Tension was thick in the air on Greyscale Island. Rugo's growing rage and paranoia had seeped into every corner of his domain.
Patrols around the harbor had intensified, defenses around warehouses and key transport hubs had been reinforced.
But rather than instilling order, these measures only deepened the island's atmosphere of fear and repression.
In a squat building by the harbor, Barron, Hall, Gale, and Nick gathered once more.
They huddled around a rough wooden table, upon which lay a detailed map of Rugo's territory. Barron tapped a finger lightly on the table, his eyes sharp and calm.
"Our plan has begun to take root," Barron said quietly. "Rugo's not just stretched thin now—he's starting to doubt his own men. But that's not enough. We need to turn this spark into a blaze."
Hall frowned, uncertainty in his tone.
"The situation's shifting in our favor, sure, but Rugo's forces are still overwhelming.
Even if he suspects internal sabotage, he has more than enough muscle to crush most resistance. We'll need more than whispers to bring him down."
Gale nodded in agreement, his voice low and firm.
"Hall's right. The merchants may be discontent, but they're more afraid of their profits drying up than of Rugo's rule. Unless we offer a clear path to victory, they won't take the risk of picking sides."
Nick, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair, scoffed.
"Those merchants are always the first to hide when things get messy. What we need is direct support—or more chaos."
Barron didn't respond immediately. He looked down at the map, deep in thought. After a moment, he raised his head, voice calm but resolute.
"We're going to make Rugo look weak. Not dangerous. Weak. Let his authority become something people laugh at instead of fear."
Hall raised a brow, urging him to go on.
Barron traced several lines on the map with his finger, highlighting a series of small outposts and storage points.
"Our next targets are these outer installations. Their defenses are lighter, but they're crucial to Rugo's grip on the island. If they fall, his control shrinks—and his supporters will start to question whether he can protect them."
Gale narrowed his eyes, murmuring, "You're talking about psychological warfare."
Barron nodded.
"Yes. That's the core of it.
But we're also going to use it to rally more forces and gather resources. We'll make the people of Greyscale Island see that Rugo is slipping—and we're the ones bringing a new order."
Nick gave a dry chuckle.
"Sounds good on paper. But even weak outposts aren't easy to hit."
Barron smirked, eyes gleaming coldly.
"We're not going to charge in. We just need to cause chaos."
The next day, the operation began.
Barron sent a small team to infiltrate one of Rugo's minor warehouses. They didn't attack outright—instead, they quietly set fire to the piles of crates and clutter stacked outside.
Flames roared up into the night, painting the sky in crimson, drawing guards from all directions.
The defenders arrived too late.
The fire had already spread beyond control.
While they scrambled to contain it and sent out frantic reports, the warehouse's contents were hastily relocated—leaving surrounding defenses thin and vulnerable.
Meanwhile, Nick's men spread rumors in the nearby alleys.
"You hear? One of Rugo's warehouses went up in flames. His boys are falling apart."
"Yeah, word is he suspects his own lieutenants are working with outsiders. Maybe this fire was an inside job."
The merchants took to whispering, the stories growing wilder with each telling. Doubts about Rugo's grip on power began to take root.
That night, Barron and Hall stood atop an abandoned tower, gazing down at the harbor's scattered lights. In the distance, the charred remains of the warehouse still smoldered.
"What do you think Rugo will do?" Hall asked quietly.
Barron didn't answer right away. His eyes were calm, distant, fixed on the ruins below.
"He'll try to crush it. But every swing of his hammer will only weaken the iron it strikes." A shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "And we'll make sure every step he takes is right into another snare."
Hall looked over at Barron, something like awe flickering in his eyes.
"I've got to admit, Barron… you're more ruthless than I thought."
Barron turned his head slightly, gaze steady.
"Ruthless is just what the weak call the strong. And we don't have the luxury of being anything else."
Meanwhile, in Rugo's encampment, the mood had turned dark and volatile.
One of his lieutenants stood before him, nervously wringing his hands.
"Boss, we've tracked some signs—it might've been Hall behind the fire. But… nothing concrete."
Rugo cut him off with a glare.
"But what? Don't tell me you're suggesting we set fire to our own warehouse."
The lieutenant paled, stammering, "N-no, I didn't mean that. Just… some of the men, they've been getting restless. Some even say our rules are too strict—"
Rugo's eyes narrowed to slits, his voice a cold growl.
"Complaining? Seems like some people need a reminder of who owns this harbor."
He slammed a hand on the table and stood, gaze sharp as a blade.
"Round up everyone who's been slacking. Bring them to the square."
That night, guards across Greyscale Island were forcibly marched to the harbor square. Under the yellow glow of torchlight, unease twisted every face.
Rugo stood on a makeshift wooden platform, a gold-trimmed scimitar in one hand, a flintlock pistol holstered at his waist. His eyes swept across the gathered men like twin daggers.
"Some of you seem to have forgotten the rules," he said, voice low and cutting, yet loud enough for all to hear.
No one dared reply.
A cruel smile curled on his lips. He pointed his blade at a group near the front.
"You. Been slacking on patrols? Whispering behind my back?"
The guards turned pale. One of them stepped forward, voice shaking.
"Boss, we—we haven't! I swe-!"
*SWISH!*
Rugo didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, he slashed the man's throat open. Blood sprayed into the firelight.
"No? Then what is this? I told you to guard the warehouse, and now it's ashes. Was it Hall—or was it your own failure?"
The air reeked of blood and fear. The remaining guards stood frozen, silent.
Rugo calmly wiped the blade clean and turned to his lieutenant.
"Drag them out. If anything else goes wrong tomorrow, you'll be next."
In the days that followed, chaos spread like wildfire. Rugo tried to clamp down with more patrols and harsher rules, but it only fanned the flames.
Dissatisfaction brewed. Some guards deserted their posts in the dead of night.
Meanwhile, Barron's forces swelled.
Small factions once hesitant now reached out, lured by low-risk promises of alliance. Merchants, too, quietly began pulling back from deals with Rugo's men, seeking more stable partners in the shadows.
Standing high above the island, Barron watched the embers of their plan catch and smolder.
"Rugo… power is built on trust," he murmured. "And now, that trust is crumbling."