(As many of you have witnessed, our home has been infiltrated by demonic humans—those who used vile means, deception, and cruelty to slip past our gates.)
In a certain street, blacksmiths could be seen putting down their hammers.
"So the situation's gotten that worse, eh?"
Without changing his attire, an old man threw his forging hammer and went towards a greatsword mounted on the wall.
"It's been a while since I used my hammer for other things…"
Another old man started swinging his smithing hammer in various ways.
"Since the commander himself is personally asking for help, then I guess it can't be helped."
An old blacksmith with a peg leg limped as he reached for a long bow in a pile of trash.
(They have blackmailed, tortured, and threatened the innocent. And now, their intent is clear: to bring this fortress—our fortress—down into ruin.)
Larkson's voice rang through another street.
"So that's why there have been many strange people lately, huh?"
