They saw that person fling out something with a wave of the hand, then drive the Antler Staff into the shore; surging Spiritual Essence turned into dense Force of Nature and spread out in an instant.

The moment the Seeds hit the ground, frenzied plants seemed to appear out of thin air, growing savagely; pods burst open at their tops and splashed out more Seeds, which kept spreading and weaving together.

The rampaging vines were like needle and thread, stitching those Fishmen who couldn’t escape into them, and in a short time they actually formed a verdant defensive line along the coast.

Yet before anyone could rejoice, the breaker slammed in, its surging power tearing apart the vine-woven net in an instant, displaying the ocean’s terrifying might.

Only, the next second, fresh vines would grow out again, displaying nature’s tenacity.

The green curtain was like kelp swaying on the seabed, struggling to maintain that tottering yet hard-to-destroy shape.

But the Fishmen sewn into it weren’t so lucky; pinned in place and unable to merge into the wave, they took the brunt of the pounding surf head-on.

It was like a fishing net that also blocked those Fishmen who had mixed into the surf, trying to ride the waves forward.

Even if they could live in the water, that didn’t mean they could withstand such impact; under the crushing seawater, the protection offered by their Scale Armor was useless.

This was only the aftershock; most of the power had already been absorbed and dispersed by the earth, and the structure between the vines was not completely sealed, letting a huge amount of seawater slip through—otherwise how could it possibly hold?

When the last breaker crashed onto the shore and the water washed up to that person’s feet, it was already spent; the green curtain that had sprung from nowhere began to wither, turning to muddy dust and merging back into the coastline.

At the same time, those Fishmen dragged into the vines and those blocked by them all fell down—stunned, internally injured, some with their bones completely shattered—just like dead fish shoved ashore by the waves.

Only then did one hand pull the staff from the ground, while the other removed a mask, revealing Grendel’s slightly pale, grave face, her long green hair hanging loose in a rather disheveled state.

Yes, it had obviously been Grendel just now who dissipated that last aftershock, keeping those Fishmen from riding the wave up to smash the last of Hamlet’s forces.

This was a shoreline, not a forest; there weren’t many plants here for her to command, so she had to force-grow them herself, which multiplied the power she had to spend, not to mention over such a wide area.

Even with the boost from her gear, unleashing power like that had pushed her to the limit.

Only after downing a Potion did the pallor on her face fade slightly, but as she looked out at the battlefield, the heavy look in her eyes did not ease in the slightest.

The waves had hit at most a third of the Fishmen; most were only a bit dizzy and soon climbed back to their feet. The shoreline was still packed tight with monsters.

Grendel took a deep breath—this was no time for such thoughts. She steeled herself, not a hint of weakness on her face, raised her Magic Wand, and roared at the monsters.

"Hamlet Must Win!"

Under Grendel’s command, the scattered units were reformed, their numbers not merely restored but increased.

Why had Grendel arrived late?

Because she’d been mobilizing troops—and arming them.

Hamlet had been constantly screening and receiving refugees; counting the several developed farms around it, their area of control held a population of over ten thousand.

The town now had some five to six thousand people, three thousand of them the core, plus some new arrivals.

The refugees who’d made it here alive included very few elderly or infirm; they were basically all of working age. Work them a bit, and pulling a few hundred into the ranks was hardly difficult.

Sending them to the battlefield was making things hard on them, but loading and firing was no problem.

Those cargo ships had been a huge help; among their goods was a batch of muskets, shot, and powder, and the stuff had only just been unloaded today into the warehouses by the docks.

Now the storehouses were thrown open and the men equipped on the spot. Together with the two hundred Navy troops and those militiamen, they easily formed a force of a thousand.

But that still wasn’t all; for Hamlet to have grown to this point, how could it not have some reserves?

Lance couldn’t build the Rom magical carriage or spellship, but he did have some foundations.

"The big stuff’s coming out!"

"Let the monsters taste what these beauties can do!"

Amid the shouts from the logistics crews, the munitions stacked in the military warehouses were hauled out.

Crates of cylindrical Grenades, bottles upon bottles of incendiaries...

What kind of man was Lance?

That hoarder-mouse type always liked to keep a backup, just in case. Only full warehouses put him at ease, and that went for bombs too.

Though he’d moved most of his stockpile, he’d still held some back.

Grendel simply dragged everything out; there was no time to worry about anything else now—they had to hold Hamlet first.

The veterans had no leisure to grieve for fallen comrades; they resolutely took over the hastily formed musket units. These men had never been trained, but firearms could be broken into several steps, each man set to one mechanical task.

Given the current situation, even firing with eyes closed would hit something.

There was no such thing as "aiming"—only saturating fire!

The professionally trained Navy troops, meanwhile, were issued the heavy weapons, ready to show those Fishmen what human "magic" looked like.

Continuous blasts of fire and explosions erupted among the enemy, tearing open their scales. Even fiercer than before, the firepower drove forward, paving Hamlet’s counterattack with Fishmen corpses.

The earlier storm had taken the Shaman along with it, and with no Spellcasters to bolster and command them, the Fishmen couldn’t withstand such a counterstrike at all. They had no desire to linger in the fight, and fled in panic back into the sea.