The wind howled softly over the eastern shore, carrying fine grains of sand across the moonlit dunes. The night sky stretched endlessly above, a tapestry of stars casting a cold silver glow over the barren landscape. In the distance, the palm groves swayed gently, their dark silhouettes blending into the rolling hills beyond.

  Unlike the heavily defended southern port, where Ravenna’s forces had littered the waters with debris to slow down enemy ships before crippling them with spring powered ballista fire, this beach offered no such advantage. The invaders would recognize any unnatural obstruction and flee before committing to landfall.

  Here, a different strategy was required.

  John crouched low in the trench, the cool steel of his spyglass pressed against his eye as he scanned the horizon. The sea shimmered under the moonlight, its surface disturbed only by the slow-moving shadows of the incoming ships. He could make out four vessels, their dark sails blending into the night, creeping toward the shore with deliberate caution.

  His grip tightened around the spyglass.

  They were coming. He turned his head slightly and whispered to the knights hidden alongside him.

  “As soon as their horses pass through here, jump down and let loose every bolt in your rapid-fire crossbows. Don’t hesitate. Take down as many as you can before drawing your swords,” he instructed, his voice barely above the wind’s whisper.

  A hushed murmur of acknowledgment spread among the soldiers as they adjusted their positions, gripping their weapons in anticipation.

  The plan was simple but deadly.

  The enemy would land under the cover of darkness, believing this remote beach to be unguarded. They would quickly disembark, mount their horses, and rush toward the city, eager to catch its defenders unaware. That moment—when they were least prepared for resistance—was when John’s squad would strike.

  The knights hidden on the dunes would rain down death with their crossbows the moment the enemy cavalry charged through the pass. At the same time, the crews manning the ballistas in the trenches would unleash a devastating barrage aimed directly at the stationary ships, destroying their masts before the invaders could retreat.

  It was a brutal and calculated ambush, designed to strike fear into the hearts of the enemy and leave them stranded on hostile shores.

  John exhaled slowly, steadying his nerves as he returned his gaze to the approaching ships. The vessels were beginning to dock now, their hulls scraping softly against the wet sand. Shadowed figures moved swiftly, unloading supplies and leading horses down wooden ramps onto the shore.

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  Though the night obscured their features, John could see the distinct outlines of armored riders mounting their steeds, their movements sharp and disciplined. The enemy ‘pirates’ wasted no time, forming into tight ranks before turning toward the dunes.

  John tensed.

  They were nearly in position.He ducked lower into the trench, his fingers tightening around the wooden frame of the ballista. Around him, his men did the same, their breath shallow, their hands steady despite the tension thickening in the air.

  Then, amidst the howling wind, he heard it—the muffled thud of hooves against the soft sand.They were coming.

  John clenched his jaw, his heart pounding like a war drum. He counted the beats in his head, waiting for the perfect moment.

  Then, with a sharp breath, he gave the signal.

  “Now!”

  The stillness of the night shattered as a hail of crossbow bolts rained down from the dunes, slicing through the air with deadly precision. The enemy riders, caught off guard, barely had time to react before bodies began falling from their saddles, blood staining the sand beneath them.

  From above, the knights descended like wraiths, their swords gleaming under the pale moonlight as they crashed into the disoriented enemy with ruthless efficiency. The battle was swift and brutal, the cries of the wounded mingling with the clash of steel and the desperate whinnies of frightened horses.

  But John’s attention remained locked on the ships.

  He lifted his spyglass, scanning the vessels docked along the shore. Three of the four ships had already been crippled, their masts shattered by the devastating ballista fire. Yet one still stood tall, its sails unfurling as it began to drift back into the open sea.

  His stomach dropped.

  “The hell are you waiting for?! Reload and fire!” John barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

  The ballista crews, despite the din of combat echoing from below, obeyed his command without hesitation. They worked quickly, leveraging the power of the newly designed spring-loaded ballistas, allowing for faster reloading compared to traditional models.

  The first shot was loosed with a twang of steel and wood, but it missed—sailing harmlessly past the retreating ship.

  John gritted his teeth. “Damn it! Aim properly! We can’t let them escape!”

  The ballista teams adjusted, their hands moving with frantic precision as they took aim once more. Two more bolts were fired in rapid succession. This time, they struck true.

  The mast splintered apart with a thunderous crack, sending shards of wood flying as the structure collapsed onto the deck, bringing the ship to a dead stop.

  John let out a victorious shout, his men joining in the cheers. “That’s it! They’re done for now!”

  But their celebration was cut short by a frantic voice from below.

  “Vice Captain John!” A knight’s urgent call rose above the sounds of battle. “They tricked us!”

  John’s heart lurched.

  What?

  Without wasting a second, he slid down the dune, sand kicking up around him as he rushed toward the source of the alarm. He found one of his knights kneeling over a fallen enemy, his face pale, his hands trembling as he pointed at the corpse.

  John’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight.

  The so-called enemy soldier was clad in battered armor, his body still and lifeless, an iron collar wrapped tightly around his neck. Faint magical runes glowed along its surface, confirming John’s worst fear.

  A servitude spell. These weren’t enemy pirates. They were slaves.

  John’s stomach twisted.

  “They… they sent the slaves disguised as them” the knight stammered, his voice heavy.

  John’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him like a hammer to the skull.

  The enemy hadn’t ridden into the ambush themselves. They had used the slaves—dressed in armor, armed with second-rate weapons—as nothing more than cannon fodder to fool them.