"Enemy! They're still Kiekde Commerce fleet ships!" The lookout aloft the mast finally made out the flags of the opposing fleet, but by then the distance had closed to less than two hundred meters.
"Two large three-masted fore-and-aft rigged merchant ships, six medium two-masted fast-sailing merchant ships, and eight medium two-masted square-rigged armed merchant ships. Uh, my lord, what exactly did you do to the Kiekde Commerce to make them this furious? This fleet has four more ships than the last one — looks like they're dead set on not letting us go." Ayl remarked with a joking tone.
Everyone on deck had by now clearly identified the types of ships that were fanning out into an encirclement formation.
"They're dreaming!" Josk said curtly, and Shward, Ayl, and the others nodded in firm agreement.
Captain Wilson asked: "My lord, what do we do? Should we make a wide turn to avoid them and circle around from the outside? We still have the distance and time..."
Lorist shook his head: "No good. If the fleet we broke through from is still in pursuit behind us, a wide turn to open up distance from this fleet ahead would mean circling back — and we'd be walking straight into a trap. Two fleets closing in on us would be a disaster. We'll charge straight through like before. Josk, do you still have strength left?"
Josk kept his face taut and said nothing, merely raising the green longbow in his hand — a silent assurance that he was fine and everything could be left to him. As long as he held his longbow, nothing could stand in their way.
Josk was already in position at the bow, waiting for the moment the two sides drew close. It wasn't long before the distance had shrunk to around a hundred meters when the lookout cried out in alarm from the mast: "Watch out! They've strung iron chains between the ships! We can't break through..."
Lorist stumbled and nearly crashed into the deck railing. What the hell — those eyes, and he'd only just noticed the iron chains strung between the enemy ships? This was a death sentence! The Flying Fish was already in mid-charge and there was no way to evade. Even if Josk performed a miracle and shot through the masts of two enemy ships, the Flying Fish still wouldn't make it — the iron chains between those ships would snag her, and once the enemy fleet closed its encirclement, the Flying Fish would be finished with no way out.
This time, when I get back, I'm definitely going to make a telescope — even a single-tube one would do. With Technician Mancini on hand, making glass is no longer a problem. Transparent oil glass can be ground into convex and concave lenses, and connecting them with a copper tube would give me a single-tube telescope.
Lorist cursed silently to himself. Not having a telescope was a tremendous disadvantage at sea. Even with a sharp-eyed lookout, at four or five hundred meters they could only spot a ship — nothing more than a tiny black dot, impossible to tell friend from foe. It wasn't until around two hundred meters that they could make out the enemy's flags and markings, which left far too little time to react. Just like now — the iron chains strung between the enemy ships had only just been spotted by the lookout, and the distance was already down to a hundred and eighty meters at most.
"What do we do, my lord?" Captain Wilson asked urgently. No one had anticipated this situation.
"We're going to fight our way through," Lorist said, his eyes radiating a terrifying killing intent. "Hug the right side of that ship and charge past! If they want to die, I'll oblige. I'm heading to the bow. Erl, order the ballistas to fire at close range — target the men, not the ship. Suppress their ranged attacks. Shuard, get back to the cabin and lock the door behind you. Professor Bob and Mr. Mancini's family are in your care. Wilson, order all sailors to prepare for close-quarters combat. If we can't break through, then we'll carve our way out!"
The two enemy ships were now only fifty meters away. Perhaps they wanted to capture the Morning Star's Flying Fish intact, as they hadn't resorted to fireball projectiles — only longbows and crossbow bolts aimed at the deck crew. These ranged attacks largely missed their mark, and the few that found their aim were easily deflected by Lorist and the others.
It was then that Lorist truly understood what Erl had meant about ship-mounted ballistas being practically useless. He stood beside one, watching as it fired five or six consecutive bolts. With the exception of one lucky shot that skewered two poor souls on the enemy deck like a kebab, the remaining five bolts flew either too high or too low — the high ones vanishing into the air, the low ones thudding into the enemy's hull planks.
Such dismal accuracy at fifty to sixty meters made Lorist shake his head with a bitter smile. Not everyone possessed Josk's extraordinary archery talent. Ships tossed and heaved on the open sea, and even if you took careful aim, a single swell could send the bolt flying who-knows-where. Unless there were enough ballistas to create overlapping fields of fire, two or three on one side simply couldn't pose any real threat.
The sailors aboard the two enemy ships clearly shared this assessment. Despite losing two men, their morale hadn't dipped in the slightest — they waved their weapons and roared, apparently planning to leap aboard for a boarding action the moment the ships drew alongside.
"Jo, you take the ship on the left. I'll handle the one on the right," Lorist said, turning to give Captain Wilson a signal from the bridge.
Josk nodded.
.
For the helmsman of the ship on the right, having the Dawn's Flying Fish's blade-sharp bow slam into the middle of his vessel would clearly not end well—it might even snap the ship clean in half. The Dawn's Flying Fish was already caught in their net, and he had no intention of letting his ship become a burial sacrifice for the Flying Fish's death throes before the capture was complete. That would bring him terrible luck and ruin his future prospects in the trading company.
A string of shouts rang out from the deck of the ship on the right—turn the helm, drop the sails, change course. The sailors aboard that vessel scrambled into action in an instant, too busy now to bother firing arrows in intimidation. The ship's speed dropped sharply as its bow swung slowly around, gradually aligning with the bow of the Dawn's Flying Fish, so that when the two ships met they would merely graze each other's hulls rather than collide head-on.
"Turn the sails!" Captain Wilson bellowed. Several sailors on deck hauled on the rigging, swinging the lateen sails around to face forward.
The Dawn's Flying Fish had already been sailing against the wind, and now with the sails turned head-on, the ship was practically dragged to a halt, its speed dropping dramatically—like a sprinting strongman suddenly transformed into a hobbling old woman. This threw both enemy ships completely off guard. A massive volley of crossbow bolts fired by the ship on the left from thirty or forty meters away splashed harmlessly into the sea ahead.
Josk's green longbow let loose another thunderous barrage, and screams erupted from the ship on the left. With the left side taken care of, Lorist kept his eyes locked on the ship on the right as it steadily closed the distance—ten meters, nine, eight, seven... In that moment, Lorist truly felt that the wind-battered Dawn's Flying Fish was crawling like a turtle. Far too slow.
A medium-sized fast two-mast sailing merchant vessel: thirty-five meters long, narrow at the bow and wide at the stern, with the bow measuring one meter across and fitted with a long ram. From midship to stern the beam was seven meters. Two masts bore four square sails—smaller above and larger below—plus four triangular lateen sails. With a favorable wind it could reach a top speed of ten knots. A full crew numbered eighty-eight, with a minimum complement of thirty-four. Draft of two-point-seven meters, three-point-five meters above the waterline, double-layered cargo holds below deck, and a maximum load capacity of forty-eight thousand pounds. It had always been hailed as Galentea's finest medium-sized seagoing vessel—the ideal choice for long-distance ocean voyages.
In truth, though the Dawn's Flying Fish was running full sail against the wind, it rode the residual momentum from its earlier charge and the opposing ship's approach speed well enough. Just as the specifications of medium-sized fast two-mast sailing merchant vessels that Lorist had read about in the past flickered through his mind, the two ships were already within arm's reach—no more than three or four meters apart.
With a mighty shout, Lorist leaped into the air and launched himself toward the enemy ship. While he was still mid-flight, the sailors aboard the opposing vessel had already reacted—flying axes and throwing spears hurtled straight at him.
His longsword whirled, deflecting two successive waves of thrown weapons. Lorist landed on the deck in an undignified scramble. His left foot caught on something, and a powerful force surged into him—something he never saw coming. He was sent toppling backward, crashing face-first onto the deck. The sailors swarmed toward him with swords and blades drawn...
Sword light erupted in a violent burst. Blood sprayed like rain, severed limbs and arms flew in every direction, and the twenty-odd sailors and crewmen were practically dismembered before they could even let out a scream.
Lorist clutched his nose and staggered to his feet. That fall had been a brutal one—his nose had smashed flat against the deck and started bleeding. And to add insult to injury, someone had seized the opportunity to attack while he was down, hoping to overwhelm him with sheer numbers before he could recover.
The truth was that when Lorist had landed, his left foot had come down right in the middle of a coiled length of rope, and the other end of that rope was gripped tight in a sailor's hand. Seeing his chance, the sailor yanked hard. With his footing completely compromised, Lorist was pulled off his feet and sent sprawling. Had he not been exceptionally skilled, that tumble alone could have finished him off.
Wilson had been right—the most important thing in a boarding action at sea was watching your footing. This wasn't land; you couldn't place your feet too lightly or too heavily, and you had to stay constantly aware of all the cluttered debris on the deck. In the tight confines of close combat, with bodies packed together in a chaotic melee, even silver- or gold-ranked swordsmen could be ambushed and brought down by a black iron-ranked fighter...
With a resonant *clang*, the Dawn's Flying Fish scraped along the hull of Lorist's ship and was brought short by the massive iron chain. Both vessels lurched violently, then locked together hull to hull. Anyone who hadn't been braced went tumbling across the deck in a heap...
Lorist planted his feet in a wide horse stance, rooting himself firmly on the deck, and leveled his longsword toward the quarterdeck. "Lay down your arms and surrender. Go to the lower hold, and I'll spare your lives..."
In the naval traditions of Galentea, the most critical objective was seizing the deck. Once the deck fell to the enemy, the fight was already over. Everything that mattered was up top—the quarterdeck, the helm, the masts... Those who surrendered and went below to the lower hold were effectively handing their lives over to the victors. Lock the two deck-level hatches fore and aft, and the people below could only pray for mercy. Otherwise, a single torch would turn them into roasted pigs.
A burly, full-bearded man on the quarterdeck grabbed the railing and hauled himself upright. He drew his sword, and a brilliant white blade gleam blazed along its edge. "You've got a lot of nerve—everyone, attack together!"
This time the flying axes, thrown spears, and hidden projectiles all came at once—even a lasso, aimed at snaring Lorist. Since they were determined to die, he would oblige. Lorist cut a path from the bow to the stern, drenched head to toe in blood, like a slaughter-demon risen from a sea of crimson. The full-bearded man on the quarterdeck screamed in despair, "Demon! A demon!" before Lorist took his head with a single stroke.
Blood and corpses littered the entire deck. Lorist hadn't kept count of how many he'd killed—there simply wasn't a single living figure left moving on this ship. He walked toward the port side, where two thick wooden posts stood. The massive iron chain that had snared the Dawn's Flying Fish was tied fast around them.
The two ships were still pressed together. Even with the two massive iron-chained wooden posts snapped, the vessels hadn't drifted apart.
Lorist was about to leap back to the Dawn's Flying Fish when the hull shuddered violently. His foot slipped on a patch of blood, and he dropped to one knee on the deck before he could catch himself. Screams rang in his ears. He looked up, and his eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.
The medium-sized, twin-masted fast-sailing merchant vessel to his left—the one Josk had been pinning down with his divine archery—and a large three-masted schooner merchant ship some forty or fifty meters away had crept up at some point, pushing the twin-masted vessel so its hull slammed into the Dawn's Flying Fish. At the same moment, countless heads popped up over the schooner's gunwale, raining volley after volley of feathered arrows downward from their commanding height. Over a dozen sailors on the Dawn's Flying Fish's deck went down in an instant. The worst fate befell the lookout perched on the mast, who was turned into a human pincushion on the spot…
Immediately after, several dozen people leapt from the large three-masted schooner, landing on the medium-sized twin-masted vessel, and charged straight for the Dawn's Flying Fish.
Josk's longbow sang again and again, green-shafted arrows flashing out like bolts of lightning. The first two men fell, but every arrow after that was effortlessly deflected by an old man in brown robes who surged forward, his sword sweeping in wide arcs.
"A Great Swordmaster?" Lorist's gaze sharpened. He hadn't expected the Chikde Commerce Guild's interception fleet to be guarded by a Great Swordmaster. Without hesitation, he sprang up and landed beside Josk. "Handle the ones behind. Leave the old man to me."
He vaulted onto the medium-sized twin-masted vessel to the left once more, planting himself squarely in front of the brown-robed elder.
"Will you not surrender yet—" The old man held his sword before him in a commanding stance, radiating an overwhelming, kingly aura as he bellowed.
"Screw you—go die!" Lorist had no patience for the man's bluster. Sword in hand, he charged forward at full speed.
Clang, clang, clang—the ring of steel erupted as the brown-robed elder, having lost the initiative, was forced backward wave after wave by Lorist's relentless assault, parrying left and right, dodging and blocking in a desperate scramble…
"Someone help me—" The brown-robed elder finally crumbled, casting aside his dignity as a Great Swordmaster and crying for aid.
Two oblivious crew members rushed up, positioning themselves directly in the path of Lorist's flashing sword.
A few sounds of *swish* and *clang* later, both sailors were diagonally cleaved from left shoulder to right waist, bisected into four pieces. Even the longsword and heavy axe in their hands were sliced in two by Lorist's single, clean stroke.
However, the brown-robed elder had gained a precious opening. He whirled around and fled.
"Damn it—on the open sea, where do you think you can run?" Lorist had killed himself into a frenzy. Since the Chikde Chamber of Commerce had spent such an enormous cost to intercept and capture him, losing one of their Great Swordmasters would make their hearts bleed even more. He was determined to kill the brown-robed elder no matter what, and Lorist gave furious chase.
Everyone who stood in his way was cut down by Lorist's sword, one after another, as easily as mowing down vegetables. The brown-robed elder scrambled up the side of the large three-masted topsail merchant ship. Lorist, agile as a flying ape, scaled the vessel in moments. What greeted him was an endless forest of blades and spears, a unified battle cry erupting as countless figures leapt toward him.
In that instant, Lorist suddenly felt his vision turn blood-red. He seemed to have entered a profoundly mysterious and indescribable world. Everything aboard the entire large three-masted topsail merchant ship appeared within his perception. Any movement, no matter how slight, was sensed with perfect clarity in his mind.
The red figures lunging at him became grotesquely slow and laughable. The weapons flying toward him seemed to move in slow motion. He flowed effortlessly between the figures, his sword gently—yet lethally—brushing against their throats, piercing their chests. One by one, the red silhouettes collapsed onto the deck…
He didn't know how much time passed. The red figures on the deck had grown sparse. They no longer charged but instead scattered and fled, desperately trying to avoid him. Yet not one of them escaped his slaughter, until only the brown-robed elder remained.
But this elder was trembling, his soul seemingly gone, staring at Lorist while mumbling something about a "Sword Saint" and a "domain." Did he think invoking the name of a Sword Saint would frighten him? Lorist's sword swept across. The brown-robed elder's head flew into the air. Lorist reached out, grabbed the long hair on the severed head, and held it high aloft. He threw his head back and roared with wild, manic laughter, a sound filled with a killing aura and a bone-deep cold of bloodshed that carried far across the sea…
"Lord! Lord! Lord! Wake up..."
The frenzied laughter of Lorist was interrupted by an urgent shouting. He slowly came back to his senses, the blood-red tint gradually fading from his eyes, which returned to their usual deep black.
Uh, this seems to be my handiwork? The deck of the large three-masted merchant ship was piled high with corpses, flowing with rivers of blood...
"Why are you shouting at me from so far away?"
El had been standing on the deck of the medium-sized two-masted fast merchant ship, shouting at Lorist. Hearing Lorist's question, El shuddered: "My lord, could I dare to go up? Just look for yourself—in less than half an hour, you went berserk and slaughtered everyone on the ship, at least three hundred people..."
"Oh? I really did that?" Lorist looked at the severed head in his hand. Damn, why am I holding this thing? He tossed it aside with a flick of his wrist.
"My lord, the ships have separated. Everyone is waiting for you to come aboard!" El shouted.
"Alright, I'm coming right now..." Lorist was about to move when suddenly the world spun around him, his body completely drained of strength, his vision went dark, and he collapsed unconscious onto the deck...
…(To be continued.)