Dawn filled the sky with rosy hues, painting the boundless ocean in shades of red. The Flying Fish, sails fully unfurled, rode the wind and cut through the waves.
"My lord, Professor Bobb and his maidservant have woken up. They're rather agitated at the moment…" Schwarde climbed onto the deck and reported to
The two sacks that El and the others had carried aboard the previous night contained Professor Bobb — the man who had deciphered the dwarven gunpowder formula — and his maidservant Silvia. Through El's old friend and current community leader, Redos, Lorist had learned that Professor Bobb had no children and had never married, though he had a widow named Silvia who had lost her husband early in life and had served as his personal attendant for nearly twenty years.
According to Redos's inquiries, the nature of Professor Bobb's relationship with this woman called Silvia was rather ambiguous. He had probably refrained from marrying her out of concern for his reputation, but in truth the two were quite close. It seemed that every month, the salary Professor Bobb received from the Morningstar Academy was handed over to Silvia to manage their household expenses.
The Morningstar Academy ranked quite low among the academies of
Lorist had originally thought it would be easy to recruit Professor Bobb, only to discover that the man was a staunch free-thinker who loathed nobility with a passion. When Lorist personally went to extend an invitation, he was met with a torrent of abuse and actually chased off with a broom.
Though he didn't know whether Professor Bobb had suffered some grievance at the hands of nobles in his youth, time was pressing and Lorist could not afford to investigate the details or make repeated visits to win him over. So the previous night, he had ordered El to take a team and simply knock the professor unconscious — and when they were at it, they had grabbed his maidservant Silvia as well. Once aboard the ship, the professor's stubbornness would be of no use.
"All right, I'll go see him and calm the professor down," Lorist said, oblivious to Schwarde rolling his eyes behind his back.
Professor Bobb's emotions were not merely "rather agitated" — they were utterly volcanic. The moment he laid eyes on Lorist, he understood perfectly why he was aboard a ship. His fury erupted like a volcano, and a torrent of vulgar street oaths poured from his mouth in rapid succession, leaving everyone dumbfounded. It was hard to believe this was a learned, refined academy professor.
"Professor Bobb, I didn't invite you here with any ill intentions. I merely wanted to..." Lorist had to wait a long while before Professor Bobb finally stopped talking.
"Don't even think about it! I won't give you what you want. No matter what you're planning, I won't agree to any of it, you despicable..." Professor Bobb hadn't listened to a word Lorist said. He launched into another tirade, interspersed with insults targeting Lorist's intelligence, dragging the young lord down to the level of a donkey.
Lorist turned a deaf ear, acting as though he hadn't heard a single one of the professor's personal attacks. He shifted his gaze to the professor's maidservant Silvia, noticed she was looking rather seasick, and promptly ordered Schwarde—who was standing sentinel outside the cabin—to fetch a dose of motion-sickness medicine from the medicine chest in his quarters. While he was at it, he was to brew the professor a cup of tea as well, to soothe his hoarse, dry throat...
The professor was finally at his wit's end with Lorist's thick skin. He had hoped to provoke Lorist into beating him senseless, which would let him put on a display of unyielding integrity and cement his refusal to be of service. Yet Lorist hadn't taken his barrage of insults the slightest bit to heart, and was instead fussing over the seasick Silvia.
"What exactly do you want me to do? Kidnapping for ransom? I'm a poor professor—I have no money to speak of. Knowledge? There are plenty of professors at the academies in Morant City far more accomplished than I am. Besides, haven't you heard about my dispute with the academy? In the eyes of other professors, I'm just a stubborn old fossil who dabbles in peculiar nonsense instead of doing proper work..." Having sipped his tea and sat in silence for a good while, Professor Bobb finally spoke again. This time there was no vitriol—only deep bewilderment.
Lorist smiled. A normal conversation at last. "Professor Bobb, I sought you out for the gunpowder."
"The dwarven propellant gunpowder?" Professor Bobb was still perplexed. "I finished studying that ages ago. I published the formula in my academic report last year—wasn't it reprinted in the Morant Daily? You should be able to find it at the public library. It's all there, nothing omitted."
"Professor, what interests me is your assessment that there's still considerable room for improvement in the dwarven propellant gunpowder. What I want to obtain is the optimal ratio for that gunpowder," Lorist said.
Professor Bobb spread his hands. "Then you should go find the dwarves and get your hands on large quantities of saltpeter ore. Only then can you conduct all manner of gunpowder experiments and eventually arrive at the optimal ratio. The problem is, no saltpeter deposits have ever been discovered in the human world. Those stubby little fellows would never sell their saltpeter to us..."
Professor Bobb cursed a few more times, though this time the target of his ire had shifted to those block-headed dwarves.
"I don't have saltpeter mines either, Professor, but I can provide you with a large amount of saltpeter for your gunpowder experiments. I invited you here specifically for this matter," Lorist said.
"Impossible..." Professor Bobb jumped up in shock. "How can you provide large amounts of saltpeter without having a saltpeter mine? If you had so much saltpeter, you could have told me the first time you came!"
"Professor, there is a method to produce large amounts of saltpeter, but so far, only I have discovered it. If you can be patient, once we arrive at my family's territory, you will understand what this method is."
"Tell me first—what is this method?" Professor Bobb was somewhat impatient.
Lorist shook his head.
Professor Bobb glared fiercely at Lorist, but Lorist just smiled, unmoved.
"Fine, I'll trust you once. You had better not be lying to me..." The professor conceded defeat. He had no other choice; he was already on the ship, and even if he wanted to run, he couldn't escape.
"Ship sighted ahead! Maintain alert!" came the lookout's call from overhead.
"Professor Bobb, Lady Sivela, please rest comfortably on the ship for a few days and enjoy the ocean view. Once we reach my family's territory, I'm certain you will understand that not all nobles are detestable. If you need anything, please feel free to instruct my guards. I will do my best to see that you are both satisfied. Excuse me now." Lorist bowed his head and hurried up towards the upper deck.
"Two large three-masted fore-and-aft rigged merchant ships, four medium-sized two-masted fast clipper merchant ships, and six medium-sized two-masted square-rigged armed merchant ships—they are closing in on us in a fan formation and appear hostile! Wait... their flags show barrels and swords. They are ships from the Chickadee Trading Company! They are enemies!..."
The lookout's desperate screams echoed from above, and the ships that had appeared ahead were now clearly visible.
Lorist strode up to the quarterdeck and saw First Mate Old Jack holding a peculiar ruler, measuring a long rope that trailed in the wind while muttering to himself, seemingly calculating something.
"Captain!" Old Jack soon shouted at Captain Wilson, who was at the helm. "We're sailing against the wind at only eight knots! Those bastards on the other side are running with the wind, and half of them are fast clippers doing ten knots! At this rate, we can't make a wide evasive turn anymore—within ten minutes we'll be head-on with them…"
"What's going on?" Lorist demanded sharply.
"My lord, that Chickadee Trading Company fleet clearly has hostile intentions, and whoever's commanding it is very experienced. They've formed a formation meant to encircle us—no matter which direction we break through, we'll end up caught in a pincer between two of their ships. Once they use long-range attacks to take out our sails, our speed advantage is gone and we'll be at their mercy. I wanted to turn and avoid them, but our ship's wing plates sit deep in the water. A turn would require a wide arc, and by then they'd already be on us…" Captain Wilson explained in rapid succession.
"Avoid those two large ships and cut through the gap between those two on the left in a zigzag pattern. Josk, shoot down the sails on those two ships. Ale, switch to fire arrows and let the steel crossbows fire freely at them…" Lorist considered for only a moment before making his decision.
Josk stood at the bow, his emerald longbow drawn to a full crescent. A crack rang out as a bolt of green lightning shot from his hand. In the blink of an eye, the medium-sized two-masted fast clipper merchant ship that had been charging toward them—now only fifty or sixty meters away—rocked violently as though struck by an invisible fist. Its tallest mast at the stern swayed twice, then toppled forward toward the bow…
Josk had snapped the mast clean off with a single arrow. The medium-sized fast clipper's speed plummeted at once; it even lost course and began circling aimlessly on the water, the crew aboard thrown into complete chaos. An opening had appeared before them.
Josk drew his bow and took aim at the other ship across from them. The crew aboard had already witnessed the devastating power of Josk's archery, and the helmsman began steering in a zigzag pattern instead of charging straight ahead. Moreover, several crew members armed with bows crowded to the bow and loosed arrows toward Lorist's ship, attempting to throw off Josk's aim.
Josk steadied his breath and his focus, treating the whistling arrows flying toward him as nothing. However, this shot did not prove as effective as the first—it failed to sever the mast. The arrow grazed the mast and sheared off a large chunk of wood, but the mast itself held firm. A cheer erupted from the sailors on the opposing ship. By now the two vessels were only thirty or forty meters apart and closing fast. Standing on the quarterdeck, Lorist could clearly see the enemy sailors preparing to draw heavy crossbows and ignite fireballs for a long-range assault.
Josk inhaled deeply and let out a mighty roar. The green longbow in his hands cracked like thunder in rapid succession. Screams and shrieks erupted in a chorus from the opposing ship—four or five archers who had been standing at the bow moments ago now lay sprawled on the deck, green arrows embedded in their throats, writhing in their death throes. Every sailor and crew member working on the deck collapsed without exception. With over twenty men struck down by arrows, the deck instantly became wide open, and those who hadn't been hit scrambled to find cover. No one had expected the enemy's golden-tier divine archer to be this terrifying—his rapid-fire skill was nothing short of miraculous.
An even louder scream rang out. The four billowing sails on the enemy's medium-sized twin-masted fast clipper—two of the largest lower sails twisted and crumpled in the wind. Moments earlier, Josk had fired four more arrows severing the ropes holding those two great sails, which fell directly onto the fireballs burning in braziers on the deck below. Flames leapt skyward and thick smoke rolled across the enemy ship while fire blazed toward the heavens. The lookout still perched in the crow's nest stared down at the raging inferno below and, in utter despair, screamed and leapt into the sea...
With its speed advantage, the Morning Star's Flying Fish quickly left them far behind, vanishing from sight.
"Fire!" From the deck of a large three-masted schooner over a hundred meters away, four or five fireballs launched at the command. Unfortunately, they lacked the range, landing in the sea a dozen meters short of the retreating Flying Fish.
A broad-faced man with a ruddy purple complexion watched the Flying Fish sail away and said flatly, "No more fireball projectiles—the range is insufficient, it's just a waste. Release the petrels and inform Third Young Master that our interception has failed. Also, send word to the third interception fleet: warn them that the enemy vessel has an extremely dangerous golden-tier divine archer who single-handedly broke through our encirclement and cost us an entire ship. Leave one ship to rescue survivors; the rest, turn around and give chase. Let's hope the third interception fleet won't disappoint us."
"As you command, Admiral," a crew member hurried off to relay the order.
Another burly man beside him asked, "Big brother, that ship is truly strange—slippery as an eel. At our speed, it'll be nearly impossible to catch up."
"Don't worry, just do our best. Third Young Master has been obsessed with that ship precisely because of its incredible speed. If that ship had been willing to stop and ferry him to Morant City back then, Third Young Master wouldn't have been eliminated for arriving a single day too late. The third interception fleet has Great Swordmaster Kumori standing guard, and Admiral Yali of the flagship is seasoned and experienced—once they receive our message, they'll know how to handle that ship. If it tries to make a wide turn to evade, we can close in from behind and surround it. Then it won't be able to fly even with wings."
Cheers rang out continuously aboard the Morning Star's Flying Fish. Breaking through the enemy interception unscathed had every sailor and guardsman buzzing with excitement and brimming with energy.
Lorist watched the four or five fireballs fall into the sea far behind the ship and furrowed his brow. "What were those things?" he asked.
Captain Wilson turned back to look, catching sight of the last fireball as it splashed into the water. "Oh, those are fireball catapult shots, My Lord. They're the primary long-range weapon in naval engagements. They're made from a mixture of clay, fine sand, silk fibers, and fire oil, all bound together with a sticky vine juice into round balls about the size of a human head. To use them, you light them on fire and load them onto specialized heavy crossbow-like launchers. Their range is under a hundred meters."
"It doesn't matter if you miss with these things. If one hits your ship, though, it's a nightmare. Dousing it with water doesn't work, and it rolls around everywhere. Sometimes, with good luck, a single fireball shot can turn a large ship to ash. I once asked our family if we equipped these weapons, but the shipyard said our family had newer long-range armaments and that I shouldn't even mention such outdated equipment."
Lorist was about to speak when he saw Earl climb up onto the deck platform, cursing under his breath.
"My Lord, those steel crossbows are completely useless," Earl said.
"What now? What happened?" Lorist asked.
"My Lord, the steel crossbows have decent range, but you can't aim them! This isn't land—the sea is constantly rising and falling, and the targets aren't standing in a formation where you can just close your eyes and fire in one direction. From a hundred or two hundred meters away, those ships look no bigger than the palm of my hand, and they're all separate, so it's nearly impossible to aim properly. And these iron crossbow bolts we're firing are useless too. I shot ten bolts, and only two hit. One stuck into a cabin wall and did nothing, and the other put a hole in a sail before flying off to who knows where..." Earl complained.
Lorist felt a flush of embarrassment. He had been too naive, thinking he could simply transfer the war chariot's steel crossbows to a ship and it would work. Now he realized they weren't the right long-range weapon for naval combat—less threatening than even the fireball shots used by the Trico Trade Federation's fleet.
"My Lord," Captain Wilson interjected from the side, "the optimal range for long-range attacks in naval battle is thirty to fifty meters. Beyond that distance, hitting an opponent's vessel is largely a matter of luck, after all. Everyone is on the open sea, ships are constantly moving, so having a longer range doesn't provide a real advantage. Modern naval combat primarily relies on boarding actions. If the enemy has a numerical superiority, ordinary long-range attacks won't inflict significant losses."
Lorist nodded. "Thank you for the guidance, Captain Wilson. When we return, we'll discuss what kind of weapons would be best suited for installation on the ships..."
His words were cut short as the lookout's shout rang out again: "Ahead! Another fleet has appeared ahead!"
(To be continued.)