! And us? Guarding this cursed rock, scraping by on dead wages!”
He grew more worked up, punching the wall. “My boy—his aptitude test just showed water magic talent! He could be a mage! But the tuition—where the hell am I supposed to find that kind of coin?”
Beside him, a younger guard sat polishing the lamp’s glass, responding only with the occasional grunt or sigh. He understood Edwin’s bitterness, but to him the nightly rant was as constant as the waves.
What worried him more was the missing third man.
“Big-Eye Fish has been gone too long. Did he fall in the sea?” The youth set down the cloth, listening. Outside, only wind and waves.
“Bah, forget him!” Edwin waved irritably. “Maybe he’s napping somewhere out of the wind. Even slacking’s miserable in this job…”
But unease gnawed at the younger guard. Big-Eye Fish could be lazy, but never vanished this long.
“I’ll check.” He stood, took up his long spear, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
A blast of frigid, salty wind slapped him, making him shiver.
He squinted, scanning the platform. No sign of his comrade.
He headed toward the leeward corner usually used for relieving oneself, boots clacking on stone.
“Big-Eye Fish?” he called softly.
The moment he neared the shadows, a black figure exploded from the outer wall like a phantom—too fast to follow!
He glimpsed a flash of slick scales—then icy pain at his throat.
He tried to cry out, but only wheezed.
The spear clattered to the floor. Clutching his bleeding neck, eyes wide in disbelief, he crumpled.
Inside, Edwin jumped at the sound. “What the hell?!”
He rushed to the doorway—froze.
The young guard lay in a spreading pool of blood, twitching.
Beside him stood a nightmare.
Taller than the tallest man, lanky but covered in wet, dark green scales.
A thick, muscular serpent’s tail dragged behind, supporting its frame.
Its triangular head bore cruel yellow slit-pupils that fixed on Edwin.
In its hand gleamed a curved, bluish dagger, still dripping blood.
A snake-man. A demon!
Edwin bolted back, slamming the door, bracing it with his body. But the pressure behind told him he wouldn’t last long.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it! Why me?!”
In that instant, he thought of his nagging wife, his son dreaming of magic.
He abandoned the door, lunging instead for the thick rope dangling unused in the corner.
The serpent burst in, dagger plunging into his chest—but with his last strength, Edwin yanked the rope down.
GONG———————!!!
A deafening, urgent bell rang out, piercing the night sky of Anges Port.
Moments later, more tall serpent-men slid from the shadows outside the tower.
At their head was one even larger, scales nearly black-green, a ring of dark red bone spikes around his neck.
He saw the two fallen guards and his comrade still holding the bloody dagger. Rage burned in his reptilian eyes.
“You fool! You let them ring the alarm! The ambush is ruined!”
The shaken serpent stammered an excuse, but was cut short.
The leader looked toward the harbor—lamps flickering awake, shouts and clashing steel rising.
The others crowded him, anxious. “What now?”
The leader’s eyes narrowed with ruthless resolve. “Without proving ourselves, we won’t survive in the Empire. This mission cannot fail! Before the humans gather, strike! Drown the docks in their blood and fear!”
At his order, countless serpent-men swam ashore with weapons.
Slaughter followed.
The docks plunged into chaos, serpent warriors outmatching guards and rousing townsfolk.
They set fire to houses and ships, spreading the panic.
Screams, clashing blades, collapsing wood, and crackling flames merged, painting half the city red with firelight.
“Quick! Everyone to the docks—kill those demons!” the Count of Anges shouted again and again, panic consuming him.
Then he looked up—despair froze him.
From the darkness, several demonic warships loomed like beasts, their massive hulls sliding into the flaming harbor.