9:33, the oceans ~28km west of Menda Point

Large formations of puffy clouds stretch across the sky; their uneven distribution allows for gaps for the mid-morning sun to shine its rays through in what could only be described as a show of bright heavenly grace shining through the darkness. But the shadows cast by these cloud formations were not the only gloom that persists, nor were they the ones that actually made a difference.

Underneath the intermittent cloud cover sailed the warships of Task Force Selma, a Royal Altaran Navy battle formation headed east and destined for the Parpaldian-held islands of Menda Point. Lookouts aboard every ship took refuge in the shade offered by the clouds as if to find solace and a sense of camaraderie in their gloominess.

"Spot the Parpaldian ogres yet?!"

The cry of an officer rang across the upper deck of the flagship Andras Kaymakk, prompting lookouts on the deck to respond.

"Negative, sir!"

The officer, himself wearing a darkened expression on his face, dejectedly ran back to the bridge. There, he found Vice Admiral Iskann and his staff having a heated discussion. He was not the least bit curious as to what they were talking about, and he was not going to find out soon; as soon as he appeared on the bridge, the vice admiral and his staff set aside their discussion and turned to face him.

"Vice admiral, sir! The enemy squadron is still nowhere to be found!"

He reported to the vice admiral, who promptly dismissed him with a flick of the wrist.

Iskann turned to face his staff, who were either wearing expressions of worry or dejection—the different stages of grief in action, he thought to himself.

There was no blaming them, for he himself wore an uncertain look over his eyes. It had been more than 20 minutes since the enemy wyvern squadron that was shadowing them from out of anti-air range disappeared out of view; since then, they've been steadily making their way to Menda Point without incident. But despite the apparent absence of enemy forces and their mission proceeding as planned, they were not without their anxiety. Something just didn't feel right.

Meanwhile, his staff officers resumed their discussion.

"The Parpaldians should already know that we're here and, if they're as smart as we give them credit for, know that we are making our way to Menda Point."

"Exactly, which is why we should still be under the assumption that they've readied for us a response! That was part of our plan from the start, anyway!"

"But squadron Daigu nor the wyvern corps informed us about any response force; the only obstacles we have in our way are the half-destroyed ships of the Parpaldian squadron we engaged yesterday and the garrison at Kaskiy. On top of that, the two enemy squadrons we've confirmed are nowhere to be seen—hell, the one shadowing us has left for good!"

Iskann's temper was about to shoot through the roof, but he found it in himself to keep it contained and add to the discussion.

"We cannot discard the possibility the Parpaldians have prepared for our arrival. We are just too big of a target to ignore."

The atmosphere on the bridge—and the entire fleet, for that matter—hardly improved one bit. They were all under the idea that this mission was a horrible one from the start, and more of the sailors and officers were convinced of that notion after their encounters with Parpaldian patrols. They harbored dejection and fury for their monarch's absolute word in their fate, which was likely to be certain at this point.

The sloshing of waves, the low rumble of the engines, and the cries of sea birds. Everyone held a wish deep in their hearts that this scene was instead one of them entering their homeports. For a moment, these sensory triggers and the complete lack of action did give off that impression, but of course, it was simply too good to be true.

"Contact! Multiple unknown silhouettes spotted on the horizon at bearing 048!"

The piercing shriek of a lookout pierced the silent atmosphere like a cannon shot echoing across the deck. Hearing of this, other lookouts, captains, officers, and even the vice admiral and his staff took to the deck with their binoculars to scan the horizon. The prospect of several silhouettes of unknown origin suddenly appearing caused the dormant tension to suddenly blow out of proportion. Iskann himself could hardly keep the binoculars steady due to his hands quivering like there was no tomorrow. But he, like many others, managed to spot the silhouettes on the horizon.

There were probably about three or five of them, but the haze on the horizon made it difficult to say with certainty what they were. In time, however, their shape, features, and even colorations began to pierce through the real 'fog of war.'

"Enemy colors confirmed! They're Parpaldian warships!"

A lookout screamed, his words sinking deep into the hearts of all who heard. This was it. The Parpaldian response—a fleet of their own to face against theirs. They were all skeptical at first: perhaps it was a rapid response force haphazardly put together? Perhaps they don't even have the firepower to challenge them? Perhaps it was also a small force, meaning they could easily overwhelm them with their sheer numbers? Questions like these wouldn't stop circling their minds, but the more they observed the enemy ships, the more they wished they didn't have to answer such questions.

"At least 19 different warships have been confirmed! More are clearing the horizon!"

"E-Enemy capital ships sighted! A-A-All five major enemy battleships are confirmed!"

"Enemy fleet sailing in battle line formation toward bearing 184 at 16, maybe 17 knots! They're going to sail right in front of us!"

Lookouts and officers shouted. Their words cut deeper and deeper into the hearts of Iskann and his staff like they were daggers. Their faces showed a mixture of pained agony and a mourning lamentation for all the men they'd brought with them. Much to their chagrin, the Parpaldians, as it turns out, did in fact prepare for them, but they've come out in a far better position. It was clear that they'd brought with them an equally massive fleet to challenge their gigantic task force, but the most teeth-grinding aspect was that they'd brought to bear all five of their major capital ships. While slightly inferior in qualitative aspects, the Parpaldian battleships were still a great force multiplier—and they've brought all five of them against their two. This was essentially a 1:2 force ratio; from the looks of it, they've also brought most of their secondary capital ships to the fore, which also outnumber their secondary capital ships by a margin.

In a pitched engagement with both sides starting on equal footing, they might have been able to find a way to even the odds, but even there, the Parpaldians managed to one-up them. Based on their heading, speed, and battle line formation, the Parpaldians were sailing on a course perpendicular to theirs and one which would eventually have their ships deployed in front of their line. In other words, they were about to cross their T. With the two most powerful and important warships of their task force at the very forefront of their line, enfilade fire from the powerful and more numerous Parpaldian battleships could easily put either out of commission. They have severely underestimated the Parpaldian response, and they learned far too late to change the outcome.

Iskann grit his teeth and clenched his fists. No hubris like the one he has displayed could be so determinant and decisive of an outcome—especially one that was likely to lead to the kingdom's fall and destruction. His thoughts went to the thousands of men he had brought with him, their families and friends, and the people of Altaras. If only he could apologize to each and every single soul he had condemned for his decisions.

"Vice admiral! They're about to cross our T! What are our orders?!"

The screams of his staff officers reached his ears before reaching his heart. The desperation in their voice and their placing of hopes in him had flipped a switch deep in his consciousness. "This is no time to lament what could have been and what will be," the voice of a long-dead superior cried out from his memories. He was right. As long as they were not in the water and the masts of their ships were not underneath the waves, their fates were not set in stone. Awash with determination, Vice Admiral Iskann snapped out of his sorry state and immediately set out to make changes to their plans.

"Alright! Change of plans! We're fighting those devils!"

He grabbed a pair of binoculars, went to the port side bridge wing, and examined the enemy battleships. Through the slightly muddied magnification lenses, he ascertained that the enemy's guns were yet to be trained on them. With this in mind, he turned to face his staff officers with a new plan.

"Our main guns outrange theirs; we shall use this fact to our advantage and engage the enemy first!"

He turned to the communications officers and signalmen, who were ready to hear his orders.

"Fleet, condition red: prepare for anti-surface combat! The Rahmi and Andras are to target the devils' flagship with our forward main batteries; prepare to fire simultaneously!"

His orders were swiftly disseminated to the entire task force, at which point every captain had begun issuing orders for general stations; Captain Bos, captain of the Andras Kaymakk battleship, was no slouch either.

"All hands to action stations! Clear Turret Koff for action and target the enemy flagship!"

He shouted, with "Turret Koff" referring to the forward main battery.

Whistles blew, alarms were blaring, and bells rang like there was no tomorrow. Sailors ran up, down, and across the deck to their stations as a heightened feeling of nervousness gripped the entire task force. Above deck, the Altaran battle standard was flown atop the mast of every ship, setting in stone their commitment to a battle. Meanwhile, gunnery officers aboard both the Andras Kaymakk and Rahmi Kaymakk battleships manned the optical rangefinders on their respective bridges, training them at the enemy battleship that was sailing at the forefront of the enemy battle line.

"Target bearing: 050; range: 1000 enlac; speed: 17 knots!"

Lookouts atop the masts corroborated the data with minor corrections, allowing the chief gunnery officers to calculate a firing solution. Taking into account the heading and speed of their ships, they soon produced the firing solution, which they would then promptly communicate to main batteries' gunnery crews below deck by way of speaking tubes. The gunners then repeated it shortly after in acknowledgment.

Other crew members got to work on the mechanisms that move the turret's azimuth and the guns' elevation. Topside, their efforts translated to the gun mount swinging steadily to port, brandishing their massive dual 343mm main guns. Back below the deck, crews loaded the heavy regular high-explosive munitions and their propellant onto the breech before shutting its lock. Not long after the orders were given, the forward main batteries of the Rahmi Kaymakk and Andras Kaymakk were now pointed directly at the enemy battleship.

The Andras's chief gunnery officer turned to Captain Bos with an apprehensive yet determined look.

"Turret Koff is clear for action, cap'n!"

Almost immediately after the confirmation, the officer manning the manacomm on the bridge let go of the talk button and turned to Vice Admiral Iskann.

"The Rahmi reports that their guns are clear for action!"

All attention on the bridge—and perhaps from the entire fleet as well—fell on the short-statured vice admiral. He had a hint of forlornness in his eyes, but further observation was put off when he blinked; the moment after, he opened his eyes and barked at the top of his lungs.

"FIRE!"

His orders promptly made their way down the chain of command, reaching the gunnery crews below deck in record time. The deck had been evacuated, and the rest of the crew readied themselves with plugged ears and squinted eyes. It was time.

Seconds after the orders were issued, two bright flashes shone several milliseconds apart from the forward sections of the two lead ships of the Altaran battle line. Moments later, the shock wave of the blasts echoed throughout the vicinity as fireballs erupted from the bores of the main guns of the Andras Kaymakk and Rahmi Kaymakk.

B-Boom!

Their deafening booms made thunderclaps across the battlefield, signaling the beginning of a major naval engagement between Altaras and Parpaldia.

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・・・

Several minutes earlier, atop the bridge of the Parpaldian flagship Carles Dídac Gallaire, Vice Admiral Pommerau and his staff officers observed the Altaran naval task force, which was rapidly closing in ever since they appeared on the horizon. Like their enemies, they, too, were quivering in tense agitation of the incoming fight, but there was little doubt among the commanders that everything was proceeding according to plan. Most of the Altaran warships and auxiliaries in previous reports were accounted for and were about to enter their enfilading fire, just as they had anticipated.

"Hmph. Let this battle be forever remembered as a symbol of the Altaran king's folly!"

One of Pommerau's staff officers declared, unable to keep his haughtiness to himself. The others chuckled at this, seemingly in agreement, but there were some who laughed simply because they found his arrogance quite corny.

"And may your statement be forever remembered in laughter, hahaha!"

"I can't find reason in declaring this battle for victory; as much as we are starting this battle with an advantage, the competition is still rather neck-and-neck, no?"

Everything proceeding as planned did give way to a sense of complacency among the officers, but it was not beyond them to keep in mind that the Altarans still possessed the advantage in terms of raw firepower. This also meant that they knew that the main guns on the Altaran (former Muish) battleships, which happened to be leading their battle line, possessed greater range than their own, hence their crowding of the Carles's bridge wing trying to watch the action on the enemy ships' decks. But their bickering and jestering meant that they weren't paying attention; it took the scream of a lookout to catch their attention.

"Enemy battleships are turning their guns this way!"

Laughter and snide remarks instantly gave way to silence as the officers on the bridge scrambled to point their binoculars at the enemy battleships. Through the stained optics, they could make out the familiar features of the Rahmi Kaymakk and the Andras Kaymakk, but most importantly, they could see the forward gun turrets on both capital ships turning to point their guns toward them. The Parpaldian naval officers, having never fought in a gunnery battle using battleships before, almost cowered at the sight of the massive 343mm bores staring at them with unfeeling darkness. Before long, flashes of light simultaneously popped into existence from the guns of both battleships, soon to be replaced by thick clouds of ashen smoke.

"Enemy battleships have fired!"

The Parpaldian officers, taken back by the commencement of hostilities by the Altaran side, quickly stood their ground as their reasoning kicked in.

"Keep your wits about! It's just a sighting shot! The chances of missing are high!"

Pommerau barked to remind his faltering retinue of where they currently stand.

It was only natural for the Andras and Rahmi, the ones with the most powerful and far-reaching guns, to open fire this soon, and it was expected that they'd target the lead ship, the Carles. If intelligence of Altaran protocols are to be believed, then there was little reason to panic, given that a sighting shot had a low likelihood of scoring a hit. But the enemy already firing their sighting shot did mean that they had the advantage—a second salvo's chances of a hit dramatically increased, given the corrections from the first salvo.

Pommerau's palms started to sweat profusely.

Judging by the estimated reload rate of the Muish 343mm naval artillery and the time it takes for their shots to reach them, they should be able to fire off the second salvo around a dozen seconds after their sighting shots land, excluding the time taken to make recalculations of the firing solutions. It was imperative that they bring their own guns to bear before the Altaran shots landed.

The vice admiral turned to the communications officers and signalmen and began issuing orders.

"Prepare for anti-surface combat! The Carles, Martí, Esthirant, Duro, and Parpaldia are to target the enemy lead ship with their main batteries; prepare for a volley fire on my order!"

Orders were quickly dispatched to the other four Parpaldian battleships, which all sailed at the forefront just behind the Carles. Alarms were raised as crews on the five battleships rushed to clear all the main battery turrets for action. Thanks to the Parpaldian line crossing the T of the Altaran line, they were able to bring all of their main battery turrets to bear, unlike the Altarans, who could only bring to bear their forward turrets.

The usually sleepy Luc, captain of the Carles, had his back straightened and his face alive and well when he started issuing orders as the ship's commander.

"All hands, action stations! Clear Turrets A and B for action and target the enemy flagship!"

Gunnery officers quickly rushed to the rangefinders mounted on the battleships' bridges.

"Target bearing: 236; range: 1.9 tacour; speed: 14 knots and increasing!"

Corrections were made as the information was corroborated before they were passed to the chief gunnery officers to calculate firing solutions. Once they were done, they were communicated to the gunnery crews below deck by way of speaking tubes, who repeated the solutions in acknowledgment.

The Leiforian-made magical guns on all five battleships were readied, and the mechanical controls for azimuth and gun elevation were manually operated by their crews to the values designated by their firing solutions.

One by one, the four dual-mounted 279mm guns on both the Carles Dídac Gallaire and Martí Llàtzer Gallaire, the four dual-mounted 305mm guns on the Esthirant and Duro, and the six dual-mounted 305mm guns on the Parpaldia turned their barrels to face the lead Altaran battleship, the Rahmi Kaymakk; although they were smaller in caliber to the Rahmi's main guns, a gunnery match between twenty two guns and four guns was by no means a fair trade.

Below their decks, magical high-explosive shells and their propellants—both of which have explosive filler made out of chemically inert, processed mana-sensitive substances—were steadily loaded into the gigantic breeches of the guns. As soon as the breech was locked behind them, the gunnery crews activated the mana circuitry on the guns' fire control, priming them for action.

One by one, messages from the chief gunnery officers of the five battleships made their way to the bridge of the Carles—to the ears of the vice admiral.

"Turrets A and B are ready, cap'n!"

"The Martí, Esthirant, Duro, and Parpaldia report that their guns are ready to fire; they're awaiting orders!"

Captain Luc turned to Vice Admiral Pommerau with anticipatory suspense. "Vice admiral?"

Pommerau stood still and silent; his pose was about as stoic as one could be. They managed to get their guns to bear before the Altaran sighting shots landed, and the enemy lead ship had now entered within the range of their guns. But he didn't intend for their first salvo to be a sighting shot. No—it was going to be the real deal. With twenty two shots in the ring, one of them—if not even half—was sure to land a damaging hit on the enemy lead ship. It was a gamble, one that he was not too keen on making, but as a long-time patron of the casinos in Sios, he was no stranger to the odds.

Booooom!

The metallic floor and walls of the Carles's bridge shook as the four shots fired by the Altaran battleships landed on the ocean all across the Carles, none of which were even close enough to splatter its decks with seawater. The thunderous booms of the enemy's shots were a wake-up call to Vice Admiral Pommerau—it was now or never. Before the jets of water had even dissipated, the vice admiral shouted at the top of his lungs.

"FIRE!"

Orders were instantaneously broadcasted to the crews of the other four battleships, who anxiously awaited the call; Captain Luc repeated the vice admiral's order, shouting at the top of his lungs in a similar fashion. At almost the same time, the gunnery crews of the battleships pressed their palms on the guns' activated mana circuitry, resulting in the breech of the guns surging towards them; outside, the muzzles of the twenty two guns of the Parpaldian battleships flashed brighter than the sun before ebbing away just as quickly as they appeared. Ginormous clouds of smoke appeared all across the Parpaldian battle line, temporarily obscuring the battleships from view.

Boom! Boom! Boooom!

The blasts from the Parpaldian line deafened everything else on the battlefield, answering the Altaran four-shot volley with a hilariously overkill twenty two-shot volley of their own. Unlike the Altaran sighting shot, this one was intended to score hits; the vice admiral closed his eyes as he repeated prayers to the goddess of luck over and over under his breath.

・・・

"Enemy battleships have fired all their main guns! We're counting around twenty two shots fired!"

Lookouts aboard the Andras Kaymakk screamed, their tone desperate.

Vice Admiral Iskann and his staff officers took to the bridge wing with their binoculars, but their quivering hands and sweaty palms made it difficult to maintain watch. Residue smoke from the combusted mana-sensitive substances clouded the enemy battle line, but they needed no more confirmation that the Parpaldians did indeed fire a volley. Iskann's eyes twitched, the number twenty two having engraved itself in his mind as he repeatedly mouthed the number like a child that found the number to be far too big to grasp.

He turned to Captain Bos, who was faring better in trying to keep composed.

"How long before we get to fire again?!"

"Any time now!"

Using stopwatches, their gunnery officers managed to record the time it took for their shots to land, which, along with other key corrections, allowed them to calculate more accurate firing solutions. The order was given for the Andras and Rahmi to ready another salvo as soon as their shots landed, but the enemy battleships firing their shots immediately afterward raised the stakes a hundredfold. Crews under the decks of both battleships worked to quickly get the new rounds into the guns, but each second that was spent in the absence of cannon fire exacerbated their nervousness.

Just then, a rising column of seawater erupted in between the Rahmi and the Andras. Not long after, a blast of air from the column passed through both battleships in the form of a thunderclap.

Boom!

"Enemy shots are landing!"

An officer on the bridge of the Andras cried out, but his words seemed unnecessary as everyone reflexively ducked behind the solid cover afforded by their ship. Lookouts and spotters stayed firm, counting and reporting every enemy shot that landed and where. A good deal of them splashed in a wide area around the Rahmi, their lead ship, but the prelude of deep sounds from metal hitting the waves gave way to a chorus of ear-piercing sounds.

"Two hits confirmed on the Rahmi! White smoke spotted coming out of the forward deck!"

Iskann, his officers, Bos, and many other men aboard the Andras emerged from their cover even amidst the threat of incoming fire to take a look at the Rahmi. At the moment the vice admiral laid his eyes on the ship, he caught sight of an incoming shell grazing the Rahmi's mainmast, a fatal blow to its structural integrity. As he watched the mainmast tumble and fall on the bridge, the white smoke emanating out of the ship's forward deck, where its forward main battery was located, momentarily disappeared. Then, it shined brighter than the sun.

"Shi—"

Before he can complete his expletive, the flash expanded into a fireball and then contracted into a firestorm of sparks and black smoke—all in a single moment. A column of fire blasted high into the air—about as high as the low-lying clouds—as the shockwave, visible with the naked eye, swept across the entire battlefield.

KABLAAAM!

The immense power of the blast threw the men on the bridge of Andras back, blowing their service and sailor caps off of their scalps. As they reeled from the shockwave and the sounds of ringing in their ears, they found the Rahmi Kaymakk, proud battleship of the Royal Altaran Navy and arguably the strongest in the region, split in half—both of which were already listing beyond repair and rapidly disappearing beneath the waves; in its wake, a gigantic cloud in the shape of a mushroom loomed over the entire task force, casting its formidable shadow upon the Altarans like some sort of horrible premonition.

The battleship Rahmi Kaymakk suffered two penetrating hits on its forward deck, specifically on the port side of Turret Koff. The resulting damage from the detonation of the enemy high explosives punctured the barbette and set off fires in the working chamber and lower decks. As misfortune would have it, the crew was in the process of transporting ammunition to the guns; seconds after the hits, the ammunition and their charges, which were dropped by the crew when they were killed or knocked unconscious, were set aflame. The resulting cascading secondary explosions set alight the magazine, leading to a catastrophic ammunition explosion.

Flaming debris rained all across Task Force Selma as their crews stood paralyzed by the reality that their most powerful ship, the poster child of the Royal Altaran Navy, had been taken out of action in the opening action. Vice Admiral Iskann stared at the flaming wreck of the Rahmi, the emotion in his eyes a quagmire of surprise, regret, and resignation. His ears continued to ring from the blast while his heart continued to shake in pain. No one must have survived from the Rahmi, meaning that there were now a thousand souls added to their casualties. It was a crushing blow, not only to their fighting strength and to the image of the kingdom but also to his personal self-respect. How can a commander like him face his men, knowing he had purposefully led them to their doom?

As enraged and saddened tears started to flow from his eyes, he felt a strong grip on his shoulders. He turned around to see the eyes of Bos, a familiar face in what was the epitome of a 'trying time.'

"Iskann! Snap out of it!"

Bos's voice was resolute and straight to the point, but Iskann, who had known him for a long time, could make out the haze of fear swirling in his eyes. This contrast between an iron-willed exterior and an uncertain and hesitant interior broke the emotional impasse within the vice admiral. A new question popped up in his head: How can a noble commander of the kingdom of Altaras be so shaken in the fatherland's finest moment?

His heart, still reeling from the shock of the Rahmi's loss, took a leap forward and answered that question.

"Right!"

Iskann found his footing and turned to face his staff and the crew of the Andras, their faces awash with dread, fear, and inaction. He stood tall, and while his stature was shorter than average, everyone looked up to him.

"Eyes on me, men! Don't be disheartened by the loss of your comrades, for Umphtaf blesses their sacrifice! We will have time to mourn them later, but for now, we must satiate the thirst of Trallam, for he beckons the sacrifice of twisted metal and dead Parpaldians!"

There were no war cries to be heard, but the call for Parpaldian blood was well received in the hearts of the Altarans, who craved revenge for the Rahmi. The crew's eyes flashed with determination as they looked toward Iskann, awaiting their orders. Not a second later, the vice admiral started barking at them.

"Fleet to conduct 180 deg change of front and maintain battle line formation!"

The sailors quickly broke into a sprint as the orders were transmitted to the entire task force; Captain Bos issued his own orders to direct the Andras Kaymakk's course.

"Hard-a-starboard, steer 180!"

The helmsman repeated the orders as he threw his entire weight onto the stubborn wheel to get it to turn. "Hard-a-starboard, steer 180, aye, cap'n!"

The heavy steel hull of the Altaran battleship groaned as it was forced on the sharp turn starboard, a move mirrored by the cruisers, ironclads, and rated ships of Task Force Selma. Soon, the entire line had turned on its head and was now headed west.

・・・

The formidable blast wave from the catastrophic explosion that crushed the Altaran battleship reached the Carles Dídac Gallaire. Its ear-shattering boom swept across the nooks and crannies of the Parpaldian flagship, making known to its crew—and then the rest of the Parpaldian battle line—that the Altaran spear had been severely crippled. Not long after the blast, an almost deathly silence fell upon the battlefield, but it was immediately shattered by the piercing shriek coming from a lookout atop the Parpaldian flagship.

"Enemy flagship is sinking! The Royauté is sinking!"

There was no hiding the glee in the man's voice; soon, uproar overcast his victorious cry.

"HUZZAH!"

"The enemy flagship is sunk! GLORY TO PARPALDIA!"

Men aboard the Carles Dídac Gallaire came out to the deck to witness their triumph over the Altaran wretches, symbolized by a towering, ballooning cloud of smoke and flames emanating from the wreck of the rapidly sinking enemy battleship. Smiles adorned the faces of all onlookers—even the ones aboard the other ships as soon as the news spread—and caps were thrown high into the air as if the battle had been won.

But Vice Admiral Pommerau, himself unable to keep his lips from turning into a smile, knew that this was but the start. There was one thing that he knew that all Altarans shared: the capacity to develop a desire for revenge when wronged. They may have taken out their most powerful vessel, and that was a fact, but the fact that their entire battle line, including that vessel's sister ship, the Andras Kaymakk, is still active remains true.

Just as he regained composure and was about to tell everyone to calm down, an incoming report from the lookouts captured his attention.

"The enemy battle line is performing a u-turn! They're turning away!"

Pommerau's staff officers, having regained their composure from the slight moment of victorious cheer, took to the bridge wing to witness the maneuvers. The enemy battle line was in the middle of turning away from them, leaving behind the burning, sinking wreck of their lead ship. Observing this, they formed strategies in their head, which they promptly suggested to the vice admiral.

"If this is the maneuver they're taking, then they will be limited by the top speed of their slowest-rated ships."

"Indeed! And we can move at our fastest speed and cut them off!"

Pommerau added in his insight. "And since the vanguard of their line now consists of their weakest-rated ships, we can exploit that weakness and destroy more enemy ships in the process."

He summoned the communications officer after concocting some slight changes to their battle plans.

"Tell the fleet to enter Battle Formation Yvette and split into lines A and B; A will follow a course parallel to the enemy line on its northern side while B will follow a parallel course on its south! All ships are to maintain a speed of 16 knots when possible!"

After handing a quick reply in "Roger!" the officer hightailed it back to the communications room where the vice admiral's orders were transmitted to the rest of the task force. As was designated prior to the battle, each ship fell into their respective lines; soon enough, the Parpaldian battle line had split into two forces of roughly equal firepower. Courses were set for Line A and Line B, putting both battle lines on either side of the singular Altaran battle line.

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9:45

The hands on the clock struck 9:45, and the Battle of Menda Point was in full swing. The Altaran battle line, thanks to the slower-rated ships at the vanguard, had slowed to a crawl as two Parpaldian battle lines cruised at a faster speed on either side. Both Parpaldian battle lines brought all of their guns to bear (save for the broadside types), while the Altaran line was forced to negotiate, having to fire on both sides.

"Enemy capital ships are now out of main battery range!"

"Fuck!"

Sum, captain of the Vilatam-class ironclad Arirmuslu, sister ship of the Orhasli and Hudaden, which were both sunk at the Battle of Messina, cursed his luck.

Not only did the devils manage to bring down the mighty Rahmi, a veteran of the Great War on the side of the Royal Muish Navy, with a lucky shot, but now they were proving to be more tactically adept despite the rumors of a decrepit Parpaldian navy filled with drunkards and corruptible scum. He had already lost a couple of men from shots that straddled the Arirmuslu and disabled a main gun, leaving him with only 15 operational. While he stared at the enemy battleships and cruisers with salty eyes, his vice-captain had other ideas.

"Captain."

"What?!"

"The higher speed of the enemy line has opened up for us an opportunity..."

The vice-captain pointed to the line of rated ships, mostly wooden-hulled and powered by sails, trailing behind the more heavily armored and faster capital ships.

While the faster Parpaldian battle line enabled them to catch up to the Altaran vanguard, which were made up of their weaker ships, it meant that the Parpaldians' weaker ships, which were at their rear, to line up nicely with the more powerful Altaran capital ships, which were trailing at the line's rear.

The captain's eyes sparkled at the vice-captain's suggestion.

"You're a genius!"

Brimming with newfound hope and bloodlust for devils smitten under righteous Altaran firepower, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"New target! All guns aim for the enemy broadside sailship, the one with the red sails, at bearing 153!"

The Arirmuslu's rangefinders set their sights on a Parpaldian third-rate ship of the line sailing along their southern flank, which had distinctive red square sails on its midmast. Gunnery officers passed their firing solutions to the 248mm main guns, which their gunnery crews' promptly turned toward the direction of the enemy ship. Soon enough, the last shell had been loaded into the breech of the last gun; they were now ready to fire.

"The guns are ready, cap'n!"

"FIRE!"

At once, the guns of the Arirmuslu shout out their payload in a deadly outburst of fire. The gunnery crews, exposed to the elements since the guns lacked an enclosed gunhouse, shielded their ears from the blast. Once the blasts had faded, crews emerged from their gun shields to observe the hits. Hardly half a minute later, the first splashes erupted from all around the Parpaldian ship, which was powerless to answer in reply due to their guns' inferior range. Moments after the closest hits splashed, they witnessed their first direct hit: two shells grazed the topmasts of both the main and mizzen masts, easily toppling them over.

"Hits scored on the enemy main and mizzen masts!"

A resounding cry from the lookout coincided with the fallen masts falling on the deck and the foremast, which was consequently bent from the weight of the other masts. The effect was rather immediate: the ship rapidly decelerated, forcing the ships trailing behind it to start to maneuver around the disabled friendly vessel.

"Haha! Finish it off!"

The vice-captain roared with joy at the sight of a disabled enemy ship, a sentiment that was shared by the captain.

"For Land and King, men! Fire on the disabled enemy ship as soon as you've reloaded!"

Corrections to the firing solutions were made and the gunnery crews set off to adjust their aim and reload the guns. Not too long after the order was given, the fastest crews set the first gunfire of the second volley from the Arirmuslu.

The battle flags of Altaras fluttered in the blasts produced by the gunfire as shells were sent in rapid succession toward the abhorred Parpaldian imperialists. Altaran crew members with binoculars watched the enemy personnel aboard the doomed vessel screaming and running about as the second volley of shells landed its first direct hits on the hull. The opaqueness in their eyes, as they witnessed the scene of maimed bodies flying about and the sight of terrified faces crying, was made out of a mix of apathy and a sort of wicked catharsis. Before their last shell landed, the enemy ship's aft was already towering above the water and rapidly sinking.

"Woooooh! Hahaha!"

"That's right, you pigs! FOR LAND AND KING!"

Cheers erupted across the length of the Arirmuslu, as well as from the other friendly vessels next to it. It was a celebratory mood, and there remained a banquet of Parpaldian hulls and bodies for their guns to devour and feast upon.

"Onto the next target!"

While the Arirmuslu and other Altaran ships blasted the weak rear of both Parpaldian lines, there was no changing the fact that the faster, more heavily armed Parpaldian vanguards were catching up to the Altaran vanguard and thus threatened to cut off their westward advance.

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10:04

Leading battle line B on the southern flank of the Altaran line, the Carles Dídac Gallaire was steaming ahead faster than the rated ships of the Altaran vanguard. Like the battleship Parpaldia, which led battle line A on the northern flank, they were on the verge of overtaking the foremost Altaran ship. Vice Admiral Pommerau was on the bridge wing watching the fledging enemy line when one of his staff officers approached him.

"Vice Admiral! It would appear that our rear is being blasted to smithereens! Six rated ships have already been confirmed to be out of action!"

Pommerau glanced at the staff officer before turning his attention back to the foremost Altaran rated ship. Moments later, he caught a glimpse of the bow of the Parpaldia emerging ahead of the enemy ship's bow—they were now ahead of the Altaran battle line.

"Then I reckon it's about time we returned the favor."

He turned to face the staff officer and the communications officer standing behind him with a rather unaffected expression.

"All available ships are to turn all available guns and smash the enemy vanguard! Fire at will!"

・・・

"Enemy battleships are turning their guns our way!"

The shriek of a lookout atop the masts pierced the tense atmosphere as every man who wasn't unfurling the sails froze where he stood. On the poop deck stood the captain, whose face was as white as the sun's glare. Drops of sweat peppered every possible space on his face and were indistinguishable from the splashes of seawater.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Cap'n?! Orders?!"

One of his lieutenants screamed at him, but the paralyzed captain moved neither lip nor finger.

They were on board the Cesaret, a 72-gun third-rate ship of the line. Commissioned thirty years ago, she was hopelessly outdated in this era of ironclad warships, but she was nevertheless kept afloat and in service to pad the numbers of the small Royal Altaran Navy. Today, she was unfortunate enough to have been at the very end of their battle line, and her slow speed bottlenecked the Altaran advance.

The crew could only watch as the hulking steel behemoths of the Parpaldian navy loom over them outside the range of their own guns. Their massive cannons slowly turned to face them and their peers, worsening the feeling of impending doom that had taken root in their hearts. After all, if their most powerful battleship, the Rahmi Kaymakk, had been felled by such guns, what chance does a hopelessly obsolete ship like the Cesaret have?

Then, clouds of smoke popped into existence in front of the enemy ships, clouding their silhouettes.

"Enemy ships have fired!"

Fear continued to grip the men of the Cesaret, and they were now quivering down to their knees. Seconds later, the soul-shattering force of a shockwave blew them back from where they stood.

KABOOM!

When the men came to, they found an imposing pillar of seawater looming above the ship, created by a shell that landed in the water just clear of the Cesaret's bow. The shellshocked crew of the third-rate burned the sight into their psyche, and all hell broke loose.

"Abandon ship! Every man for himself!"

A terrified voice screamed, but it came not from the captain. It mattered not in the end.

Their terror reached a breaking point, and the men of the Cesaret broke into a panic and ran for the sides of the ship. They paid no heed as to whether or not it was the captain's orders but only that they wanted to be as far away from death as possible.

"Wait! No! Get back here, you cowards!"

The lieutenant barked, but it was in vain, for even the commissioned officers, still wearing their decorated uniforms, were joining in the rout.

He turned around, hoping to get the captain to drill some discipline back into the crew, but all he found were a pair of shoes that were hastily taken off.

"FUCK IT!"

Giving up all hope, the lieutenant decided to join the rout, but before he did, a bright flash of light and a momentary sensation of intense heat stopped him.

Less than a minute after the crew of the Cesaret lost all discipline and cohesion and abandoned ship, a round fired by one of the main guns on the Parpaldian battleships landed a direct hit on it. The resulting explosion easily knocked the ship out of action, destroying its masts and obliterating a significant portion of the upper gun deck; subsequent hits ultimately dealt so much damage that the ship practically ceased to exist, reduced to floating scrap.

・・・

Meanwhile, at the very rear of the Altaran battle line, sounds of cannon fire were also ringing as the most powerful Altaran vessels dominated the battle with their large caliber guns. Hopelessly outgunned, the Parpaldian rated ships tried to fight back with roundshot fired on the uproll, hoping to skip the shots to negotiate the distance, often to negligible results. Still, the stray roundshots had an effect: damaging masts, fixed equipment, and mauling several crew members unfortunate enough to have been exposed on the deck.

On the bridge of the Andras Kaymakk, action reports of Parpaldian ships being taken out of action continued to flood in. However, the first reports of Altaran ships being lost were starting to make their way to the vice admiral.

"Vice Admiral! It would appear that the enemy lines have reached our vanguard and have wreaked havoc!"

The staff officers began to discuss the reports that were flooding in by the second.

"Broadside fire from two directions! We've definitely done it!"

"Seven ships have already been confirmed out of action! Their wrecks are serving to bottleneck our advance further!"

They turned to Vice Admiral Iskann with suggestions for a new course of action.

"Vice Admiral! We need to break formation!"

Iskann closed his eyes.

Receptive as he was to changes, it was still painful having to deal with mounting losses. It was imperative that they break out of the double broadside at once, and the Andras was in the right position to lead that charge.

He opened his eyes with orders ready to fly off his lips.

"Tell the fleet to set course for 180 and form a line behind the Andras Kaymakk!"

The orders were rapidly disseminated to the rest of the task force as Captain Bos took charge once more with the battleship's navigation.

"Both engines full speed ahead! Rudders hard to port!"

"Both engines full speed ahead and rudders hard to port! Aye, cap'n!" The helmsman pushed the propulsion controls forward before swinging his entire weight on the ship's wheel to force it to turn to port.

Not long after, the Andras Kaymakk began to list to starboard from the immense inertia as it swung its entire mass to the left; acceleration picked up and inched towards its 17-knot top speed. The Altaran battleship was partway through its turn when the southern Parpaldian battle line, realizing that the might of the Altaran Navy was heading towards them, began to concentrate their gunfire towards it.

"Enemy ships are firing their chasers and broadsides!"

The Parpaldian rated ships fired their guns—chasers for those that were not able to turn in time and broadside deck guns for those that had already brought them to bear—onto the approaching Andras Kaymakk. Under normal circumstances, this would have been shrugged off, but the range between the battleship and the rated ships was rapidly closing to the point where the force imparted by the roundshots' impacts was starting to sting.

Papapapapam! Papapapam!

Gun crews aboard the Parpaldian rated ships continued to let loose even as the clouds of spent gunpowder started to chaff them.

As the Andras Kaymakk began to drive a wedge into the Parpaldian line, the distance closed to less than a kilometer. Broadsides of roundshots fired by the rated ships rained like hail on the Altaran battleship, and while the majority harmlessly missed, some shots found their marks. Many of the solid iron balls simply bounced off the heavy steel armoring of the Andras, but where there wasn't any protection, the roundshots were devastating. Launches, rangefinders, machine guns, and unarmored fixtures such as the masts and speaking tubes were destroyed, while a few unfortunate sailors on the deck were either mauled or wounded severely. Needless to say, the Andras was lashing back.

Boom! Boboboom!

The secondary 152mm guns in the casemate mounts opened fire in quick succession, dishing out its angered reply to the Parpaldian broadsides. The shells easily broke past the strong, overlapping wooden armoring of the rated ships, causing immense damage to their gun decks, rigging, and even masts. Meanwhile, behind the Andras Kaymakk, the Vilatam and Saveh-class warships, which had formed behind the battleship, were similarly ringing out cannon shot after cannon shot.

As the reformed Altaran battle line steamed southward, they left in their wake a further three Parpaldian rated ships rendered out of action; in exchange, the Andras Kaymakk suffered minor damage in the form of several fixtures destroyed, several crew members killed, and a dozen more wounded, and four secondary guns damaged.

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・・・

The situation at the former vanguard of the Altaran battle line was incredibly dire, however. As of 10:14, 13 rated ships were knocked out of action, but their wrecks continued to cause chaos as they blocked the path of advance of the incoming Altaran ships. The ensuing blockade has led to difficulty in maneuvering, especially in response to the new orders to follow the flagship on the new course southward. As all that happened, the thundering gunfire from the Parpaldian capital ships continued unrelentingly.

"Vice admiral! The enemy flagship, the Andras Kaymakk, has broken through line B and is heading south! It appears they've reformed a new battle line!"

Pommerau, without detracting his observation from the latest couple of Altaran rated ships blown to smithereens by another volley, issued new orders.

"Tell the fleet to form line ahead; once that's complete, hard to port while maintaining formation and speed! We'll try and cut their southward advance from the west!"

His orders were rapidly transmitted to every active Parpaldian warship; not long after, the separated A and B lines merged once more into a single battle line. With the sailors bolstered by high morale from the active leadership and results that were laudable and crystal clear, the warships of Task Force Nalina reformed their battle line formation seamlessly and without issue. Once again, the flagship Carles Dídac Gallaire took the lead, followed by the other battleships, cruisers, ironclads, and then the rated ships.

As the Altaran line struggled to steam in cohesion southward, the Parpaldian line was already reformed and turning to face them once again. In the wake of the 30-minute engagement, 25 ships—16 Altaran and 9 Parpaldian—were already out of action, either sunk or left behind to be scuttled, with the number of men killed on either side already up in the thousands.

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10:29

As the hands on the clock struck 10:29, the sun was nearing its zenith on this rather hot winter day in the Altaras Strait. The men of the Royal Altaran Navy task force "Selma" were understandably ridden in sweat, but a good deal of that came not from the heat. Hardly an hour or so ago, they had just came face to face with their nemesis: the Parpaldian Imperial Navy.

But unlike the stories told by the newspapers, by the merchants, by their dignitaries, by their government officials, who all told of a derelict enemy that was too drunk on whores and alcohol distilled from the blood of their conquests on the continent to ever pose a threat to the Altaran nation, the foes that they came into contact with were by no means pushovers—no, in fact, they were absolute demons. And the goddess of luck Salmar seemed to have been smiling on them too, when she willed the Rahmi Kaymakk, their most powerful ship, to be sunk in a soul-shattering explosion in the opening engagement.

But even without Salmar's help, they performed rather pathetically. He ordered a battle turn into a line that was slowed down by their rated ships. The enemy splits into two lines to shower them with powerful broadsides from both directions. They managed to only knock out of action nine enemy ships in contrast to losing 16 of their own. Whatever happened to their numerical advantage? Their "more powerful" ships? The indomitable, ironclad will of Altaran spirit and discipline? Wasn't it supposed to win this war, just as His Majesty said?

The Altaran battle line continued to steam southwards at full speed, but the men were just as tired as their war machines were worn and damaged. Sailors maintained their general stations albeit with heavy hearts and downturned eyes; officers maintained discipline, but the hit to morale by the compounding losses had made their expressions more visibly agitated; the flag officer Vice Admiral Iskann and his staff officers were hunched over the makeshift table, arguing in heated fashion about what to do next.

"With 43 combat-worthy ships, we can still try to make it to Menda Point and achieve our original mission! Even if we all die, we will have done a service to His Majesty by fulfilling his orders!"

"Not all of us share your death wish! And is bombarding some helpless island with a garrison of less than 50 before being killed in turn a better idea than facing the enemy fleet and doing a lot more damage there?"

Iskann couldn't control himself. "It matters not whether we have a death wish: we will die here whether we like it or not!"

He exploded, laying bare his true feelings of resignation on the matter.

His staff officers stood there, silent. Whether or not they believed they still stood a chance, it was frankly discouraging—depressing, even—to hear such fatalist words from their own commander's mouth.

He placed his hand over his face. He had been disappointed in himself more times than before, but it was probably the first time he'd been remotely aware that that sentiment was shared by his own men. It was outright pitiful. Still, not only did he have pride to uphold, but he also had a task force to command just as His Majesty had decreed.

"...But I agree. Disregarding our original mission to continue engaging the Parpaldian task force tops our priorities as of the moment."

His eyes, once swollen with anger and a desire for retribution, were now filled with a silent acceptance of their situation.

"We may have doomed ourselves with our—sorry, my mistakes, and there may even be the work of forces beyond our control, but we absolutely cannot let the Parpaldians take our lives without making them regret their own."

Iskann's words were neither uplifting nor discouraging, but they served to hammer the idea in the Altarans' hearts that the Parpaldians were not going to have their victory without shedding blood. An eye for an eye. Tit for tat. An extraordinary price for an extraordinary reward.

The Andras Kaymakk, albeit damaged in some areas, pushed forward with the blue and white standards proudly raised. The men of Altaras would continue to fight for Land and King, but a growing pessimistic acceptance of their imminent fate was the one that was taking hold in their hearts.

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11:06

As the sun neared its zenith, the battle lines of the Parpaldian task force "Nalina" and Altaran task force "Selma" were once again about to converge, with the former poised to cut off the southern advance of the latter from the west. While the Altaran task force was still reeling from the losses it suffered, the Parpaldian task force, on the other hand, enjoyed greater morale and a spirit that was barely fazed by their own losses. With them lay the rights to the title "Sinkers of the Rahmi Kaymakk," and that was exactly what rang in their hearts. What followed was a thirst to repeat that glorious action; after all, if they've done it before, surely they could do that to the other battleship?

On the bridge of the Carles Dídac Gallaire, Vice Admiral Pommerau and his officers watched the Altaran battle line on the horizon as it slowly got closer and closer.

The guns of the line's lead ship, probably the Andras Kaymakk, were already starting to turn towards them. But once again, their better coordination meant that they were at an advantage: they were poised to cross their T with the might the combined—and more importantly, intact—might of five capital ships against their sole surviving battleship. Granted, the enemy's main guns were more powerful and could reach further, but the disparity in aggregate firepower was immense—and, sure enough, decisive.

"This is it, brave warriors of Parpaldia!" Pommerau yelled out to the men on the bridge of their flagship as he turned around; all eyes fell on him.

"You have already proven your mettle as the valiant sons of the empire in this battle..." He hesitated as if to backtrack on a speech that seemed to have sounded better in his head.

"But if we slice the head of the Altaran 'hydra...'" He pointed towards the enemy flagship.

"...and bring the trophy of this battle back to His Majesty, then you will have proven to history that you are not only the empire's sons but that you are her favored ones!"

He raised his fists into the air in a show of triumph; it was too early for one, but it clearly showed his confidence. As for the men present on the bridge, their eyes seemed to sparkle in excitement, their smiles a sign of gratitude for the opportunity of being able to have their names etched onto the record that will eventually tell of their victory at this place near Menda Point.

"Glory to Parpaldia!" The vice admiral shouted, to which everyone else, enlisted sailors and officers alike, responded with...

"GLORY TO PARPALDIA!"

Pommerau immediately donned his game face and started issuing orders.

"The Carles, Martí, Esthirant, Duro, and Parpaldia are to target the enemy flagship with all batteries; open fire on my command!"

These orders were quickly transmitted to the other four battleships as Captain Luc of the Carles started shouting orders for the batteries to be cleared for action once more. As these massive gun batteries were readied, the enemy breathed their reply.

Bo-bo-boom!

The four 343mm guns of the Andras Kaymakk unleashed their fury upon the approaching Parpaldian battle line, signaling the restart of an interrupted exchange that was barely two hours in length. The high explosive shells flew across the skies in ballistic trajectories, negotiating the distance to their target in seconds. On the other side of its crosshairs was the battleship Parpaldia, the furthest of the Parpaldian battleships and the empire's sole battleship that was built in a Parpaldian shipyard (although it wasn't made with indigenous Parpaldian expertise and machinery, and definitely not armed with locally produced weaponry). Easily recognized by Vice Admiral Iskann thanks to its rather unique main battery placement (1 forward, 2 aft) and cruder-looking construction, he figured that if they were going down, he might as well wound the empire's pride by damaging the capital ship named after it.

Kaboom!

The first shell landed in the water, straddling the masts of the Parpaldia. It was sufficient to say that these unnerved its crew regardless of their high morale.

"Incoming!"

The scream of a lookout sent spine-freezing chills down the officers of the Parpaldia, who were last posted in a broadside ironclad and were the least acquainted of the capital ship crews with their new ship. The sight of the might of the Royal Altaran Navy staring its gun muzzles down their direction was utterly frightening to them, almost as if they had forgotten that they were already fighting in a battleship themselves.

Kaboom!

Another round came and missed, but it came very close to hitting their port belt armor. While any other crew might have viewed this as some lucky miss, this was enough to spook the Parpaldia's officers.

"Eeeek! FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE!"

The captain screamed in a rather unmasculine manner before reflexes got the better of him, and he gave the order to fire. In any other circumstance, this would be shot down by the reasoning of his officers, but they too were almost to the point of pissing their pants, and so the order was carried out anyway; the gunnery crews below deck, not knowing the situation above, followed as they were ordered.

Ba-ba-ba-bam!

In the midst of a silent and prudent Parpaldian battle line, the sound of gunfire erupted from the Parpaldia. The Andras Kaymakk was already within range, but they were supposed to commence firing as per the order of the vice admiral.

Attention quickly fell on the ship, especially from Pommerau.

"What the hell are they doing?!"

He almost fell over, trying to get over the bridge wing to take a better look at the Parpaldia further down their battle line. He personally saw the shots from the enemy flagship miss it, and it seemed unaffected, but he wondered if there were any problems onboard. Either way, the Parpaldia's out-of-tune volley was the least of his problems—if anything, he was being too conservative with their range.

Moments later, as the Parpaldian battleships entered within 2km of the Andras Kaymakk, Pommerau felt that it was finally the time to commence their attack when...

"Look! The volley fired by the Parpaldia is landing!"

One of his staff officers pointed out to him as he temporarily blanked out. As he came to his senses and squinted at the Andras, he saw a column of seawater just shy of the enemy ship's starboard side. Then, another one emerged from the ocean, barely straddling the bow.

・・・

On the Andras Kaymakk, the men and the officers were holding for dear life onto whatever solid thing they could grasp within reach. They were just about to finish reloading their second volley when the Parpaldia's volley reached them. The first two rounds were near misses, but they were too close for comfort: it was only a matter of time before a round hits them.

As the crew and officers of the Andras took cover, its gunnery crews were still hard at work below deck. Moments after the order to brace for impact was given, the distinctive colossal blasts of the aft 343mm cannons blared across the deck.

Babam!

But just as every man was about to uncover their ears in instinct, a deafening boom, sharper and louder than the roar of even their own guns, assailed their ears. The sound of such an explosion wasn't alone: they felt the very steel foundations under their feet creak and wail, forcing them off of their balance and onto their backs, arms, and whatever. Men and officers alike groaned and screamed as the Andras Kaymakk was assaulted by a 305mm shell hitting the starboard aft deck, the detonation of which pulverized a good amount of the ship's superstructure and deck infrastructure.

As the agonizing sound of twisting metal and crying sailors continued, Captain Bos came to his senses and, upon recognizing that they were hit, immediately ordered a damage report.

"We're determining the damage as we speak, cap'n!"

A large column of gray smoke rose from the starboard side of the ship, blanketing much of its aft, including the aft main battery. Minutes later, after the rest of the Parpaldia's volley had been confirmed to have missed them, reports about the damage started coming in: the shell had apparently hit a certain part of the starboard aft deck at a near-horizontal angle, penetrated, and detonated. Several secondary battery guns, including a 152mm, were destroyed; the explosion significantly damaged the starboard side, and damage was reported as far as several decks below the main deck; fire had broken out on three decks, including the main deck, and while the aft barbette shows no sign of damage the magazine and its munitions remain under threat from the fire.

"Commence firefighting measures! Lock down the affected areas! Continue to check for signs of imminent flooding!"

Bos's orders were promptly spread through the surviving crew near the affected area by way of speaking tubes as more men flooded to the scene to assist. Sailors donned whatever firefighting gear was available while the first to the scene of the carnage evacuated the wounded. They made use of the ship's seawater pumps to try and get water to the affected area, where men with pressurized hoses desperately tried to fight the raging inferno. But as smoke continued to pour into the cramped halls of the Andras's innards, the severity of the damage, coupled with the lack of firefighting training on a modern battleship, inadequate firefighting gear, and the chaos of the situation led to vexingly slow progress with damage control.

・・・

"Smoke from the enemy flagship! She's hit!"

Lookouts aboard the Carles Dídac Gallaire screamed to get the attention of everyone else, but their actions seemed unnecessary, for the men and officers were already gawking at the sight of the enemy battleship, the sole major capital ship left in the enemy task force, aflame. A great column of gray—later black—smoke was rising out of the starboard aft section, completely blanketing the whole stern deck. While the hit seems to have entirely missed the main battery barbette, the flicker of red from the raging fires from the damaged section suggests that the situation onboard was dire.

Pommerau couldn't help but chuckle: yes, it was vexing that the Parpaldia didn't heed his command, but their hasty decision to fire had brought upon them a sweet blessing. Eager to capitalize on this, the Parpaldian vice admiral turned to the communications officer on the bridge with eyes as sharp as a predator that had locked onto its prey.

"All battleships, open fire!"

As soon as his orders were transmitted, the battleships of the Parpaldian battle line—save for the Parpaldia, which was reloading—fired their main guns in near-perfect synchrony. The thunderous cry of almost a dozen high-caliber guns firing in unison drowned out every other sound on the battlefield as the rounds that they fired arced across the sky, destined for the wounded Altaran flagship.

・・・

The resounding thunder of cannon fire reached the Andras Kaymakk in waves, not because they fired in succession but because of the different distances of their sources. Regardless, the reverberant echoes of the Parpaldian guns were but a supplement, for the officers on board the Altaran flagship were already watching the situation and well aware of the attack. Faced with this imminent threat to their survival, they immediately turned to Captain Bos, who was already issuing orders to the helmsman.

"Rudders, hard to port!"

"Rudders, hard to port, aye, cap'n!" the helmsman repeated in a fighting-for-life kind of desperation as he threw his entire body weight on the wheel to get the stubborn battleship to turn.

Results were immediate, and the flagship listed to starboard as it made its turn to port, but the inertia from the maintenance of their battle speed worked against them. Men and officers struggled to hold on for dear life as the massive ship turned; firefighters, still fighting the fires that had broken out from the hit earlier, were temporarily hamstrung from their duties by the sudden maneuver.

Iskann, his officers, and Bos looked at one another with pained looks, ones that said with terrified yet resigned expression: "This is it." Before long, the immense force of the shock waves of high-caliber shells violently hitting the water next to the ship was upon them.

Boom!

The men aboard the Andras cowered. Many shed tears as their guts told them that this was it. They've done all they can for Land and King, but the gods were not on their side this time. They felt each tumultuous boom echo within their hearts like the timer of death beating down to zero, and every silent lull in between was nothing but some sort of sadistic ploy to get their hopes up.

Then, at one point, the thunderous bass of explosions turned into a mix of ear-splitting reverbs—kablam!

Men and objects were thrown about without discrimination as the mammoth steel battleship beneath their feet bent, twisted, and made all sorts of liquid motions. A 279mm high-explosive shell grazed the upper superstructure and forward smoke stack before landing on the midship deck on the port side and exploding; the resulting detonation destroyed some secondary batteries on the port side, but most importantly, it knocked the forward mast down onto the bridge. Some sustained fatal injuries, some were knocked out, but many more were left with non-life-threatening trauma and injuries; Vice Admiral Iskann was unfortunately included in the former groups.

As the men on the bridge came to and found themselves under the rubble of a collapsed forward mast, they spotted a man wearing the distinctive uniform of the vice admiral. He was lying on the floor of the bridge in a pool of blood that was rapidly growing, and his lower half was pinned underneath the steel plate that used to be the mast's top, which seemed to have impaled his gut. On top of him lay the lifeless body of who appeared to be the lookout who probably died when the mast fell.

"Mirliva!"

His staff officers cried out as they limped from where they had fallen towards the still-conscious vice admiral.

"Medic! Get the medic up here this instant! The vice admiral is wounded!"

Someone shouted.

Captain Bos, himself impaled in the left arm by a piece of the fallen mast and bleeding, came to the aid of his friend. As he kneeled next to him and had his uniform get soaked in the vice admiral's pool of blood, he gazed at Iskann's eyes, which were starting to become a deathly white color; Bos couldn't help but shed a tear, perhaps in sadness but the expression on his face leaned more towards a lingering regret. In a weakened and pained breath, the vice admiral managed to utter a few words that, even in the background of screams and explosions, he knew his friend would hear.

"This battle is lost... Save who you can..."

The last gust of warm air left the lips of the vice admiral. Bos momentarily grinded his teeth and, in his head, admonished his old friend.

So, even in death, you play the commander? Is it because you know that your family will never learn of your last words?

He entered and left the battle a vice admiral, consumed by the uniform he wore up to his final moments. For some reason, Bos found insult in this, but he set aside his feelings, confident he would see his friend soon enough. Weakened as he is from his injury, he stood up and faced the beleaguered staff of the vice admiral.

"The vice admiral is dead! His final orders are to save the task force!"

These vague orders had changed into something different from the interpretation of the officers, but the common interpretation was an abandonment of their mission and breaking away from the engagement. Just as they were about to swing to action, the ship violently reared into the sky—two hits, both fired from the Esthirant's 305mm guns further away, had hit both the starboard aft deck and the bow just shy of the forward main battery.

As Bos and the officers came to moments later, damage reports started to come in; they painted a rather bleak picture.

"The starboard aft section where we were hit earlier was hit again! Our firefighters have suffered many casualties! Flooding reported on multiple decks!"

"Bow section is hit! Forward barbette is intact, but both main guns are out of action! Flooding is reported on deck 4!"

The extent of the damage was starting to wear down the Andras Kaymakk as multiple guns were out of action, a chunk of the crew was either killed or wounded, and a starboard list was starting to form. Adamant as to the survival of his ship, Bos prioritized damage control over Iskann's last orders, almost forgetting them completely.

"Seal off the flooded sections! Flood the port ballasts!"

The sailors immediately went to work, desperate to save their ailing flagship. The steel watertight compartments around the damaged areas were sealed tight while flood control mechanisms were activated to flood the ballasts on their port side. But as their speed steadily dropped from the huge amount of seawater they were taking in, the Parpaldian battleships, catching onto the worsening situation aboard the Andras, capitalized on this moment. Flashes and residue smoke erupted from all across the Parpaldian battle line as their secondary capital ships, their cruisers, and ironclads, joined in the frenzy once the Altaran flagship entered within range of their guns.

Gradually, the list was fixed and stabilized, but Parpaldian shells continued to mercilessly fall upon them. Before long, another round found its mark on the Andras Kaymakk's starboard aft side, worsening the existing damage. The additional blast damaged the sealed watertight compartments, which subsequently gave way to flooding seawater.

"Captain! Our seals in the starboard aft decks have broken!"

"Form another perimeter and seal those off!"

Bos ran from the speaking tube to the starboard bridge wing, from where he could see the extent of the damage. He felt the ship start to swing to the starboard as the list returned, but his mind grew more anxious. They were still flooding the port ballasts, yet he could still feel the Andras's starboard get closer and closer to the ocean. As if to confirm his worst fears, he heard the dreaded line from the speaking tube.

"Captain! We're about to reach our flooding limit!"

Yet the list continued. Given these facts, there was only one destiny for the Andras, one that Bos hoped not to share. He ran back to his officers, whose dark expressions revealed that they, too, were aware of where things were headed. Wearing his usual resolute face, he gave their last order.

"This is beyond us! All hands are to abandon ship!"

Having received their orders, the officers simply nodded in acknowledgment before disappearing into the ship, navigating through the wreckage and dead bodies. Meanwhile, Bos turned to the staff officers who were under Vice Admiral Iskann. While it was clear they outranked him, there was sort of an understanding between the staff that they awaited orders from Bos, completely throwing the chain of command out of the window. But Bos honored the hierarchy and issued no such orders other than to abandon ship.

"Our lifeboats have been mostly destroyed, so I humbly suggest you take to the deck and jump into the water!"

With one final salute, Bos saw the staff officers evacuate to the deck. Before he oversaw the evacuation, he turned to the bridge manacomms, remembering his old friend—nay, the vice admiral's final orders. He took the microphone and pressed hard on the push-to-talk button, issuing a broadcast to the rest of the task force.

"This is Captain Bos of the Andras Kaymakk! Our situation is unsalvageable, and we are abandoning ship! I repeat: we are abandoning ship! The vice admiral is killed in action, but his last orders are to abandon the mission! I rep—"

But before he could complete his broadcast, he disappeared in a flash of flame and ceased to exist altogether: a 305mm shell landed a direct hit next to the bridge, severing the Andras's head once and for all in a powerful explosion.

・・・

"Woah, ahaha! There she goes!"

Cheers of celebration ensued all across the Carles Dídac Gallaire. Sailors, even those involved in gunnery operations, crowded the battleship's deck as they clamored to see the Altaran flagship's final moments—even their officers joined in this momentary break of discipline to witness their finest moment.

Covered in raging flames and thick smoke, the Altaran flagship, the Andras Kaymakk, succumbing to overwhelming Parpaldian fire, was slowly sinking beneath the waves. Before long, the contour of its keel, rudders, and still-spinning screws became visible as the battleship's stern rose high into the air. The sound of secondary blasts emanating from the sinking enemy ship was drowned out by the joyous shouts of thousands of Parpaldian sailors.

"The enemy flagship is sinking! May the empire be eternally victorious!"

"Death to her enemies! Wahahaha!"

Pommerau himself couldn't help but giggle and clap at this momentous occasion. Not only was he witness to the jewel of the feared Royal Altaran Navy sinking beneath the waves, but he was also the commander of the task force that carried out the act. The empire's sworn enemy, the malevolent Altaras, had been dealt a crippling—and above all, decisive—blow in this war, and he was the one to do it. His eyes glittered as the thought of his name written in golden characters as the "sinker of the scourge of the seas" came to mind.

His staff officers, the captains of the other ships, and everyone else on the Parpaldian line were up in celebration as news of the Andras Kaymakk's sinking spread. But not to be carried away by this victory, Pommerau, still seeing the rest of the Altaran battle line intact, immediately called on his men to return to their senses.

"Easy! Easy! Cheer for now, men, but we still have a battle to fight!"

As the bridge of the Carles settled down, he pointed to the Altaran battle line.

"You may have broken their spirits, but they will seek vengeance for their losses! Do not allow them to get that chance!"

He turned to the communications officers present on the bridge and began issuing orders to the task force.

"All ships are to engage enemy ships at will!"

The vice admiral's orders were promptly sent to the rest of the task force, most of whom had recovered from their momentary expression of glee and returned to their battle stations. In usual sleepy fashion, Captain Luc went ahead and began issuing orders to his men.

"All batteries, target enemy cruiser at 346!"

Gunnery officers took to their rangefinders and sent firing solutions down to the gunnery crews below decks; soon, the Carles plentiful array of guns took aim at the Altaran protected cruiser that was right on the trail of the now sunk Andras Kaymakk.

[https://img.wattpad.com/0108587712e4eae36c99524f0ffbd1450d1b99e1/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f366a68434d476f37503756304e673d3d2d313338383530373833332e313738633632343333653466323364613134353131323335343337312e706e67]

・・・

Aboard the protected cruiser Saveh, fear gripped the crew. On the bridge, its captain and officers had watched their flagship, the Andras Kaymakk, subject to endless bombardment and receiving devastating hit after devastating hit. They tried to help by firing back at the Andras's relentless attackers, but their less powerful array of guns did little to lift the siege of shells that befell their flagship. Before they knew it, the Andras was sinking right before their eyes, and the humiliating sight of its exposed keel burned into their memories.

But before that, they received a manacomm broadcast from the Andras. It was from her captain, Bos.

This is Captain Bos of the Andras Kaymakk! Our situation is unsalvageable and we are abandoning ship! I repeat: we are abandoning ship! The vice admiral is killed in action—

Unbeknownst to Bos, the manacomm died from extensive damage in the middle of his broadcast, cutting out Iskann's final orders and leaving the entire fleet in shock at the death of their vice admiral.

The officers of the Saveh were paralyzed by fear. Their gunnery crews, under orders to fire at will, continued to dish out round after round to the point that their stations were overwhelmed with fumes, but the bridge officers simply stood there, silent and terrified. But the countless thunderclaps of Parpaldian guns roaring to life snapped them out of their trance-like state, reverting them back into their senses.

"What do we do, captain?! The flagship is gone, the vice admiral is dead, and the Parpaldian ships are firing at us!"

The vice-captain implored the captain for action.

The captain glanced in front of them. There, he caught sight of hundreds of men floating in the ocean amidst the Andras's wreckage. The thought of breaking from combat to initiate the rescue of the Andras's survivors was tempting, but he doubted that the Parpaldians, as much as they were signatories to the universal convention on the laws of war, would honor the papers they signed at such a time. Before he could reach a decision, the manacomm officer called out to him.

"Captain! It's the Serigbasi! They're making a break for it!"

"What?!"

The Serigbasi, a sister ship of the Saveh, was the one sailing just behind them. The captain ran to the port bridge wing to look behind them, where he saw the Serigbasi turn to port and break formation. Before he could comprehend why, the manacomom officer reported additional broadcasts.

"Captain! The Arismuslu—wait, the Boyatwai—no, they're all reporting that they're going to try and break away from the fight!"

With their most powerful ships at the bottom of the ocean, their chain of command broken, and the bulk of Parpaldian firepower still active, Altaran morale finally caved, resulting in every ship of the task force that was still seaworthy trying to run away from the fight. Seeing the others trying to make a run for the open sea, the captain of the Saveh dropped everything and decided to join the rout.

"Screw everything! Engines to full speed; rudders, hard to port!"

Smoke flurried in greater amounts out of the Saveh's smoke stacks as the protected cruiser turned to port, breaking away from their now non-existent battle line and leaving the survivors of the Andras to their fate.

The Parpaldians, witnessing the disintegration of the Altaran battle line, doubled down their attacks; after all, why should they limit their victory when the enemy is yet to surrender, and there are plentiful targets to shoot at? The Carles Dídac Gallaire, in particular, focused on its closest target, the Saveh. As it turned to port, it brought more of its guns to bear but, in turn, exposed its entire side to the Parpaldian flagship. After most of its initial shots missed from the Saveh's sudden maneuver, a follow-up volley from the Carles found most of its mark on the comparatively squishy protected cruiser, reducing the ship to a smoldering wreck near instantaneously; right after, the Serigbasi, which was also trying to flee by turning to port, suffered the same fate after it ate several direct hits from the powerful main guns of the Parpaldia.

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12:13

As the clock struck 13 minutes past 12, a tattered, burnt, and abused flag bearing the striking yellow rhombus on top of a black background flew atop the sole-standing mast of the ironclad Madisbur, which was sitting very low in the water due to sustained damage. Flying the flag of the Lamp, a world-renowned international philanthropic organization, which also doubled as an informal symbol for surrendering, the Madisbur, along with three rated ships and two sloops, a far cry from the initial size of Task Force "Selma," were issuing their intent to surrender to the Parpaldian navy.

Roughly an hour later, as soon as their cohesion disintegrated, the fleeing Altaran ships, in order to get away from the action, set course west, cutting through the Parpaldian battle line, which was heading southeast. Unfortunately for them, most of them had unimpressive top speeds due to the majority of them still relying on their sails for propulsion; this meant that even if they did get a headstart, the Parpaldians, their battleships possessing greater speed than any of the surviving Altaran ships, eventually caught up to them.

What happened was a repeat of the carnage earlier: after turning around and setting their course to parallel that of the Altaran line, the Parpaldian battle line hammered them with their superior broadside firepower. For their losses, the Altarans did bite back, scoring damaging—and some, even critical—hits against several Parpaldian capital ships, but their drastically reduced firepower, crumbling morale, and rapidly evaporating stamina and munition stores meant that they were never going to emerge victorious. After suffering catastrophic losses from vicious and relentless Parpaldian fire and seeing no avenue for escape, the captains of the surviving ships opted to surrender, raising the standard of the Lamp one by one.

"Lamp standards are confirmed to be flying on all enemy vessels; they've also stricken their colors."

After validating the reports for himself by examining the enemy vessels, one of the vice admiral's staff officers reported to Pommerau with an openly disdainful tone in his voice—he even clicked his tongue towards the end. He handed a pair of binoculars to the vice admiral, who quickly ascertained the situation.

"Hmm... It would seem so."

Pommerau gave the binoculars back and turned his gaze downward for a moment as if to consider his options. Before he could reach a decision, another one of his staff officers came to his left side. He clung close to the vice admiral and whispered in his ear.

"A suggestion, vice admiral... These demons have wrecked more than double a dozen of our own task force, killed off thousands of good men, and damaged several of the navy's proud battleships. It would simply be a disservice to His Majesty that they are... 'let off the hook,' so to say."

But Pommerau immediately rebuked him, almost as if he had a reply prepared for this occasion.

"Let us not. It would ruin not only my record but the empire's image elsewhere; it's already on uneven footing as it is with the trade wars and whatnot. Not to mention that it would taint the image of our glorious victory here! But above all that..."

The vice admiral turned his gaze upward into the sky and swiveled his head around as if he were looking for something in the semi-cloudy heavens.

"Have you not seen the footage of the battle at Messina...?"

The staff officer's brow curved upwards in disbelief.

"'Footage'? But I don't recall them sending war photographers or filmers with the Messina task force?"

"They didn't. It looked like it was also filmed from the air as if the gods were spectating the entire battle... But my main point here is that because the entire battle was caught on that footage, I hear from friends in government that it got difficult for the Palace to push their casus belli for this war..."

Maintaining his gaze up at the sky, the vice admiral continued.

"While I already disagree with disrespecting the sanctity of the act of surrender, we must take into account that our every action here may be watched or recorded by some entity that is obviously not acting in our interests and act accordingly; I'd rather avoid a scandal where footage of us attacking surrendering forces is circulated the world over."

Shutting down that option, Pommerau turned to face the bridge and began issuing orders.

"All ships are to cease fire and refrain from attacking the enemy vessels! Contact them and inform them that we are sending boarding parties to their ships to formally receive their surrenders! Emphasize the warning that we will not tolerate any harm to these boarding parties!"

"Squadrons 9 and 10 are to conduct search and rescue operations! Other squadrons are to prepare to receive prisoners of war!"

"Contact Prefect Command and tell them: 20 Sivsly!"

The vice admiral's many orders were promptly issued down the chain of command. Launches from the battleships carrying officers and a platoon of marines were dispatched to the half-sunk Altaran ships to receive their surrenders as ships of Squadrons 9 and 10 broke formation to begin searching and rescuing personnel, enemy and friendly alike.

Meanwhile, back at the Prefect Command of the 1st Armee Corquexima, the simple message of "20 Sivsly," the Date of Proclamation of the Parpaldian Empire and the informal Parpaldian military code for victory, from Task Force "Nalina" resulted in bursts of cheers throughout the building. As word spread fast, the faster manacomm lines carried the word of the victory at Menda Point to the War Department and then the Imperial Palace, which proceeded to move forward with war preparations and scheduling press conferences for the emperor, respectively.

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19:26, Royal Castle, Le Brias, Altaras

Regretful tears, pained moans, and distraught grimaces defined the atmosphere of Altaras's Royal Navy Command as news of the battle filtered in from intelligence sources in Esthirant, a stark contrast to the merry cries and delighted smiles of the Parpaldian War Department. They feared the worst, especially after the harrowing last messages of the Madisbur informing them of their intent to surrender, but when their operatives in Esthirant began flooding their channels of the extent of the disastrous defeat at Menda Point, they were utterly shell-shocked—not even their worst-case scenarios could trump such catastrophic losses.

Of the original 59 ships and 40 sloops deployed for the mission, only 6 managed to survive, and still, they surrendered. Most of their capital ships—their most powerful battleships, cruisers, and ironclads—were completely lost, and so too was a sizeable chunk of their rated ships, which would have been valuable platforms against the inevitable Parpaldian landings. Above all, should the ships they lost have been completely destroyed, they were looking at a mind-numbing 35,000 to 45,000 dead and wounded, a harrowingly devastating loss of life.

Additionally, the wyvern corps reports a squadron lost after they've failed to contact their base and return home. Numbering less than 100 total riders and wyverns (not including their support crews, command, and so on), a squadron loss was immense; it essentially meant that there were now too many sectors for the corps to patrol all at once, which was a death sentence against the superior Parpaldian wyvern corps, which was more than three times their size.

While things were undoubtedly gloomy in the halls of navy command, things were worse for Musir (Admiral) Erdil Gucer Nizam, Chief of Staff of the Royal Altaran Navy, who had been biting his lip for the past three hours. He, along with several commanders, was in the audience chamber of the royal palace, waiting for the king.

As he stood there stiff-faced and sweating buckets, thoughts swirled in his head. He thought of positive things to try and get His Majesty to be in a good mood; in the end, he came up with a handful. Even if the bulk of their navy—including the majestic centerpieces that were the Krallık-class battleships—were gone, their torpedo boat squadrons and several squadrons of rated ships were still active. He would try and persuade him that even if the Parpaldians were to try and land, the navy still possessed the requisite strength to challenge such attempts. In other words—and while very much a far-fetched string of logic—the kingdom is still not in danger.

He imagined petting the heads of the little girls and boys in his hometown, an admittedly guilty pleasure he'd always had, and his breathing started to even out. But just as he regained control of the momentum of his blood flow, the doors behind the throne flung open in a thunderous bang. The commanders of the navy were instantly back to sweating buckets as the figure of King Taara XIV, disheveled and in nightwear, sent their blood pressure to the moon. The king's face, flush with enraged red and aggressive curves, was like the mask of a ferocious demon, ready to maul their sorry mortal bodies. As soon as His Majesty opened his lips, a roar louder than that of any lion came barreling down upon them.

"WHAAAAAAAT THE FUUUUUCK HAPPENED TO MY FLEET?!"

Although it goes without saying, the king was mad. Extremely mad. He was so mad that decency had gone out the window, and his shouting had his spit flung all the way to the faces of the trembling navy commanders.

"TELL ME THEY AT LEAST DESTROYED THE PARPALDIAN NAVY OR EVEN THE OUTPOST AT KRASKIY?!"

None of the commanders, not even the usually stone-willed Gucer Nizam, had the guts to tell the king that none of such requisites were achieved—far from them, even. But their silent, weeping, downward-facing expressions were all the king needed to know that that was the case. Still red with fury, the king turned his attention to Gucer Nizam, the only individual in the group to maintain a forward-facing stance.

"You! Off to Kuzan!"

Their collective heartbeats caved into the earth upon hearing that statement.

Kuzan was a special town built in the mountainous regions deep within the island, and it was an open secret among the political elite in Le Brias that this was where the king sent those he calls "useless people"—political enemies, unruly administrators and bureaucrats who did not adhere to his policies, and certain individuals that pissed him off. It wasn't a particularly horrible place, but the isolated post and the treacherous nature of the underdeveloped mountain environment meant that being sent here killed one's political career and social standing; no one posted in Kuzan that was 'forgiven' by His Majesty had ever recovered their previous political prestige as other elites feared being considered "useless" by associating with them.

To Gucer Nizam, this meant that he was effectively out of a job as the Chief of Staff, and his riches and estate would be confiscated by the state; his honorary title "Nizam" would also be struck off.

Reduced to a status that was less than that of a lowly commoner, Gucer fell to his knees and—for the first time since his daughter's birth—wailed. Thoughts of his wife and daughter having to live in Kuzan's communal housing destroyed his sense of reason, pushing him to try and appeal to the king's empathy.

"Y-Y-Your Majesty! Don't do this to me! I have a wife and child I need to support! I will prove that the Navy is still of use under my command! Please, I—"

Slap!

Gucer felt his red cheek sting with intense pain after the king went and slapped him with a rubber glove he kept with him. At that moment, he felt an undeniable sense of despair and anger begin to dance in his heart.

"You dare ask me for clemency?! After you've sent 50,000 of my finest sailors and billions of the citizens' taxes into the arms of Trallam, god of the sea and protector of the depths?! THE NERVE ON YOU USELESS SCUM!"

The king then turned his back on him.

Gucer imprinted the image of the king's unkempt back into his head as he blamed himself for allowing His Majesty—"No, he deserves not my respect," he thought—to shift the blame for sending the task force to their doomed mission against Kraskiy. Who was it that ordered them to send most of their navy to engage the Parpaldians against all sane advice? The answer was clear; even the other navy commanders knew this, but they kept the answer within their hearts, fearful of the king's unjust retribution.

As the king walked away and ordered the Royal Guards to escort them out, he left them with one last message.

"The Navy has proven itself to be a highly incompetent force; you have shown that you have definitely not earned the attention and incentives I've sent your way for the past decade. Fortunately, I've spared no expense towards the Army, who I know will not disappoint me."

A stinging stab into their prestige, for the Altaran Navy and Army were bitter rivals for royal attention and preeminence in Altaran society. Far from ashamed, the navy commanders (and Gucer) were fuming.

As the echoes of the Battle of Menda Point force open new cracks in the kingdom of Altaras, the Parpaldian Empire, reinvigorated by its overwhelming victory, rears its head and prepares its army—the bonafide conquerors of the southern half of Philades—for their full invasion of the island.