The Blue Moon hangs in the sky, with a red accompanying satellite by its side.
The cold blue light interweaves with the equally cold red glow on the ground, resembling the eerie glimmer in the corner of a dead fish's eye.
On the west side of Frank Castle, in a nameless dense forest, two young men are holding binoculars, observing the sporadic lights within the fortress.
Moments later, the younger man, with a few scruffy whiskers at the corners of his mouth, puts down his binoculars and says softly:
"As expected of the Prudon Kingdom's elite. Even after such a major victory—'seizing Frank Castle and opening the gateway to Hansa'—they haven't relaxed. I thought they'd be celebrating all night."
The young man, who looks in his twenties, pats the boy on the shoulder and teases him with a smile:
"They're indeed alert, but they can't even dream that the real trump card is underground. Tom, you've done it again this time."
