The Villainess's Reputation [Kingdom Building]

Eastern Beach, Kim Island, Kim Dukedom, Ancorna Empire

The wind had stilled.

A thick tension hung over the sand and sea as John stood atop the forward trenchline, watching as the fog began to bloom across the waves like a silent, creeping storm. The sea ahead was still, save for the distant silhouettes of warships steadily approaching the island's coast.

"They're almost here," John murmured, tightening his gloves.

He'd already given the order, the quicklime had been lowered into the water, reacting violently with the salt to produce plumes of dense, artificial fog. Within minutes, the approaching ships began to vanish one by one into the growing white curtain.

"Release the unmanned boats!" he commanded, his voice sharp and sure.

Unlike the southern port, where strategy had included false negotiations, there was no need for pretense here. This enemy division was simply a tool of war. A subordinate unit, sent to storm the beaches by sheer force.

They would not be allowed to.

Dozens of steam-powered unmanned assault vessels were released into the sea. Hissing and clanking, their metal frames glinted in the sun before disappearing into the mist like phantoms. Each one was loaded with canisters, and concealed flamethrowers.

The water churned behind them as they launched in a tight horde, moving swiftly through the concealment of fog.

"Prepare the ballista squad!" John called out, scanning the trench line. "No mistakes! Fire on my mark!"

His jaw was clenched tight.

He would not make the same mistake as last time, the Ronin Family Pirate ambush, where hesitation had nearly cost them the beach. He had learned. And now, no one would set foot on his sand.

Minutes passed.

Then, through the fog flickers of orange light began to bloom. It was faint at first. Then brighter. The unmanned boats had crashed with the incoming ships.

"Now! Fire at the lights! General direction! Full spread!"

The ballistae fired in unison, their reinforced steel bolts slicing into the fog with high-pitched shrieks. The trained squads fired without sight, relying entirely on the location of the sudden flamebursts erupting from the boat's flamethrowers.

The crashing sounds echoed moments later, bolts slamming into hulls, explosions following. Wood splintered. Men screamed. Mages aboard the ships panicked.

John allowed himself a breath, just one.

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"They won't even know what hit them," he muttered, watching the fog shift and tremble with chaotic movement deeper out to sea.

But then, something changed.

He felt it in his skin. The hairs on his neck lifted. A wave of heat washed over the trench, unnatural and sharp.

He didn't hesitate.

"Everyone! Down! Now!"

He threw himself backward into one of the narrow dugouts they'd prepared behind the sand embankments. Others followed instinctively, diving into cover as fast as their armor allowed.

Then it hit.

A roaring fireball, massive and screaming like a comet, ripped through the sky and crashed into the shoreline. The explosion knocked loose sand and rock into the air, shaking the beach like a small quake.

Those who moved fast enough survived with minor burns. But several unlucky soldiers, caught in the open, had their cloaks and gambesons ignited. Screams pierced the air as they fell, thrashing, trying to smother the flames.

John climbed halfway from the trench, ears ringing. His face was covered in soot, and a gash dripped blood down the side of his jaw. He looked toward the sea again, eyes narrowing.

"They've started using fire spells..." he growled.

He pulled himself to his feet, spit into the sand, and grabbed his command whistle.

"All units, prepare for wave two! We're not done yet!"

Western Beach, Kim Island, Kim Dukedom, Ancorna Empire

Fog now blanketed the coastline like a smothering shroud, its tendrils snaking over dunes and trenchworks as though the ocean itself had risen to cloak the land in silence. The rising sun was hidden behind pale veils of mist, casting everything in an eerie, bluish haze.

Dame Aisha stood tall atop the forward defense post, a battered spyglass clutched in one gloved hand. The lenses had long since become useless; even with enchanted vision spells, the fog was too dense. But she didn't need to see the enemy to know they were there.

"They've entered it," she murmured. "Right on time."

Around her, squads of knights, archers, and artisans stood ready at preassigned positions, hunkered behind stone-and-wood defenses built along the natural ridges of the beach. Ballistae were already mounted, bolts stacked and ready, crews calm but alert.

Behind the ridgelines, workers moved efficiently under officer commands, unseen but not unheard. The low clank of metal, the hiss of steam, and the final clicks of release mechanisms echoed faintly in the distance.

Aisha raised her voice, sharp as a blade's edge: "Release the unmanned vessels! Now!"

Moments later, a thunder of metallic motion began to roll across the western bay.

Fifteen steam-powered unmanned assault vassels emerged from their camouflage behind sea-boulders and reed nets. Their engines came alive with a high-pitched hum, rotors spinning as steam vents hissed white plumes into the air. The boats, small, narrow, designed for ramming, launched into the fog in rapid sequence, vanishing into the ocean mist like specters of war.

Aisha exhaled once through her nose and gave a single nod. Everything had gone according to plan.

"Ballistae teams, prepare," she said, descending the ladder from the post down to the midline trench. "Wait for the signal."

The soldiers below were ready.

Seconds passed.

Then, from deep within the fog, flickers of orange began to dance, tiny bursts, rapidly multiplying.

"Target the flashes!" Aisha called. "Hold trajectory! Fire in waves!"

The first line of ballista bolts launched, sharp steel slicing through the mist like whispers of judgment. Another volley followed seconds later. The sound was thunderous, wooden limbs snapping forward, bolts splitting air and water alike.

They couldn't see the impact. But they could hear it.

Crashes. Splintering wood. Distant cries. Then muffled explosions deep in the white veil. Somewhere out there, ships were dying, crushed by speed, torn apart by internal fire, or crippled from below.

Dame Aisha stood still, hand resting on the hilt of her saber. Her face showed no satisfaction, no relief. Only focus.

"We do not let them land." she said under her breath. "Not a single foot on our beach."