Chapter 328 - 323: A Call to Surrender

Chapter 328: Chapter 323: A Call to Surrender

Moonlight, like water, washed over the area of shallow sea and tidal flats.

The battlefield, which just moments ago had echoed with the clamor of slaughter, was now so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Unas’s corpse—if you could still call it that—lay silently in the middle of the mud.

A shower of bright red petals had fallen upon his desiccated husk.

The contrast between red and gray was so jarring it made one’s heart pound.

The remaining four hundred-some Warriors of the Bonebreak Clan stared at the scene, at a complete loss.

"CLINK."

A crisp sound broke the dead silence.

A bone blade slipped from between a Warrior’s tentacles, fell into the shallow water, and kicked up a ring of mud.

Several nearby Warriors trembled and instinctively looked toward the human army surrounding them.

The steel shield wall had already closed in.

Through the gaps in the shields, countless sharp spears gleamed with a cold light under the moon, aimed directly at their throats.

It was over.

Everything was over.

It was like the first domino had been pushed.

A second, then a third.

The sound of weapons hitting the ground followed, one after another, until it blended into a single chorus.

They stopped resisting, simply curling up where they stood. Their eight tentacles hung limply at their sides as they awaited judgment.

Ola panted heavily. He wiped the mud and blood from his face, leaning on his heavy battle-axe as he stared blankly at the scene before him.

The victory had been too swift, too absolute. It gave even a battle-hardened veteran like him a strong sense of unreality.

"It’s... over already?"

Ola muttered.

A rush of wind passed overhead.

Nefarian folded his massive wings and landed smoothly on a high reef.

The airflow swept up the petals on the ground, sending them spinning in the air before they fell back into the muddy water.

Velin dismounted, looking at the terrified, defeated army.

[All forces, cease attack. Tighten the encirclement.]

"HUAH! HUAH! HUAH!"

The coalition soldiers immediately changed formation, stepping forward in unison. Shields banged against armor, creating a deeply oppressive sound.

The encirclement tightened like an iron band.

[Bring Korsh up. Let him see his people.]

A few minutes later, the sound of splashing water approached.

Korsh was dragged to the front of the formation, supported by two Knights.

His tentacles were bound in anti-magic shackles, which were further enchanted with gravity Runes, forcing him to expend immense energy with every step.

The Knights released him. He staggered, nearly collapsing into the muddy water.

He struggled to lift his head, and his cloudy eyes widened in an instant.

The moonlight illuminated every last detail of the battlefield.

The severed limbs of his clansmen were scattered in the black silt. In the distance, the "Scourge of the Deep," which they had considered their ultimate weapon, lay like a mountain of rotting flesh.

But what terrified him most was the desiccated corpse in the center of the field.

That was Unas.

The invincible chieftain who had led the clan, carving a bloody path for them through the deep sea.

Now, he lay without a shred of dignity at the feet of the land-dwellers, like a piece of dried, salted fish.

A strange, whimpering sound escaped Korsh’s throat, and his whole body began to tremble violently.

The shock of his shattered faith was more unbearable than any physical pain.

Velin walked to his side, looking down at the cautious former officer.

"Korsh, take a good look."

Velin showed none of a victor’s arrogance, only the coldness of stating a fact. "Your chieftain is dead. Your clan is finished. Now, tell me, do the rest of your people want to end up as fertilizer like him, or do they want to live?"

Korsh’s head snapped up, and he stared intently at Velin.

Velin’s reflection was captured in his slit-like pupils.

"You... you said..." His voice was hoarse and dry. "Prisoner of war... treatment..."

"My promise still stands," Velin said coolly. "Grey Marsh Territory is short on manpower everywhere right now. The mines, the quarries, the expanding docks... I need a strong labor force. As long as they lay down their arms, I can guarantee they’ll live better than they did in the deep sea—at the very least, they’ll have full bellies."

It was a straightforward and brutal truth.

There was no tyranny or revenge, no mercy or pity—only a naked exchange of interests.

But for some reason, this emotionless truth gave Korsh a sense of genuine security.

’If this human had spouted some nonsense about "all beings are equal," he wouldn’t have believed a single word.’

’Be useful, and you live.’

That was also the law of survival in the deep sea.

Korsh gritted his teeth and pushed himself up with all his might.

Dragging his heavy shackles, he walked step by step, slowly but resolutely, toward the encirclement that was on the verge of erupting.

Having been given the order, the human soldiers opened up a narrow path.

Korsh walked through and stood before his clansmen.

Over four hundred pairs of eyes turned to him in unison.

In them, there was shock, contempt, and also a faint, deeply buried glimmer of hope.

"I am Korsh, Third Vanguard Captain to Chieftain Unas."

He raised his voice, trying his best not to seem so weak. "The chieftain has fallen in battle. We have lost."

A low hiss rose from the ranks.

A burly Centurion shot out from the line, one of his tentacles pointed straight at Korsh’s nose.

"Traitor! Coward!" the Centurion roared, spittle flying into Korsh’s face. "You surrendered to the land-dwellers! You’ve defiled the honor of the Bonebreak Clan! We would rather die fighting than be slaves!"

His words struck a chord. Dozens of zealous Warriors began to roar along with him, and the once-subdued ranks grew restless again.

Outside the encirclement, the human crossbowmen immediately raised their arms, fingers on their triggers.

Korsh didn’t flinch.

He simply watched the furious Centurion quietly, then raised one of his shackled tentacles and pointed at the desiccated corpse in the distance.

"Honor?"

Korsh gave a bitter laugh, his voice filled with self-mockery and contempt. "Kalu, don’t try to make an attempted robbery sound so noble!"

His voice suddenly rose, sharp and sarcastic. "What honor do we have? We’re just a bunch of robbers who broke into someone else’s house! Except this time, our luck ran out, and we ran into people we can’t afford to provoke!"

"The chieftain is dead! The shamans are all dead! Even the Scourge of the Deep is finished!" Korsh’s tentacle dropped heavily. "Do you really want what’s left of our people to die for this stupid raid?!"

He spun around to face all of his clansmen.

He roared himself hoarse, "The Bonebreak Clan is gone! To keep fighting now isn’t bravery, it’s stupidity! It will mean the utter annihilation of our people!"

"That human lord has promised that if we surrender, we can live! As prisoners of war, we can work for our food!"

"Those who want to die, charge now! The land-dwellers’ Crossbow Arrows will grant your wish! But those who want to live—"

Korsh took a deep breath and, with a THUD, knelt in the muddy water.

"Lay down your arms!"

The Centurion named Kalu froze. He looked at Korsh kneeling on the ground, then turned to look at the young, naive faces behind him.

Many of them had tentacles that were still trembling slightly.

’Must they all die here? For the sake of a so-called... shattered honor?’

"CLANG."

The bone hammer in Kalu’s hand fell to the ground.

As if his spine had been ripped out, the strong Warrior collapsed to his knees.

That single act of kneeling shattered the last of the Multi-Armed Race’s psychological defenses.

More and more weapons were discarded.

One by one, the Warriors knelt, lowering their proud heads in submission to the human coalition they had once dismissed as "land insects."

「...」

Outside the bay, in the pitch-black deep sea.

The *Sea Serpent* hadn’t actually fled very far.

One-Eyed Barbossa was the type who never acted without guaranteed profit. Unwilling to return empty-handed, he had his scout ship riskily move closer to see how the battle would end.

At this moment, he was standing on the prow, watching the Crystal Ball maintained by the Mage.

The scene within the sphere made his blood run cold.

He saw the arrogant Multi-Armed Race’s monster of a chieftain turn into a desiccated corpse in less than twenty seconds.

That way of dying... it was too bizarre, too horrifying.

There were no brilliant flashes of Magic, no earth-shattering explosions. Just a simple lift of a hand, and a powerful life had vanished into thin air.

"GULP."

Barbossa swallowed hard. Cold sweat dripped from his one good eye, stinging as it ran.

"Boss?" The first mate sidled up, his voice trembling. "Are we... still waiting? If they both take heavy losses..."

"SLAP!"

Barbossa spun around and backhanded his first mate across the face, sending him spinning.

"Wait? Let your mother do the waiting!"

He leaped up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on and roared at all the sailors at the top of his lungs.

"Turn the helm! Full sail! Everyone get to the oars! Get us out of this godforsaken place! Now!!"

"Anyone who’s a step too slow, I’ll throw ’em overboard to feed the fish!"

Fear is contagious.

The panic on the flagship spread rapidly throughout the entire Pirate Fleet.

The ships, which had been circling like hyenas, erupted into chaos.

They scrambled to turn their ships around, and in their panic, there were even two collisions.

But no one cared about that. Everyone just wanted to get as far away from that damned port as possible.

And this very scene played out in Velin’s spyglass.

Velin stood on the tidal flat, spyglass in hand, watching the chaotic cluster of lights on the sea in the distance.

"They’re quite decisive when it comes to running."

Velin chuckled and lowered his gaze.

Ola strode over. Caked in mud, he looked like a statue.

He kicked at Unas’s dried corpse with the tip of his boot, and the desiccated husk made a hollow sound.

"My Lord, is it finally, truly over this time?"

Ola took off his helmet, revealing a mess of sweat-soaked hair as he let out a long sigh.

"We finally managed to chew through these tough bones. Can we take a breather now?"

"A breather?"

Velin turned and looked at the battlefield being cleared.

The wounded soldiers were being carried away on stretchers, the prisoners were being roped together in long lines and led to a temporary prison, and the logistics team had already begun working through the night to clear the field—the seawall would likely collapse at high tide.

"Defeating a native tribe and scaring off a mob of rabble... I suppose we can take a breather."

Velin started walking toward the city, which was just awakening in the light of dawn.

"The expansion of the Grey Marsh Territory has only just begun."