Deep within the Multi-Armed Race's camp, the ocean currents stirred up fine sand, forming murky whirlpools around the tents.
Grand General Grash's tentacles slammed down on the stone table.
"Three assault teams!"
His roar made the coral walls hum.
"Three entire assault teams! And they couldn't even take down a single damn wooden post!"
Several adjutants pressed themselves into the corners of the tent, not daring to breathe.
Grash was renowned for his ferocity within the clan, but even his oldest adjutants had never seen him in such a state.
"Grand General! Urgent military report!"
A messenger rushed into the tent, clutching a seashell letter.
Engraved upon it was the "Ship-breaker's" mark—the personal sigil of Lord Unas.
Grash took the letter, his tentacles trembling uncontrollably.
The shell slowly opened, and a voice emanated from within.
It was Lord Unas. His furious voice echoed throughout the room.
