Chapter 28: The Unexpected (Part Two)

Pompey did not need him to understand; the crucial point was that after annihilating the ice serpent conjured from the Celeste through wishcraft, that cursed ship had vanished. Yet, while people may flee, their home cannot escape—the last time, the ship had entered Victoria Harbor. The people there bore the responsibility of surrendering either the ship or Princess Helen.

He saw the human fleet retreating swiftly, leaving behind several vessels to hinder the sea bats, among them a carrack-class warship.

Pompey remained standing atop the sea bat, facing the giant ballista bolts of humanity. Other sea folk warriors needed to submerge themselves beneath the waters, but he felt no fear; he was their commander, and among the Fishmen, the most respected were the warriors.

The submerged Fishmen surfaced en masse, engaging the human soldiers aboard the coke ships in brutal close combat. Blood splashed and mingled, staining both adversary and sea. The somewhat larger caravels were struck by the sea bats, their crews wielding spears and arrows to strike at the serpentine necks. Yet the tough hide, which even the giant bolts could not pierce, rendered the ordinary arrows no more effective than the prick of a needle upon a human.

The only real challenge was the carrack-class warship. Carracks possessed far greater displacement than coke ships, and these warships were even more immense. The Plantagenets had spared no expense for their rights at sea—the Ark alone displaced five hundred tons, with the other ten carracks each at least four hundred tons.

Clearly, the ship was defended by wizards and a large contingent of soldiers. The sea bats extended their necks to deliver Fishmen onto the enemy deck, but they were quickly slain by concentrated attacks until seven or eight sea bats surrounded the warship from all directions, providing simultaneous reinforcement, which improved the situation. Even then, the fireballs, ice arrows, and lightning unleashed by the wizards threatened the serpentine necks and hindered the deployment of Fishmen warriors.

The humans, knowing their fate, fought with desperate resistance, plunging the battle into a stalemate. Such deadlock could not last long—Fishmen’s prowess and morale would ensure eventual victory. Yet, this allowed the human fleet to achieve its aim: using a small force to delay the enemy, covering the main fleet’s orderly withdrawal. Unless Pompey destroyed the carrack and pursued directly, he would be exposed to rear attacks from ballistae.

Of course, Pompey had alternative means to deal with this fiercely resisting warship—such as deploying a collective charge of swordfish from beneath, sinking the ship outright. It was immobilized, surrounded by sea bats, a perfect target.

But Pompey hesitated to use such a method. Though effective, the time it required displeased him.

Thus, he chose the most direct approach. Raising his massive anchor, he shouted an order for the two sea bats before him to withdraw, then drew a deep breath. The anchor spun twice above his head and whistled through the air.

With a thunderous crash, the enormous anchor smashed deep into the ship’s hull. In fact, the human fleet had begun to cover their wooden hulls with thin iron plates, bolstering their defenses—a feat coke ships could not manage, but possible with the increased displacement of the carracks. The Plantagenet treasurer had even proposed constructing ships from steel—a notion once impossible, as the iron industry could not forge steel of the size and quality required for navigation. Recent advancements in domestic ironworking had brought progress; while still unattainable now, the day might come within a few years.

For the time being, it remained out of reach. From the perspective of the soldiers aboard the carrack, even if the ship were forged of steel, it would still likely be pierced by such a mighty anchor.

The anchor plunged through the wooden wall, embedding itself deep within the hull. Then, as Pompey pulled and the sea bat beneath him moved, it hooked the hapless carrack much like a fisherman reeling in his catch. The anchor tore free, returning to Pompey’s grasp, splintering a vast section of planking, and leaving a gaping hole on one side of the warship.

This breach would not sink the ship, and since it was above the waterline, it posed no immediate threat.

But as Pompey, the Grand Commander, repeated the process, the warship quickly began to falter. The fourth anchor left a hole half-submerged. Still, Pompey showed no mercy; by the time he hurled the eighth anchor, the warship’s side facing him was a scene of utter devastation. The terrifying spectacle of the ship being dismantled piece by piece shattered the morale of its defenders, and the Fishmen surged aboard for a ruthless slaughter.

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The citizens of Victoria heard the thunder of cannon—one salvo after another. These immense, cumbersome machines provoked curiosity and fear alike among the townsfolk. The wizards regarded them with contempt and caution. To their minds, such devices could never replace them; they were far too inconvenient, firing only in a single direction and difficult to maneuver. Rumor had it that in Landia, someone had invented a device called a "gun carriage" to adjust the angle of these big guns, allowing them to fire in different directions, but until they saw it with their own eyes, it remained mere hearsay.

The fortress was surrounded by sea on three sides, equipped with thirty-six bronze cannons and forty-eight smaller iron guns. The range and power of the iron guns did not match the bronze ones, but when twelve bronze cannons and sixteen small guns fired together, the effect was overwhelming.

Heavy, massive cannonballs swept across the sea and plunged into the water. Unlike the previous giant ballista bolts—which struck at a single point, even the largest capable of piercing Fishmen but only attacking in a line—cannonballs delivered area attacks. Each shell’s destructive power surpassed that of a giant bolt, and propelled by gunpowder, they struck harder than a bolt launched by winch, though not quite matching the force of Pompey’s anchor. Yet with twelve bronze cannons firing at once, the barrage was formidable. Occasionally, some cannonballs exploded on contact—these were hollow, and though the explosive force was not severe, they scattered chain shot and iron spikes. These posed little danger to a commander like Pompey, and were not particularly effective against sea bats, but cast like a net, they threatened the low-ranking Fishmen lurking just beneath the surface.

Moreover, the Ark Fleet, under Vice Admiral Oliver’s command, reformed their lines and mounted a stout defense, driving back the Fishmen’s first two assaults.

The Fishmen claimed dominion over the sea—and perhaps rightfully so—but one must not forget, this was a human port.

With the war at this stage, humanity had finally caught its breath after the surprise attack, and, having steadied their position, the city’s magistrate and a distinguished guest demanded that Vice Admiral Oliver immediately find out why the Fishmen had launched such a massive assault on Victoria Harbor.