Sunrise to sunset, a restless day passes, and now it's late at night. The shadows of withered trees shatter the moonlight, scattering it between the ruins of the broken village. The scorched beams left from burnt cottages, like charred ribs, slant upon the earthen foundation. The air is still filled with the scent of charcoal, and a stale, moldy smell of blood. This icy chill feels like the God of Death quietly sitting in the death-ridden Taino Village, waiting for tales of revenge and reaping to unfold.
"Guten Abend, mein Herr! Good evening, sir!"
Mercenary Captain Reinhardt, cloaked in gloomy attire, stands with two trusted brothers in the shadow of the chapel's wooden hut. From the darkness on the other side, nine figures gradually emerge. Of them, eight are Cipangu Warriors clad in armor, but only one is cloaked, with a "Evil" motif etched on his forehead, responding in the familiar native dialect.
"Good evening, Knight Reinhart!"
"You are, Mr. Martin Behaim?"
"Hmm."
