"In every war throughout history, siege warfare has always been the most perilous undertaking—and so it has been for Godma. Yet, novel tactics often yield unexpected results—swift victories." —Salman, historian, The Annals of Godma, Volume II, Chapter 5: The War Begins

  Wally Laren Ctiton leaned against the railing, watching the sunrise with undisguised boredom. Behind him, severed tentacles of the Colossal Octopus lay sprawled across the deck, twitching rhythmically with each rolling wave.

  "Your Highness," Henris Weber Ian approached the prince, "shall I have the beast's remains disposed of?"

  "Let it stay," Prince Wally said, his face blank.

  More than twenty days had passed since their departure, and never had they imagined the losses would be so devastating, so concentrated. They had encountered pirate fleets four times in total, suffering casualties on each occasion, but none as catastrophic as the previous day. (Forty-seven warships lost in a single day, the prince reflected. Of those, twenty-two were colossal galleys of the 'Sea Serpent' class or above. Damn it all.)

  That morning, thick fog enshrouded them, visibility reduced to no more than two thousand feet. From the moment the enemy fleet entered Henris's field of vision, the two armadas were already perilously close—barely enough space for evasive maneuvers. Several merfolk, who had surfaced out of curiosity to observe the great fleet, promptly vanished beneath the waves. "Prepare for battle." That was the order Wally Laren Ctiton issued—terse and unequivocal. Disaster followed swiftly.

  "The nearest vessel is a longship, likely an escort." Wally snatched the monocular. "The Seagull is our closest ship. Should I order her captain to engage?"

  "I can't see their flag," the prince said, squinting and leaning over the railing. "I want to identify who dares approach a Shahani fleet of nearly one hundred and twelve... no, now merely eighty-some warships."

  "Perhaps just pirates who blundered into us through the fog..."

  "It's Godma."

  The old man blanched. "Godma's regular navy?!"

  "Don't be so alarmed, Henris." The prince returned the monocular. "Merely vessels from Tangabul—Godma's pirates." He turned and descended from the quarterdeck. "We shall engage them directly."

  "I'll dispatch orders to the Seagull's captain to lead the attack..."

  "No, instruct him to reduce speed, and have the Narwhal come hard to starboard."

  "You mean... our flagship will spearhead the assault?!"

  "Precisely." Wally Laren Ctiton lifted his gaze. "I'm going to crush them all."

  Thus, numerous witnesses beheld how that unfortunate Tangabul longship vanished after her sailors, faces frozen in disbelief, leapt desperately into the sea. The Narwhal's ram, crafted from spiral narwhal bone, mercilessly cleaved the vessel—barely a fifth her size—cleanly in two. "Their flagship is now visible." They were recklessly cutting into the heart of the pirate flotilla. "Their flagship is considerably smaller than ours, perhaps only of the 'Sea King' class." Henris Weber Ian gestured to indicate scale. "Ram it?"

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  "As we did the longship?"

  "It wouldn't be so straightforward. The Narwhal might sustain damage."

  "Then we board them." Prince Wally patted the gunwale. "I'll not have my flagship damaged, nor will I allow our sport to conclude prematurely."

  Arrows started flying between the ships. The pirates were visibly thrown into disarray, having never anticipated the Shahani navy would attack with such audacity. The pirate escorts descended into chaos; only a handful dared return fire, while the remainder dove overboard in panic. The warships following Wally's lead pressed forward in a wedge formation, demonstrating their might without mercy: larger vessels with rams crushed smaller craft, while ships of comparable size engaged in fierce boarding actions.

  "I believe I can see their commander," Prince Wally disregarded the arrows whistling overhead. "He doesn't bear the appearance of a pirate." A diminutive man wearing a hat stood at the forecastle of the pirate warship, hands clasped behind his back, issuing orders to his subordinates. "To maintain such composure before a naval force of this magnitude—he's no common pirate captain... No, he cannot be a mere corsair." Wally's lips curled into a knowing smile. "This must be a charade orchestrated by the Godma navy."

  "Release the ships from formation. Let those behind us engage at will," he called to Henris. "A significant portion of them are Godma naval forces, or at minimum, their command structure is."

  "Then we should cease hostilities immediately." The old man gripped the railing. "This constitutes an act of war. We shouldn't confront Godma without Cynthia's military support."

  "Correct," he replied, "but I am declaring war solely upon pirates—and the banners they sail under."

  "Hard to port!" At Henris Weber Ian's command, the helmsman at the stern heaved against the tiller with all his strength. The air filled with fog and frantic shouts, the whistle of arrows, the clash of steel, and the splash of men tumbling into the sea. Skirmishes erupted throughout the engagement zone; pirate warships that had been positioned behind the longships now surged forward, entangling themselves with Shahani's imposing galleys—evidently, the enemy had resolved not to retreat.

  "Strike the mainsail, all oarsmen to stations." Wally Laren Ctiton observed the enemy warship maneuvering to present its broadside, and a flicker of smug satisfaction crossed his features. "Ballistae at the ready," he instructed the old man. "I'm eager to witness the effectiveness of our latest weaponry."

  The pirate commander shouted in the Godma tongue, prompting his ship's archers to loose their arrows. "I strongly advise you to withdraw from the railing, Your Highness," Henris cautioned. "Stray arrows recognize no royal blood."

  The prince ignored the counsel, though his deeply furrowed brow and frequent swallowing suggested his composure was largely affected. Shahani archers commenced their counterattack, loosing both flaming and conventional arrows. Among them, warriors clad in dark crimson garments with red feathers adorning their hair commanded particular attention. These were the archers of Red Swan Isle—acknowledged universally as among the world's finest bowmen, whose services Wally had secured at the cost of nearly a month's worth of salvaged seabed treasures.

  Red Swan Isle archers wielded only shortbows, more compact and maneuverable than standard designs, crafted from composite materials that imparted exceptional velocity to their projectiles. Legend held that the isle was home to crimson swans which, at sunset, would rise in magnificent flocks from the central lake; the islanders had perfected their archery by hunting these birds during such spectacular displays.

  "Fire the ballistae."

  The Narwhal's hull accommodated five tiers of oarsmen—two above and three below—laboring in disciplined coordination. Positioned at regular intervals between the upper and lower banks, ten formidable ballistae stood primed for naval combat. The protective panels were methodically withdrawn, revealing steel-tipped quarrels measuring three meters in length. These massive bolts were tethered by ropes to winching mechanisms, enabling them, once embedded in enemy vessels, to either cripple the target's maneuverability or be retrieved after impact.

  The pirate commander's throat visibly constricted at the sight of these formidable weapons, his eyes betraying momentary fear and confusion. Yet he was afforded little opportunity for astonishment. In the next instant, he felt his vessel convulse violently as the acoustic signature of splintering timber evolved from a sharp crack to a deep, resonant thud.