Chapter 4: The Battle of Épée Prière Bay

Port Ciennbourg—

It happened aboard the Garnet—High Britannia’s ninth 74-gun Princess-class. Its contours were dominated by three masts, and smokestacks just tall enough that the exhaust wouldn’t obscure the crew’s vision.

The first Princess-class ships had been built with only one smokestack, but were redesigned from the sixth one onward to include two more. There were also other minute differences between these ships, such as the size of the sails and placement of the cannons.

Aside from that, however, their structure was fundamentally the same throughout: each ship was 120 cubits (52 m) long with a span of 34 cubits (15 m). The sails could also be folded away when the steam engine was in use, though the masts remained in place, with the tallest one in the middle towering at 130 cubits (58 m) tall.

The number of cannons on the broadside was rather modest for a ship of this scale, and they weren’t positioned much higher than water level. This was a considerable contrast to Belgaria’s Aeterna-classes, which proudly stood tall like castles floating on the sea. They gave off an air of utmost dignity as ships of the line, and the unique artistic flourishes that decorated each one made them akin to fine pieces of art.

Princess-classes, on the other hand, were low and plain. This did carry the advantage of making them harder to hit, but when the seas were rough, the lowest of their three gun decks was prone to becoming flooded. From there, it became near impossible to tell who was supposed to be operating the pumps, and who was meant to be manning the cannons.

This issue could not simply be ignored, especially since the waterline rose much higher than anticipated when the ship was fully loaded with coal. There was little doubt that the Princess-class boasted overwhelming war potential compared to the warships of other nations, but to the user, it definitely had its flaws. It was the first large-scale warship to be loaded with a steam engine, and was very much still a work in progress.

The ceiling in the cabin of a Princess-class was considerably low, and the door—which was five steps down from the main deck—was so small that one might assume it had been made for children. The passage inside led to even more stairs, and the ship’s thick, sturdy armor meant it was rather cramped. Only when it opened up into the bridge did this claustrophobic sensation subside.

At the center of the room was the helm. There was another on the quarterdeck, where there was a better field of vision, and this was the one that would be used in times of peace. After all, it was far easier to perform careful maneuvers such as docking and approaching allied vessels with a clear view of the ship.

During times of war, they would move to the helm inside the ship. Here, they were protected by the sturdy poop deck which, with some luck, could endure a direct cannon blast.

The captain’s quarters lay at the rear end of the bridge, and were far enough inside that their door didn’t need to be quite so narrow. Inside that room, a woman in a sailor’s uniform had a gentle smile on her face.

“Oh, good work, Captain Morins.”

She was nineteen years of age—a woman with blue eyes and glossy long blond hair which was bundled behind her head. There was a thin scarf wrapped around her collar, and she wore an overcoat that seemed a little too long for her short stature, so much so that the belt tying it down around her waist made it look as though she was wearing a skirt. Though she was, of course, wearing pants underneath.

Her name was Laurelin, and she served as an adjutant. While it was apparently rare to employ female officers in other countries, High Britannia was a country ruled by a queen and thus saw little need to place men above women in most fields.

“Is the conference over?” she asked.

“No, get this—we haven’t even discussed anything yet.”

“Are you serious!? It’s already past noon...”

“MacCunn’s taking things hard and we were all trying to cheer him up. His son was on the sixth ship, you know.”

MacCunn was the captain of the High Britannian Royal Navy’s first ship. He had refrained from taking his son aboard in case it was seen as favoritism, but now he was deeply regretting that decision.

“That’s some tough luck.”

“Yeah, and you saw how sudden that surprise attack was. I doubt he had time to jump overboard.”

“...To go without lunch.”

“Oh, were you talking about me? Well, I didn’t get anything to eat, I’ll admit.”

“Let me brew you some tea, then. We have biscuits, too.”

“I could really do with some jam.”

With that remark, Huey Morins—the captain of the Garnet—gave a wink and took a seat in his chair. The living area in the captain’s quarters also served as the conference room, lounge, and dining hall for the ship’s officers. It was here that the top brass would drink tea, eat, drink tea, draft plans, and drink tea.

Laurelin put a pot on to boil, measuring out some leaves before throwing them in. Their faint aroma imparted the captain with a sense of security, and it wasn’t long before he loosened up enough to leak a complaint.

“Seems the admiral thinks Belgaria will strike again.”

“Fufu... If they do, then we just need to sink them again. We won’t fall victim to such an ambush if we stay well away from the cape.”

“You’re right.”

“By all means, Captain.”

Laurelin placed a teacup on the table, and a thin trail of steam rose from the light-crimson liquid inside. As Morins brought the drink to his lips, a pleasant scent greeted his nostrils, its faint astringency blowing away his drowsiness and its gentle sweetness doing wonders to ease his fatigue.

“Mnn... Your tea is as good as ever, Laurelin. It makes me never want to go home.”

“Keep saying that, and your wife will surely chew you out again.”

“Ah, thinking about her makes my head hurt. Take it from me—never marry a bigshot’s little girl.”

“I don’t think that’s something I’ll have to worry about, Captain.”

“I suppose not.”

“As I recall, her father is an admiral in the navy...”

“Once upon a time, I was brimming with ambition. I wanted to become the captain of a warship, y’see. ‘This puny support ship ain’t good enough for me,’ I told myself. ‘I need one of the big boys.’ Ah, how wrong I was... Then this girl I met at a party falls head over heels for me. Well, I was quite a looker back in the day. I married into her house, and it was smooth sailing up to the point where Daddy’s recommendation made me a captain of the newest line of ships. It was all blue skies above—a rose-colored life, I tell you.”

“The way you’re speaking makes me think that isn’t the case anymore.”

“A woman changes when she’s had a kid.”

“I’ve never had one, so I couldn’t say...”

“That so? Wanna try for one?”

“With a bearded old man?”

“Aren’t beards manly?”

“I much prefer gentlemen.”

“Oh, I’m gentlemanly enough in bed, wouldn’t you agree?”

Morins reached out a hand and pinched Laurelin’s scarf, pulling her lips close. Her cold blue eyes stared deep into his soul.

“...It’s still daytime, Captain. What about the conference?”

“Don’t worry about it. If those Belgarian half-wits are coming back, it won’t be until tomorrow morning at the earliest. And the conference is pointless; that gorilla’s plan’ll be something straight outta the textbook.”

“Just to clarify—by ‘that gorilla,’ are you referring to our dear admiral?”

“What’s this I hear? Oi, don’t tell me you like the wild sort. Do rough ’n’ tough men get you heated? Hah, you shoulda just said so!”

“No, it’s just... that gorilla admiral of yours is... Mnn...”

Laurelin’s words melted away into a quiet moan as Morins’s lips suddenly met hers. A series of wet smacking noises could be heard as their tongues entwined, eventually parting with a small pop.

“You’re always... so forceful...” she murmured, her eyes misty and her cheeks red.

“Forget the admiral. I know I’ve already forgotten about him.”

“That’s quite hard to do when he’s right behind you.”

“H-Huh!?”

Captain Morins hurriedly turned around, just in time to see a hairy hand clutch his head in a claw hold, squeezing so hard that Morins was almost certain he could hear an audible grating sound. The pain was unbearable, so much so that he thought his skull was about to crack open.

Red, sun-bleached hair more evenly cut than a well-trimmed lawn, topped with the cap of an admiral. Two enraged eyes piercing straight through him. Bulging muscles that could easily be made out even beneath the man’s military uniform. It was the admiral of the Queen’s Navy, Lieutenant General Goliath Oxford—a man so large, it was a mystery how he had managed to make it through a door so comparatively narrow.

“Ahem, ahem... Can you hear me, Captain Morins?”

“Sir! Yes, sir!”

“Have you finished your business that you deemed urgent enough to put our conference on hold, Captain Morins?”

“Sir! Yes, sir!”

“Then I would like to continue the conference.”

“Of course, sir! Admiral, sir! For our beloved homeland! For the fleet, our families, our bodies and souls! To the best of my ability, through thick and thin, at any and all costs—I intend to fight the Belgarian Empire! ...Incidentally, did you happen to hear my little joke?”

“‘Gorilla’?”

“I-I’m just a monkey myself, see? O-Ook! Ook! A-And the Belgarian Navy is a far more pressing matter than such meaningless jokes, Admiral, sir! They will most definitely attack again tomorrow morning! Yes, now’s not the time to be obsessing over something as trivial as a light gibe! I-I wasn’t being serious, really!”

“What’s your basis for saying they’ll come tomorrow morning?”

“In these parts, the wind blows in from the sea during the daytime. It’s already considerably weaker in the bay as it is, so that’s their only opportunity to launch a raid. Our transport ships are their target, and considering their size, it’ll take us two, maybe three, days to unload. This means tomorrow’s the only day that they can guarantee they’ll still be in the port. Once we’re out on the open seas, we’ll be a lot more wary of attacks, and it’ll be tough for them to identify our sea routes.”

“What countermeasures would you suggest?”

“We have four Princess-class ships, so let’s hide one outside the bay. That way, when the enemy enters, we can seal off their only exit. And if we’re attacking them from two sides, they won’t be able to get away like they did today. Even if the Empire outnumbers us, a majority of their units are mid-sized vessels that won’t be able to contribute to the battle. It was proven in that bombardment that their main ship’s armoring is thin; as long as they don’t have a means to escape, annihilating them is a simple matter.”

“And how do you plan to hide that ship outside the bay?”

“The Empire will certainly come in from the northwest, so it should be easy enough if we position it on the southwest side.”

“Hm?”

“Oh, I say they’ll approach from the northwest because the wind blows in from the southwest in Touranne at this time of year. A sailing ship would surely want to attack from the southwest for this very reason, but a commander that easy to predict wouldn’t have employed a bombardment from across the cape.”

“So you’re basing this on their commander’s nature...”

“Admiral Bertram was the one leading Belgaria’s fleet, and he’s a man who prefers mainstream tactics. But I presume someone else is holding the reins right now. Perhaps Bertram was dismissed for losing the Battle of Touranne.”

“I see... It does seem that way.” At that, the admiral effortlessly pushed Morins aside. “What do you lot have to say on the matter?”

Morins had been caught in Oxford’s vice-like grip for so long that it was like his very skull was throbbing with pain, and he rubbed his head with tears in his eyes. He hadn’t noticed since he’d been so engrossed in the conversation, but the other officers had gathered in the room as well.

Each and every one of them, boarding my ship without telling me... Morins grumbled to himself.

Meanwhile, Laurelin fixed her scarf and stepped away from the table, immediately getting to work preparing tea.

Just serve them seawater! Morins yelled on the inside. But rather than voicing his displeasure, he started brushing off the tabletop. “Welcome to the Garnet. Please, take a seat. Make yourself at home.”

“Good grief, what a smooth talker you are.”

The first officer to speak was MacCunn, captain of the first Princess-class. He was a hardy middle-aged man, wearing a black scarf wrapped around one arm—a look that had practically become his insignia. His eyes were bloodshot, and despite having only just lost his son, the man was so devoted to his work that Morins would go as far as to call him uncanny.

“Forget about the tea. I think the plan’s fine, a’ight? But I can’t stand that Morins is the one who came up with it.”

Next to chip in was Barrister, captain of the fifth Princess-class. While he was still a young man, he hailed from a famed house and was brimming with vigor and confidence. His assertive fighting style had earned him considerable military gains, and during both the Battle of Touranne and the exchange that had taken place in Épée Prière Bay, he was the first one to sink an enemy ship.

Oh really? Well, that goes both ways, asshole! Morins spat back in his head. He didn’t let his frustration show, of course; he was an adult, and carried himself as one.

Orsen, captain of the eighth Princess-class, was the only man in the fleet older than the admiral. He was a rare individual who came from a house of accountants, and had served as a chef in the royal palace before joining the navy. When the older model ship of the line that he had captained was retired, he was sure that he would be retiring along with it, only to find himself captain of a new Princess-class under the late Queen Charlotte’s recommendation.

“...Our objective is to deliver our supplies to the front line. That is why we guard the cargo ships and secure the port...” Orsen began. “If we overextend ourselves—if we make fighting the enemy a goal—then there is a chance that we might make a crucial blunder. I am reluctant to remove one of our valuable ships from the port.”

It was a cautious argument befitting an old captain.

Morins lowered his head in apology again and again. “Ah, of course! It’s all precisely as you say! My thought process was so cursory that I didn’t even consider such things!”

In all honesty, Morins didn’t care what plan they decided on—the important part was that he had managed to play off slipping out of the conference.

The gorilla—or rather, Admiral Oxford—thought for a moment. Morins could already guess what he was about to say.

“Hm. There is some merit to Captain Morins’s proposal, but I believe that focusing on defense is more in line with our orders.”

Knew it. Are you really all right with such a passive response? Morins thought. But he continued to listen on in silence, the fake smile plastered over his face not faltering in the slightest.

The admiral went on. “The assertion that the imperial fleet will come tomorrow morning is one that I agree with. Let’s double our patrols. I leave command in the hands of Captain Barrister.”

“Got it, Admiral. Put me on it, and I won’t let a single fish get away.”

“I would like everything to be unloaded by tomorrow so that we can set sail early the following morning. It’s earlier than scheduled, but please act with that in mind. Captain Orsen, I would like you to oversee this.”

“...Understood. I shall expedite the process as much as possible, and we will dump any cargo that does not make it off the ships in time.”

“Good. MacCunn, Morins—be ready for battle. Keep the steam engines running through the night.”

“Understood!” MacCunn gave a firm salute, and of course, Morins did too.

Laurelin set out enough drinks for everyone. “Please enjoy our finest Suriname tea.”

Hey now, don’t use the expensive leaves! Squeeze out the rags or something! That’s more than enough for them, Morins cursed to himself.

Oxford thanked Laurelin for her efforts, but then politely declined the tea. “My humblest apologies. We are in a situation where the kingdom’s fate is at stake, and we don’t have a second to waste. I must excuse myself,” he said, before promptly leaving the room.

Following suit, the other captains shambled off to their respective ships.

It was finally quiet. Five cups in total were set on the table, and now that Morins was finally alone with Laurelin again, he sat back down and picked one up.

“Good grief, how restless can they get? Forgoing good tea? Can you believe them?”

“Are you sure you should be relaxing? You were told to prepare for battle.”

“Belgaria won’t attack until tomorrow morning. We already know that, yet I’m supposed to be ready for battle? That means I can’t even disembark my ship.”

“...If you disembarked, you’d just end up drinking all night.”

“Well, how about it? We can pick up where we left off, going until the wee hours of the morning. It’s not like we can leave the ship, after all.”

“...You never learn, do you?”

“Hey, life’s too short to be a saint. Compared to brewing tea that no one drinks, this’ll be a much better use of your time.”

“As per navy regulations, ‘When told to be ready for battle, one must be prepared to immediately respond to any signals from the flagship.’ Did you know that?”

“Oh, I’m well aware. In fact, I’m already perfectly prepared. All that’s left now is to wait for the signal.”

“But you never wait... Ever.”

“You just don’t notice it. All the signals you’re sending me.”

Morins reached out his hand, and once again grabbed Laurelin by her scarf.

✧ ✧ ✧

Work continued late into the night for the Western Liberation Fleet, even though they had exchanged cannon fire with High Britannia that very morning. Regis did not get a wink of sleep, instead opting to ride a raft smaller than a fishing boat back into the port. It needed to be as small as possible so that they could slip through the enemy patrols undetected.

Moving under the cover of darkness, Regis issued detailed orders to the sailors, his voice shrouded from the enemy by the crashing waves. He was using those skilled at swimming to conduct work on the sunken Poseidam.

The seas were cold in June, and the Queen’s Navy was keeping up its patrols, so they had to act in short bursts. And of course, finding the precise location of a sunken ship in the dead of night was no easy feat. Regis had brought two black-painted ropes, securing them at separate points on the shore, and then had the sailors swim out to sea with the unfastened ends. The aim was to have the ropes cross over roughly above where the Poseidam had sunk, but as long ropes could weigh a hefty amount, moving them required multiple people working together.

Regis had been the one to propose this idea, but it was by no means revolutionary. This was a method widely implemented when making maps.

“...In my humble opinion, the real smart ones are those who can see something that no one has ever noticed before. I’m just following what they’ve written.” That was the awkward response he tended to give whenever someone praised his proposal.

As far as Regis was concerned, had he actually been a good strategist, there wouldn’t have been any allied casualties, the soldiers wouldn’t have been forced to swim in the cold at night, and the enemy’s ships would have perhaps even been seized by now. But he didn’t know any magical tactics that would have guaranteed those results, and he was more than aware that such notions would never come to him.

That was why Regis believed he was incompetent, and that those who had given him this position were simply overestimating his abilities. But I should at least fulfill my duties, he concluded, rubbing his tired eyes as he listened to reports and gave out orders nonstop.

Regis’s ploy couldn’t be found in any proper textbook, so while he could leave the actual work to others, there wasn’t anyone he could trust the finer details to. He needed to be on site to give directions.

If only I could swim... Though I suppose it’s a bit late for that.

While they were only in the bay, vision was poor and the waves still posed a considerable risk. Were Regis to enter the sea, his lack of proper training would ultimately cause their groundwork for the plan to devolve into a tragic accident.

“No matter what you do, don’t fall overboard,” the sailors pressured him.

The water in the bay wasn’t too deep, so the massive shipwreck was relatively close to the surface. And since the necessary tools had all been prepared below the Poseidam’s deck in advance, the work they were doing here wasn’t anything too complicated.

Upon reaching the underwater wreckage, the sailors opened an iron box that had been bolted to the ship. Out floated a rope with numerous bobbers attached, and once these were out of the ship, they immediately made their way toward the water’s surface. These weren’t the only contraptions that Regis had set up, but a number had been destroyed in the bombardment.

The work continued, and one by one, ropes fastened with weights and bobbers were released around the wreckage. The sailors were working as instructed, but even they didn’t understand the purpose of what they were doing.

By the time their preparations were finished and they were leaving on their raft, a gentle light was shining over the eastern horizon.

This isn’t good... High Britannia’s patrol is definitely going to find us!

They had preemptively dressed as fishermen just in case, but that wasn’t enough to fully ease Regis’s concerns. The patrol ship came up to them, and following a very tense exchange, decided that they were harmless and went on its way. At that moment, every sailor on the raft offered their thanks to God.

✧ ✧ ✧

The sky brightened, and the colors of the morning sun dyed the eastern mountain ridge.

Their third rendezvous point being a small island northwest of the bay, Belgaria’s Western Liberation Fleet departed and began making their way southeast. Just as Narissa had told Regis, a strong wind blew from the southwest to the northeast during this time of year, which meant they were currently moving perpendicular to it.

With the morning wind filling their sails, they headed toward the bay. Their vanguard was headed by four Aeterna-class ships, but the fleet had unloaded their food supplies and messenger ships, dumped their excess gunpowder and shells, and lowered the number of sailors to the absolute minimum. What was usually a five-hundred person ship now carried only three hundred.

This hadn’t been done to minimize the number of casualties, but rather to increase the speed at which their ships could travel—even if just by a marginal amount. Their plan relied on how quickly they could move, so they had gotten rid of as much excess weight as possible.

In addition to this, eight Urathenos-classes were also being used—ships they had been deliberately preserving up to that point. They had twenty at their disposal that Bertram had called from the surrounding seas, but these were ships designed to preserve public order, not engage in wars; one shot would be enough to take them out of commission, and their cannons were useless against a Princess-class. This was why they had initially been removed from the battle.

And so, four Aeterna-classes and eight Urathenos-classes led the way, proceeding in two columns. The remainder of the fleet followed at a distance—two Aeterna-classes, fourteen Sererne-classes, and twelve Urathenos-classes.

This was a considerable fighting force, but expending them in this battle would hinder Belgaria’s ability to protect its coastal waters henceforth. Perhaps their port would be occupied by another foreign power, or their merchant ships attacked by pirates. The Empire was already being run thin by High Britannia, so a financial crisis would hit especially hard.

What’s more, defeating the enemy ships and taking back the port wasn’t the only thing they had to consider; the Belgarian Army existed to protect the livelihood of the nation’s citizens, so by having to rely on their reserves’ firepower, they would essentially be fighting a losing battle.

In the cabin of the new flagship, the Brouillard—

The bay was still some distance away. Regis was holed up in the conference room, seated at a wide table with a number of chairs. He had discovered that sitting down and talking as much as possible made him a lot less likely to get seasick.

Altina, the only other person in the room, let out a drowsy yawn. She had apparently stayed awake until the crack of dawn, waiting for Regis to return. He had left without a word and so had been sure that she’d be quite annoyed, but surprisingly, she didn’t complain in the slightest. Rather, she commended the work that Regis and the sailors who accompanied him had done.

Looks like Altina’s maturing more by the day, Regis thought, as insolent as it was. He exchanged looks with the woman now wiping sleep-induced tears from her eyes.

“Mn? Is there something on my face?” Altina asked.

“No...”

Regis had inadvertently ended up staring at her again. He knew that bringing up last night again would make her scold him for sure, so he was definitely reluctant to rehash the topic.

“Err... I was just thinking that you’re pretty calm about all this.”

“Of course I am. When we’re out on the sea, there isn’t much I can do myself.”

“We’re all the same in that regard. A ship can’t move without delegating duties.”

“Yeah, that’s right. And when I see that, I can’t help but think...”

“About what?”

“You see... In battle, I always thought I belonged at the very front, leading the charge. But maybe that’s not always true.”

Regis’s eyes shot wide open. “...Have you come down with a fever?”

“Talk about rude!”

“Oh, no, sorry. But I’m always telling you not to run ahead of your guards, and you never listen to me. I just thought it was quite sudden.”

“Erk, well... True... This doesn’t mean I plan to stay huddled at the rear all the time, though. I just figured that delegating duties and working together would probably be important in land battles, too. Guards have their own duties, right? By running off ahead, I’m exposing them to danger. I mean, what happened to Eric was all because I...”

Altina’s guard officer Eric had lunged at an enemy to protect her, only to be wounded in the counterattack. He was currently recuperating at Fort Volks, but had he not been injured, he would have undoubtedly joined their campaign.

Silence fell over the room as Altina became lost in her thoughts, only muttering the occasional word. Her expression looked so mature for someone who had only just recently turned fifteen. Her sights were set on the emperor’s throne, and to realize this goal she would need to triumph over her political enemies. But more importantly, she would need to grow as a person. While she thought of and acted for the people, someone who was virtuous and honest to a fault wouldn’t be suited to rule.

Regis was beyond pleased that participating in this battle had proven to be a good experience for Altina. In that moment, as he stared at the dazzling growth of the young imperial princess, his anxiety over the approaching enemy ships and the fatigue that made his body feel heavy seemed to disappear.

The door leading outside opened, and Sparke the adjutant stepped in with a salute. “Admiral, isn’t it about time that you came out on deck?”

Regis was only an admiral proxy, but simplicity was best on the battlefield; the extra time it took to address him with an extended title could be time used to save a life. That was why the adjutant simply called him “Admiral.” But even then, every time that Regis was addressed as such, he would think, That’s far too much for me.

“...Y-Yes. Thank you. I’ll be there at once.”

“Sir!” At that, Sparke went back outside.

Altina stood and exited the cabin, with Regis following close behind. Outside, a turbulent wind blew.

“Once you get used to it, the salty breeze is actually pretty nice!”

“...Right.”

As his adjutant was present, Regis knew that he needed to watch how he spoke and only refer to Altina by her royal title.

Altina could feel the wind blowing toward them from the front of the ship. “Sails sure are peculiar,” she observed. “How is it that we can keep going forward even though the wind’s blowing against us?”

“...Oh, just because you can feel the wind coming in from the front, it doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s blowing in that direction. When the ship is moving forward, it will naturally feel like you’re going against it, you know— Uh, I mean, Your Highness.”

“Oh, really?”

“If you want to know which way the wind’s actually blowing, look at the streamer on top of the mast. Right now... Ah, yes. It’s blowing diagonally from that direction.”

“So it is coming in from the front!”

“Err... This is a principle from the thesis of a scholar called Bernoulli, written about a hundred years ago. Apparently, an increase in the speed of a fluid means a decrease in static pressure. Have you ever heard about that before?”

“What fluid are we talking about here?”

“In this case, it would be the air.”

“Then just call it air! Why do you always have to overcomplicate things!?”

“Ah, no... It applies to the air, but ‘fluid’ is a term that speaks to its physical properties. I think it’s an appropriate expression.”

“Hmph.” Altina pursed her lips.

Regis resigned himself and decided to try again. “This explanation may take a while, but... First, you need to angle the sail so that the wind comes in from behind. Even when it blows from the front of the ship—or rather, diagonally from the front—we can still move forward so long as the sail puffs up. That means it’s generating lift.

“Now, that’s where the shape of the ship comes into play. Its broadside is wide and nearly flat, while its prow is narrow and pointed. Let’s say the sail is moving the ship sideways—the wide broadside is pushed against the water, making it hard for the ship to stray to the sides. This movement cancels out, and only the forward force remains. And since that part of the ship is pointed, it splits the sea as it moves, right? As a result, the ship can move even when the wind is moving diagonally from the front. Though it does push us sideways a little.”

And so, it is indeed possible to move against the wind, Regis concluded in his head. Though, that said, it was still theoretically impossible when the angle to the wind was less than forty-five degrees. In fact, when a sail took the wind head-on, worst-case scenario, it could rupture.

Regis wasn’t sure whether Altina had understood, but she gave an impressed nod.

“Still, going against the wind is always difficult, no matter the ship,” Regis continued. “Remember when we were retreating along the coast yesterday? We were nearly taking headwind, so the enemy was getting closer and closer.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“A sailing ship is valued higher the closer it can get to taking the wind head-on. But when a ship is this large, it isn’t so—”

“A ship!”

A voice suddenly came down from the crow’s nest, causing Regis to look into the distance. There was a single ship in sight, and a small one at that.

Not only was the crow’s nest atop the mast a much better vantage point than anywhere on deck, but the lookout used a telescope. Thanks to that, he was able to discern that the small ship spotted was an allied vessel that had been dispatched for recon. They could even make out the flag signals it was sending.

“It seems to be an allied recon ship,” the adjutant reported. “Ahem... They report that there are no enemies in the vicinity. The coast is clear all the way to the mouth of the bay, sir!”

“The enemy kept their patrols to the area around the bay...” Regis mumbled to himself. “I see, I see... So that’s their decision.”

Sparke smiled, though his nervousness was clear on his face. “The enemy must have expected us to come from the southwest. We did so yesterday, and it’s standard for a sailing ship to come from the windward direction.”

“...You think so? I would have put the chances at fifty-fifty.”

“Really!?”

“It’s important to defy the enemy’s expectations... But as long as they don’t intercept us outside the bay, it shouldn’t make much difference whether or not they know which direction we’re coming from.”

“Do you think they have a ship stationed outside the bay?”

“It won’t be much of an issue if they do. But if we end up getting pincered, we’ll suffer a considerable number of casualties.”

“That certainly sounds dangerous...”

“That’s precisely why we kept up our reconnaissance, though.”

“Of course!”

The ship ahead wasn’t the only one—more than twenty small recon vessels had been sent to watch the area around the bay. Their surveillance net had been established and maintained since immediately after the previous day’s battle, and while this did require some sacrifice, it provided enough beneficial information to compensate.

It was then that a voice once again sounded from the crow’s nest. “Enemy ship spotted! It’s a patrol boat!”

“What do we do, Admiral!?” the adjutant asked in a panic. Altina looked similarly anxious.

Regis gave a calm nod. “It’s all right. Unlike patrols on land, patrols at sea are quite meaningless during point-defense operations.”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“On land, scouting is usually done by an unarmored soldier on a fast horse. The moment they spot the enemy, they can hurry back to report it. Meanwhile, the enemy unit is generally composed of much slower-moving foot soldiers, giving their opponent time to prepare to intercept them. This patrol boat, however, is a sailing ship just like us; unlike on land, there’s no considerable speed difference between us.”

“Oh, I see!”

Even if an enemy patrol had spotted them, the report likely wouldn’t arrive quickly enough for it to be a problem.

“The only issue is... the patrol boat could be faster than expected,” Regis murmured.

But his concerns were met with a laugh by the captain of the Brouillard. This man was a rare find, to say the least—considerably overweight in a military mostly composed of soldiers who were lean and muscular. He most likely did have a good amount of muscle hidden beneath his flab, though his short stature only added to his overall round physique.

The captain was currently gripping the helm himself.

“Hohohoho! No need to worry! My precious Brouillard won’t lose to the likes of that dinghy! I’d bet my bacon on it!”

I’ll have to refuse, thanks. Especially seeing as you’re already chewing on it...

But, the bacon aside, the captain was right in that the ships were going at about the same speed. In fact, the Brouillard was slowly overtaking its competition.

Regis was impressed. “I see. This is really quite something...”

“Hohoho! Want me to spill the beans on how it’s done?”

“...Superior seakeeping, perhaps?”

“Oh!? You guessed it! Nice work, Admiral! The waves are pretty high today, so a small ship like that’s too busy moving up and down.”

“Haha... Well, whatever the case, please keep at it.”

“Understood!”

The captain was certainly a jolly man. Regis wasn’t particularly good with people who had strong personalities, but the man’s carefree attitude thankfully made him quite easy to talk to. It was quite a load off Regis’s mind when he was surrounded by people he didn’t know.

By the time the sun had fully risen over the eastern mountain ridge, Épée Prière Bay was in sight.

✧ ✧ ✧

The clang of alarm bells resounded through the air, signaling an enemy raid. A massive roar like that of a ravenous beast boomed from the hull as the steam engine started up.

In the cabin of the Princess-class Garnet, Morins peeked his head out of the captain’s quarters. “Good grief, could they shut up for a second?”

He left the conference room dining hall just as his adjutant, Laurelin, was coming in from the bridge. “You haven’t finished changing yet, Captain!” she exclaimed.

“Mn? Whoops. Forgot my pants.”

“You’re not a sailor, so please don’t go out on deck dressed like that. If the admiral sees you—”

“I’ll have a gorilla scolding me again?”

“One of these days, he’s going to flat-out open fire on you, you know.”

“Hehehe... Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

Laurelin raced into the captain’s quarters, then returned holding the pants that Morins had previously thrown onto the floor. “You’re not leaving until you put these on.”

“All right! Put ’em on me, then!”

“Do it yourself!” she shot back, her voice sharp. And before Morins could protest any further, his trousers had been shoved into his hands.

“C’mon, don’t be so cold. It’s just the raid bell. You don’t have to be so on edge.”

“Then let me ask you this, Captain—when are you ever on edge?”

“...When I go home, usually.”

Laurelin hung her head forward in despair, resting her face in her palms. It took her muttering the Lord’s name in vain five times before Morins realized that he would not be receiving any assistance, at which point he hoisted up his pants himself and securely tightened his belt.

“All right!”

“According to the report, they are attacking with four Aeterna-classes... as well as a few smaller ships,” Laurelin said.

“Those are probably their scouting ships. They sure do have a hard worker at the helm. If that’s how they operate, if we’d positioned a single ship outside the bay, it would have probably been surrounded.”

“Then you should be thankful that the admiral made a sound decision.”

“Oi, don’t underestimate me. I knew that textbook gorilla wasn’t gonna employ any new schemes; I just said that for the sake of saying it.”

“Err... Then what plan would you find more appropriate, Captain?”

“It’s obvious. Some idiot thought it was a good idea to protect this many cargo ships with only six warships, and look what happened—two of ’em have already croaked. We should have evacuated last night.”

“...Th-The admiral would never agree to that.”

“They’d call me a coward, sure. End of story. Worst-case scenario, I’d even be a traitor. But look here, Laurelin—no matter how much that little shit Oswald might win on land, his tactical superiority relies solely on the latest guns and cannons. These cargo ships are his lifeline in this war. If you want to control the seas, you need huge ships of the line. Cargo vessels can be replaced, sure, but a ship like ours can’t be found just anywhere.”

“There should be another three Princess-classes at the port in Queenstower...”

“If they sent those out, we’d be leaving the capital in the hands of tattered old ships on the edge of retirement. It’d be basically unprotected. You think Parliament would accept that?”

Laurelin looked dissatisfied with Morins’s explanation, but intentionally changed the subject nonetheless. “Whatever the case, Captain, we need you on deck now.”

“Right. We’ll have to continue this discussion tonight... in bed.”

“Take this seriously, okay?”

“My advances are always serious, you know?”

“......”

You know, having a beauty glare at me like this ain’t so bad, Morins found himself thinking. He stepped out onto the deck and gave the order to prepare for battle, but his words were largely unnecessary; the enemy ships were already visible at the mouth of the bay, so even the most optimistic of sailors were already sprinting for their stations.

It wasn’t long before the first and fifth ships were ready to go. Flag signals were already being waved.

“Captain! We’ve received the attack order!” Laurelin called out.

“Yeah, well, my men are the best, so no need to panic.”

The engine room where the steam engine operated was several floors below the deck, so sending a messenger there to deliver every order would take far too long and ultimately cause delays. That was where the device next to the helm—one that looked like a skewered barrel—showed its worth.

This device was known as the engine order telegraph, and, as the name suggested, it was used to send orders to the engine room. The engineers could also use the device to report back. It was so noisy in the engine room that they needed to rely on it, but reporting to other areas on the ship was much simpler; they could simply use the iron pipes called speaking tubes that ran all around the ship to verbally converse.

Thanks to these various devices, it was possible for the captain to carry out all his duties in the bridge where he was protected by a sturdy deck, rather than having to stay outside where the view was better but there was a much greater risk of getting shot. Though perhaps Morins wasn’t actually taking command in the first place. Instead, he simply watched.

The helmsman made the call. “Garnet, setting sail!”

“Righty-o,” Morins replied.

Moving the ship was a job generally left to the crew.

With the way that Morins handled things, Laurelin had made a number of complaints back when she had first been instated: “You’re violating navy regulations. You’re slacking on the job. This is a dereliction of duties.” But she was used to it all now. Without losing her mind or making a ruckus, she simply glared at Morins with cold eyes.

“How exhilarating.”

A bombardment one day, and a sortie the next. Morins knew that he wouldn’t come out of this confrontation unharmed. He was already receiving reports about flooding and breakdowns, but such matters weren’t his problem to deal with; it was the engineers who kept the engine running, the gunners who handled the necessary measurements, and the accountants who rationed out the war provisions. What’s more, with six hundred crew members, there were some who were in the doctor’s care before the battle had even begun. Out of everyone on board, Morins was undoubtedly the one with the most free time.

There was a relatively large, tall table in the bridge, but no chair accompanying it. This was the captain’s post, and there was a sea chart spread across the tabletop. The chart had been marked with chalk; the enemy fleet’s route was more northerly than it had been the day before.

After receiving a message from the lookout via speaking tube, Laurelin reported back to Morins. “Enemy ships turning port! 3800 yards (3475 m) from our flagship!”

“Hey now, you’re saying they made the first move?” Morins asked, his brow furrowed.

This development was a surprise to Laurelin as well. She asked the lookout to verify, before turning back to Morins. “...There’s no mistake about it, Captain. The enemy ships are moving in two columns, one front and one back. The front column is crossing from left to right... Perhaps they’re trying to outflank us?”

“Sure, that might be an option if their ships moved twice as fast as ours. But even if they had the wind on their side, steam ships can still move faster in the bay.”

“The enemy formation is four Aeterna-classes in the front, and eight Urathenos-classes in the rear. Do they intend to engage in crossfire?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The likes of the Urathenos-class couldn’t be relied on in battle. Ships of that class were primarily made to rescue stranded personnel and apprehend smugglers.

Fundamentally, a ship of the line fought at close enough range that it could turn its broadside to the enemy and unleash its cannons. It was thus possible for even a less powerful vessel to fire a devastating barrage at point-blank range, so long as it crossed paths with an enemy. But with the Princess-classes’ superior firing range, the Queen’s Navy had no reason to play along with these antics.

As long as they could maneuver themselves to a position where only their shots could reach, and then maintain that distance from the enemy, then High Britannia would seize a one-sided victory. Granted, they couldn’t fall back very far since they were in a narrow bay with the cargo ships they needed to protect behind them, but the enemy would surely be annihilated well before that became a concern.

“...Was this an error on their part?” Laurelin muttered to herself.

“You’d think so under normal circumstances... Given their shorter range, the Empire’s ships would have to wait until we showed our broadside and started opening fire on them. But even from there, they would need to advance quite a distance before they could return fire themselves. Like what they managed yesterday.”

“Do you reckon they’ve changed commanders?”

Perhaps... Morins thought. But something didn’t sit right with him. “The person commanding this fleet has to be the admiral who so cleverly took out two of our Princess-classes. Would he approve of this move? Or what, did God speak to him in his dreams last night?”

The air shook. Cannons roared.

Once again, Laurelin relayed a report from the lookout. “The enemy has opened fire, but their shots are falling short.”

“This is nonsense... Not only have they turned too soon, they’re courteously showing us their firing range.”

“Isn’t this a good opportunity for us?”

“It is. We’d normally turn starboard the moment the enemy entered our range, since their shots still won’t reach us from that distance.”

By forcing a prolonged engagement while maintaining an advantageous distance, High Britannia could fight off the enemy’s main forces almost effortlessly. And an admiral as devoted to the textbook as Oxford would never let such a perfect opportunity slip by.

Morins prodded at the map in frustration. “What’s their admiral thinking? It’s shady as hell how they’re serving us our next moves like a full-course meal.”

“You’re right... Oh, the flagship is turning! They’re turning starboard!”

“Yep. That’s exactly what the gorilla would do.”

Though he wasn’t the only one; no admiral would ever hesitate to seize the chance they had just been afforded. And unlike yesterday, they were nowhere near the cape, this time staying right by the center of the bay. No matter what trap the Empire might have had in store, it surely could not pose any threat so long as High Britannia stayed out of range.

“Slow the engine! Full starboard!” Morins shouted. “And keep your distance! Being escorted like this really rubs me the wrong way.”

“Yes, sir!”

The helmsman pulled the lever on the engine order telegraph, signaling for the engine room to slow the ship. At the same time, he turned the wheel to the right; instead of them following the flagship, their route drew a parallel line further back.

I’d actually rather have turned in the opposite direction, but... I don’t know what kind of excuse I could make for that.

The bombardment began—a one-sided assault from afar. Morins watched the battle unfold from the small window in the bridge, though nothing particularly unusual seemed to be happening.

Am I just overthinking things?

The first and fifth ships were firing their cannons with the utmost enthusiasm, while the eighth ship was lagging behind a little. The ninth ship—that is, Morins’s—was even farther back, enough that he doubted their shells would reach the enemy were they to open fire now.

And then, from the window, he saw the flagship suddenly turn. In the midst of an engagement, it was common practice for ships to constantly zig-zag so that the enemy could not grasp their exact distance away, but there was no need to do this when the enemy cannons couldn’t hit.

Despite that, the flagship turned so sharply that its hull lurched to one side. It was severe enough that one wrong order would be enough to capsize it.

The hell is MacCunn doing!?

Morins glared at the map again. “I see! It’s the wreckage!” he exclaimed, remembering the massive ship of the line that had been sunk there the previous day.

Laurelin tilted her head. “Right, that’s where the Empire’s Poseidam sank yesterday... But did they really think we were such poor handlers that we would crash into it?”

“Hm... Right...?”

They may have been in the midst of combat, but the bay was vast; there were plenty of ways to avoid a shipwreck. What’s more, it was likely only the masts of the sunken ship that would have been able to touch any boat traveling above it. The flagship seemed to have panicked a little, having been late to notice the sunken vessel, but it ultimately managed to navigate the danger zone without issue.

In the end, the wreckage hardly posed an issue. As it should be.

The Belgarian Navy’s turn a bizarre distance away and their seemingly unsuccessful cannon fire had been brilliant in luring the flagship to that precise location, but... all in all, it seemed rather pointless.

Was the tactician so caught up in his own plan that he didn’t consider the logistics? While things still didn’t quite sit right with Morins, he breathed a sigh of relief.

The next moment, the flagship suddenly dropped speed, as though it had been grabbed by a giant hand.

“What!?”

“Huh...? Did it... hit the sunken ship!?”

“Even then, it wouldn’t slow down like that! A scrape would, at worst, open a hole in the bottom!”

Damage to a ship’s underside was quite serious, but would not result in such a sudden drop in speed. Morins couldn’t piece it together; his vision was too constricted in the bridge, and there were no reports from the lookout.

Before he knew it, his legs were moving almost by themselves. He raced up the stairs and pushed open the door to the deck. Paying no mind to the questioning looks he was getting from the sailors, he dashed to the portside guard rail, yanking the telescope from his belt and focusing it on the flagship.

“What happened!?” he yelled.

Laurelin followed a few paces behind. “Calm down, Captain! Perhaps they slowed down to match the enemy.”

“That ain’t it. The Princess-class isn’t capable of deceleration like that. They must’ve caught on something... Hm? Oi! Isn’t there something in the water there!?”

“What!? I don’t see anything...”

“Bring us closer to the flagship! But not too close!”

“I’ll pass the message on!”

Laurelin ran off as Morins continued to glare at the flagship. Its sailors were gathered at the stern, and a number were climbing the shroud of the mast.

Looks like they’re unfurling the sail. Has their engine broken down?

The fifth ship commanded by Barrister passed by the flagship’s side, while the eighth ship led by Orsen waited behind the stalled vessel like a faithful dog. As expected, since he didn’t know the reason the ship had suddenly stopped, he wasn’t going to be a fool and risk getting too close.

“Ah, that ain’t good!”

If they remained stationary, it wasn’t as though the enemy was going to sit and wait for them. Finally taking the tailwind, the Empire’s fleet circled around the front.

Good grief, what a day... Morins cursed. It was more his style to drink tea and leave everything to his subordinates, so why was he running around the deck like some fresh recruit? He burst back into the bridge, barking orders.

“Engine at full throttle! Take a hard right! Come on!”

“Aye aye, Captain!”

Perplexed by this unforeseen situation, the helmsman pushed the engine telegraph lever to its very limit and turned the wheel with all his might.

“Captain, the lookout says he can see rope!” Laurelin reported.

“I’ll need more than that,” Morins replied, before personally approaching the speaking tube. “It’s Morins! Talk to me!”

“Reporting from the top! I see something like a rope in the water, near the stern of the flagship!”

“And what do you think it is!?”

“It might be from the sunken ship’s anchor! It’s tangled around the propeller!”

“Shit!”

“Another thing! The fifth ship is heading toward the enemy fleet!”

“Goddammit, Barrister! Is he asking to be shot?”

It appeared Barrister was brazenly closing the distance to the enemy fleet, which had now formed a line of battle. He probably intended to barge into the enemy and bombard them from close range, though he himself would likely take a few hits before he reached them. With his superior firepower, however, there was a chance that he would be able to take out four or five ships before going down.

Certainly, if no one took assertive action, the immobile flagship would be a prime target. It couldn’t even turn its broadside to fire the cannons.

The Garnet turned to direct its cannons at the enemy, but Barrister’s ship was between them; Morins couldn’t give the order to begin a bombardment lest his ally be caught in the crossfire.

Meanwhile, the eighth ship managed by Orsen seemed to have made a similar decision. It went out ahead of the flagship to cover it, though its cannons remained silent.

Hold on a sec, Morins thought, didn’t we take on this exact formation right after the fourth and sixth ships were taken out?

✧ ✧ ✧

On the quarterdeck of the Brouillard, the flagship of the Western Liberation Fleet, Regis leaned his elbows against the starboard guard rail and watched the enemy ships. Only Altina was beside him, as the adjutant was running to the flagman to transmit the next order.

“Are you the reason their flagship stopped, Regis?” Altina asked.

“Yeah. I had some of our sailors send up ropes from the Poseidam.”

“How does that work? Do ships get tangled in rope?”

“It wouldn’t have any impact on a sailing ship, but steam ships use a screw propeller—a device that generates thrust by pushing the surrounding water behind the ship. Now think about it—for a ship as large as a Princess-class to move even faster than cavalry, just how much seawater must it be pushing out? And if it’s pushing water out, it must be sucking in just as much.”

“That sounds like a lot of water.”

“The screw sucks in everything that’s in the water, too. Even ropes with bobbers attached.”

“So a rope is enough to stop it.”

“Well, depending on how you use it. You couldn’t use rope to tie a ship down, for example; the rope would snap. But the screw is delicate. If rope wraps around its axle, the burden becomes far greater than what it would usually experience when turning on the open sea, and it ultimately breaks... like a sword slammed into a tree trunk.”

Altina pouted. “What a specific example. But I think I understand.”

“Hahaha... The hardest part about putting this trap to work was that we had to sneak across and under the sea at night, but I’m glad it worked out.”

“I’m surprised you even managed to find the shipwreck.”

“We set up a few floating landmarks beforehand, but it definitely isn’t easy to search underwater by moonlight. Thankfully we could just follow the cords down to the hull, and at that point, all we needed to do was close our eyes and make it to the contraptions.”

At the time, the sailors had reported that several parts had been broken during the bombardment, so it was a trial and a half actually getting into the ship.

“Did you take a dip too, Regis?”

“Do you really think I’d be capable of swimming without a sound, like a fish, or staying underwater for close to five minutes?”

“Ahaha... Maybe not. It’d be hard to swim against all the waves, too.”

“...Bold of you to assume that I can swim at all.”

“Oh dear.”

“I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve nearly drowned in a washbasin before.”

“Eh? You mean when you were a kid, right?”

Regis let out a dry laugh. “Y-Yeah... Right. It was definitely before I was an adult. Yup.”

Altina pointed to the immobile enemy ship. “So, are we going to commandeer that thing? You’re going to borrow—or rather, you’re going to steal the enemy ship, aren’t you?”

“...I would absolutely love to have it. If we were able to get our hands on such a high-performance ship of the line, you could hardly ask for a more reliable ally, and it would serve as a good reference for the Empire to produce ships on the same level. But there’s one little problem with that... Our trap destroyed the propeller, and that probably can’t be repaired with the Empire’s current technology.”

“Seriously? Then it’s completely pointless!”

“So while we could capture it, the crucial engine won’t work. That’s why that ship isn’t the one we’re after.”

“Then what are we—?”

“Admiral!” Altina was abruptly cut off as the adjutant returned, immediately raising his voice. “An enemy ship is headed straight for us!”

“Yes, I can see that.”

The fifth Princess-class was approaching them, having breezed past High Britannia’s now immobile flagship. It presumably intended to carry out a close-range bombardment.

“Then open fire!” Altina exclaimed, pointing toward the oncoming vessel. “We have to sink it!”

“No need. We already have a plan in place.”

“Ah... Sorry. The admiral should be giving the orders, not me.”

“Ha. Don’t worry about— I mean, your concern is unwarranted, ma’am.”

Altina gloomily turned away, so Regis offered a smile in an attempt to reassure her.

The adjutant opened his eyes wide. “I don’t mean to be rude, but... you’re a peculiar one, Admiral.”

“...You mean the fact that I haven’t been sacked yet?”

“N-Nothing of the sort! I mean how you’re able to speak so casually when such a strong ship is headed toward us. I’ve aided three admirals in my time, but not one has ever cracked a smile while we were fighting at sea.”

Regis thought back. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I ever saw Admiral Bertram smile...

“...Personally, I don’t feel like I’m doing anything particularly special. The fact of the matter is, we’re not in a situation where we have anything to fear. I already told you the plan, didn’t I?”

“Yes! Th-That’s the ship there!”

Weaving through the line of four Aeterna-classes was a single Urathenos-class ship, sailing out to intercept the approaching vessel. It was on a collision course, set to ram straight into its front.

Altina leaned out. “What are you doing!?”

“Please stand back, Princess. It’s dangerous. You might get hit by the debris.”

“Eh?”

The Princess-class possessed extraordinary speed for a warship; while the Urathenos-class could match its pace, it fell short in every other aspect. The distance between the two was closed in no time at all.

“Regis, you’re crashing that ship into it?”

“That’s right. Well, the Urathenos-class is small and doesn’t have a ram, so I can’t imagine the suicide attack will prove particularly effective.”

Urathenos-class ships were less than half the size of a Princess-class, so it was the equivalent of a child ramming into an adult.

“Say again...? There are people on board, right!?”

“They already know to jump overboard before it collides.”

That being said, the helmsman had to stay at the wheel until the very last moment or else their ship would be avoided. All Regis could do was leave it up to their good judgment.

“Are the cannons not enough?”

“Even with the firepower of our four Aeterna-classes, if a Princess-class crosses the T here, there’s a chance that some of our ships will be taken out. We can’t risk losing any more warships. And we’ll have to put on a show, too.”

“‘Put on a show’?”

“There was a scene that I read in a book once. Now I’m going to have the people over there experience it, too.”

At those words, Regis smiled sweetly across the sea.

✧ ✧ ✧

Laurelin brought a new report to Morins. “A single Urathenos-class is approaching the fifth ship!”

“What...? More of their nonsense. What on earth is the Empire’s admiral thinking?”

Morins’s head was starting to hurt. Both ships were capable of moving at great speeds, and if they collided, neither would come out completely unscathed. That said, the Princess-class was by no means brittle enough to sink from a single collision with a ship half its size.

Surely the enemy knew that too. They had to. They weren’t even firing at the fifth Princess-class as it approached their fleet. The way things were going now, the Urathenos-class would simply be knocked aside, and Barrister would be able to freely unload his cannons at close range. Perhaps his ship alone would be enough to wipe out the enemy’s main fighting force.

“Good grief... Is Barrister going for a Cross?”

“I never knew you had an interest in medals, Captain.”

“Well, they double your reward, and my pockets are feeling rather empty.”

“Are you sure you should be acting so carefree...?”

“For now, I can only watch. There’s nothing else I can do.”

The fifth ship had repositioned itself, accounting for the course it would take once it had approached the enemy. But as long as there was an ally in the general vicinity, Morins was not allowed to fire. The Queen’s Navy and the Belgarian Navy had formed their lines of battle, with the two ships closed in between them.

Morins could already foresee the small Urathenos-class being completely pulverized beneath the Princess-class’s hull, and every other onlooker surely expected the same. Those on the small vessel began jumping from its deck, as though fleeing a sinking ship.

A shiver shot down Morins’s spine. Is this another trap?

The tip of the fifth ship stabbed into the Urathenos-class’s prow, piercing slightly off center. It was as though the two ships were rubbing cheeks. Naturally, it was nearly completely one-sided; the Urathenos-class’s prow crumbled, its mast collapsed, and the hull was torn board from board. Morins was certain that the fifth ship would press through without issue.

Then, the next instant, he was blinded by a dazzling flash. An explosion. Its impact was so great, he could feel it from the bridge.

“...!?”

The window he was looking through had cracked. The sailors raised screams. His heart pulsed as though someone had smacked him awake. He could feel his blood practically burning through his veins.

What happened!? Right, an explosion. The fifth ship’s prow is...

The Urathenos-class had exploded, and black smoke plumed from where it had once stood. By now, its hull had practically left the corporeal realm. The area around the fifth ship’s prow, of course, was completely gone as well.

Perhaps the impact had ignited the gunpowder used for the cannons, as a number of smaller explosions followed. But the fifth Princess-class sank before the flames could cause any considerable damage. Even a ship that had been split in two wouldn’t sink that fast; it was practically a drinking glass thrown in the bay.

Barrister’s sailors had no time to jump overboard. In but a brief instant, a large warship had completely vanished.

Morins was at a total loss for words. His aide and the other sailors were the same. The ship that lashed at the enemy’s line of battle had been removed as easily as a chess piece from a board.

Finally, Laurelin ran to the speaking tube. “All stations, report your situation! Is our ship in one piece!?”

Her voice finally brought the men to their senses, and Morins quickly made his way to the helmsman. “How’s the engine room!?”

“Confirming it now...” the helmsman replied. “All right! We’re good to go!”

“That’s good.”

“Captain, the enemy flagship is sending signals!” Laurelin cried out, her arms clasping the speaking tube.

“Can’t say I didn’t see this coming...”

Through the glass of the small broken window, Morins read the message from the enemy ship: Halt. Surrender and we will not attack.

Morins nodded. “I see, I see... Screw that.”

“You plan to fight, Captain!?”

“Laurelin, dear Laurelin. Are you being serious? We’re getting the hell outta here!”

“What!?”

“We’re faster than them. You think we can compete with that!? Full speed! Full starboard! Get us to the edge of the bay!”

“Aye aye, sir!” the helmsman answered.

“You can’t!” Laurelin exclaimed, hurriedly stepping in front of Morins. “Our cargo ships are still in the port! Our flagship is still out of action!”

“And what about it!? Only our and Orsen’s ships remain!”

“Two Princess-classes should be enough to take out four Aeterna-classes...”

“Then what about the ships behind them? Did you see what happened to Barrister?”

“That’s... But if we lose the ships at the port, what happens to our supply chain...?”

Seeing how insistent Laurelin was that they stand their ground, Morins prodded her in the chest. “Listen to me, Laurelin. You’re clever. You should have realized by now that I prioritize the lives of myself and my crew above all else.”

“...We’re going to lose this war.”

“And we can think about that once we’re safe. Keep her steady! Take us into the open sea!”

A dry cannon blast echoed in the distance. Morins looked to see that the eighth ship behind him had opened fire. Its captain had chosen not to run nor accept the surrender; it was going to face the challenge. Orsen hadn’t been handpicked by the Queen for nothing—his loyalty truly was splendid.

Laurelin stared at Morins reproachfully, but he simply shrugged. “...I’m sorry. Orsen might be a martyr, but I’m not.”

“They’ll call you a coward if you run.”

“Let them say what they want. I don’t care. I just—”

At that, Morins frowned, finally looking away from Laurelin’s cold, glaring blue eyes. He had deliberately swallowed his next words.

...I just don’t want to let you die.

He couldn’t say it. He knew that she would blame herself.

And so, the ninth Princess-class, the Garnet, picked up speed as it approached the mouth of the bay.

✧ ✧ ✧

Morins opened his eyes wide. “Hm? Hey, what’s that?”

A sudden cold sweat ran down his spine. They had apparently been hidden in the shadows of the cape on both sides. In other words, they’d pulled a fast one on him.

Morins mustered a dry laugh. “Hah... So I’ve been following his script the whole time? He saw right through me? Shit. How’d you manage it, you bloody imperial devil...?” At that, he yanked the captain’s hat from his head and slammed it against the floor.

A hysteric report from the lookout stand turned the helmsman’s face pale. Laurelin went a similar shade of white, like a ghost, and her knees almost gave out beneath her.

“That... can’t...” she muttered. “How could they...?”

But before she could finish, the door to the bridge swung open, and in rushed an out-of-breath sailor. He was the flagman charged with sending signals, and had perhaps raced over upon receiving no response from the speaking tube.

“Hah... Hah... Captain... Enemy...” the sailor panted.

“Yes, I see them. Unfortunately.”

“Two Aeterna-classes... and over twenty other ships...”

“Imperial bastards. Have they gathered every ship from the surrounding waters?”

“Most of them are small crafts, but...”

Had he not just witnessed such an unexpected show of strength, Morins knew that he would have given the order to charge straight ahead, fully convinced that his foe stood no chance. He had just moments ago been certain that the Princess-class’s overwhelming performance could break through this encirclement, but that was of course no longer the case.

“That’s even worse,” he sighed. “They may be small, but if we crash into them, we’ll get blown sky high. Well, there’s a chance that we will, at least. There’s no guarantee we’ll go down like Barrister, but... do you really want to take that risk?”

“Err... Um...”

“That was a joke. Can you imagine me ordering a do-or-die resistance after what we just saw? My subordinates would shoot me before the enemy even got a chance.”

“That’s not—”

“Oh, I’m very sure it is.”

The eighth Princess-class’s cannon fire had already ceased. It hadn’t sunk, but there was less smoke than usual coming from its smokestacks; it seemed that their steam engine had already been shut off.

Morins walked up to the helmsman, putting his hands on the man’s shoulders and pushing him aside.

“Ah, Captain...”

“I’ll do it.”

He grabbed the lever of the engine order telegraph. One pull would send the command. It was as easy as that. But he would surely never forget the resistance that he felt as he did so.

Stop the engine.

Morins looked over at the flagman, who had stopped dead in his tracks, and gave a bitter smile over a sigh. “...While I’m at it, you want me to raise the white flag?”

✧ ✧ ✧

“...I hope we’ve made it in time.”

The cargo ships at the port surrendered without any resistance as Regis and Altina disembarked from the Brouillard onto a reclaimed harbor.

Likely owing to pulling an all-nighter and skipping breakfast, Regis was feeling terribly seasick. He decided to rest on an empty crate for a while, going as limp as a rag doll, when he realized that he was in the port’s central plaza. This was apparently where the enemy had been piling their supplies, but now there was nothing left; the wide-open eastern gate indicated that the shipment had departed that morning and was already on its way.

It was a little past noon. Soldiers were patrolling the area, just to be safe; the port had been occupied by enemy forces mere moments ago, and there was no telling where they might be lurking now. Negligence was therefore forbidden, especially when their commander Altina was so conspicuous.

“Regis, it looks like their convoy’s already left.”

“...After such a flashy explosion, I can’t say I blame them.”

“I guess no one in their right mind would want to stick around after seeing that.”

“Right. Not to mention, Mercenary King Gilbert came to get them; they wouldn’t take any half-measures.”

“What!? Wasn’t he bound for the capital!?”

“...He apparently came here with a handful of his own troops. These supply ships were the Achilles’ heel of their entire operation, after all, which is why they entrusted their escort to their strongest. Nice work from Oswald Coulthard.”

From there, Regis immediately extracted information from their prisoners of war. Though not personally, of course. The look in the prisoners’ eyes was so terrible that Regis found himself more worried about their health than willing to interrogate them.

Altina clenched her fists. “I see... He’s the trident wielder who wounded Latrielle. And he was here.”

“Err... I don’t think I have to tell you this, but please don’t run out looking to fight him.”

“I-I know that! But I definitely don’t plan on running away, should I ever see him!”

Her trusty blade was currently undergoing repairs so she was only equipped with a regular sword, and judging by their exchange during the nation’s anniversary, Latrielle was probably the better fighter. Seeing as that very same Latrielle had come out injured, any normal person would think that Altina’s chances of victory were terribly slim.

As a strategist, and taking the princess’s personality into account, Regis made a note on how essential it was to never confront Gilbert directly—not that he was planning on letting anyone attack their main camp. Altina was thankfully not a fool who would challenge the Mercenary King to a one-on-one duel, but if challenged, she wasn’t the type to back down. And even if she were, doing so would consequently lower troop morale.

“Hm... Mercenary King Gilbert, eh? I’ll have to think of something...” Regis mused aloud. “Ugh, my head hurts.”

“Well, if we’ve got no other options, I’ll just take him out myself,” Altina said proudly.

“Please don’t!”

“...Hey, hold on a second. Back during the naval battle... why did that ship explode?”

“Oh, you mean the Urathenos-class that we rammed into them? Why, because we loaded it full of gunpowder, of course. We filled the food and water hold, as well as the gun decks and corridors, with the gunpowder that we’d taken from the Poseidam. Then, we set up a contraption to ignite it. Well, not much of a contraption, really—it was simply a torch that would be knocked over onto a mountain of gunpowder pouches.”

“Did you set up the other ships like that, too?”

“Oh, no. If our enemy had chosen to continue the battle even after seeing that explosion, we’d have had to turn to something else.”

“You had something else, too!?”

“...If they were that determined to keep up the fight, they would have pursued us even if we fled the bay. Had that been the case, I would have made use of the cannons from the Poseidam that we’d set up along the coast. Setting their ships aflame with an oil-soaked rope was also an option, but oil doesn’t come cheap, so I’m glad we didn’t have to resort to that.”

“And you did all of that last night?”

“Oh goodness no. We took care of the Poseidam’s equipment yesterday morning, and I sent a messenger to prepare the oil right back when I got word of the western campaign, considering the worst-case scenario where the fleet was already in shambles when we arrived.”

“Wow.” Altina exhaled deeply, both impressed and concerned.

Regis began going into detail about where he had first read about each plan, and how they were depicted in their respective works. He had even paid close attention to cases where these strategies had been recorded as unsuccessful, attempting to work out the reasons behind each failure. It truly was a topic that he could go on and on about.

“...But since these techniques were all for naval battles, no matter how much I read, I really had to rely on my imagination. Reading them again should be a little more enjoyable now, at least.”

“You really are such a Regis,” Altina sighed, gazing out over the mountain range to the east. “So they’ve already taken off with their supplies. What are we going to do?”

“We’ll wait a bit, then meet up with the Fourth Army.”

“You mean with Jerome?”

“I had them hide in the mountains and watch the port. Had things not gone so well at sea, I considered having them launch an attack at night, waving the regiment’s flag to signal if they managed to take the port.”

That was the same plan as when they had occupied Fort Volks. Given how nearby the Fourth Army was stationed, they would probably be able to meet up with Jerome that same day.

“But seriously, how are we going to manage this? Even with the forces from Fort Letroisti, we only number around fourteen thousand. That might be considerably more than the enemy’s new supply unit of only five thousand, but they have the latest guns and cannons.”

“...So I’ve heard.”

“And if such a large supply unit reaches its destination, we might not be able to protect the capital...”

“That sounds about right. But as long as they don’t make it, we should be fine.”

“Haaah...” Altina let out a deep sigh, which, considering her usual energetic nature, was quite a rare sight to behold.

“Did you not get enough sleep last night?”

“That wasn’t a yawn, Regis! I’m so anxious right now that I don’t even know what to do with myself! With everything going on, I can’t just sit here doing nothing! Were it up to me, we’d be chasing down the enemy convoy already!”

“...You should probably wait until after we’ve reunited with Sir Jerome for that.”

“And while I’m being so impatient, look at you! You always look so... so nonchalant, Regis! You always say, ‘Oh, it’ll be all right’!” Altina ranted, dramatically swinging her arms around like a child throwing a tantrum.

Regis tried to alleviate the tension with a light chuckle, but as Altina’s scowl deepened, he was forced to give a proper response. “It’s not like I’ll always say that everything is going to be all right. There are plenty of things I don’t know, and even more that I can’t do anything about. But this time, things will be all right. Assuming they departed with the supplies just before noon, there’s a perfect open plain that we can use to— Hm?”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden arrival of the adjutant, Sparke. For some reason, he had quite a refreshing smile on his face.

“Finally found you, Admiral!”

“Err... I’m not the admiral proxy anymore.”

“Oh, my apologies! Strategist, then!” Sparke corrected himself, punctuating his words with a respectful salute.

Regis returned the salute merely for appearance’s sake, though decided to remain seated on his crate since he was still feeling somewhat seasick. “So, did you need something?” he asked.

“Admiral Bertram came to!”

“Oh! That’s—”

“Wow! That’s great news!” Altina exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

Regis was just as pleased, offering the adjutant a smile and a warm nod. “So what’s his condition like?”

“He seems a lot more clearheaded. I gave him a report on everything that happened just a moment ago, and he said that he would love to personally offer you his thanks if you were still around.”

“I see. I suppose I also need to thank him for letting me use his fleet. Mn? Ah, but it looks like that will have to wait.”

“Oh!” Altina turned to the east where a cloud of dust had almost completely obscured the road, kicked up by a group of approaching horses. It had only been a few days since their last reunion, but seeing them again felt almost nostalgic.

It was the Fourth Army’s Black Knight Brigade—an order of knights led by the hero Jerome.

Sparke gave Regis an understanding nod, albeit looking a little disappointed. “You seem to be busy... I’ll pass the message on to the admiral.”

“That would be much appreciated. ‘Thank you for letting me use your fleet, and please take care.’ Could you tell him that for me?”

“À vos ordres!” Sparke replied, saluting once more.

This time, Regis stood and properly returned the gesture, before extending the hand he had pressed against his heart. “And thank you. It’s because of you that a novice like me was able to command the fleet in the first place.”

Sparke happily shook his hand. “Perish the thought! You were one of the best admirals I’ve ever had the pleasure of serving! I can only hope that, with enough hard work, I’ll be able to put together such a godly plan myself one day!”

“Ha... Haha...”

“Well, that’s because Regis is a wizard, you know!” Altina teasingly giggled.

“Wait. Alt—”

A smile instantly spread across Sparke’s face. “I knew it! What else could that have been but magic!?”

“No, that’s... I simply took inspiration from a few books, and—”

“You must be quite the avid reader. If you don’t mind, are there any particular books that you would recommend I study up on?”

Regis mulled over the adjutant’s question for a moment. He had no problem reciting information from the books he had read, so much so that he could go on for hours. But putting his own thoughts and opinions into words was a much harder—and much more embarrassing—task. He had no choice but to power through these feelings, though; not only Sparke, but Altina was also waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Hm... I suppose any books would do, so long as you can find what’s interesting about them,” Regis eventually responded, awkwardly scratching his head. “There aren’t actually too many dull ones out there, in my opinion. Though I must admit, there are times where their intrigue can be hard to find.”

✧ ✧ ✧

On the second day of June in the Imperial Year 851, the Western Liberation Fleet led by Admiral Proxy Regis d’Aurick managed to successfully liberate Port Ciennbourg. Upon their arrival, however, they learned that the occupying enemy forces had already unloaded over half of their supplies, which were now en route to the front lines. If these reached Oswald, they would put the capital in quite the predicament.

Regis and Altina reunited with the Empire’s Fourth Army. It appeared that several days of rest had at least somewhat revitalized its soldiers, who had been exhausted from the long journey. Based on the reports, with the soldiers of the Beilschmidt border regiment, those stationed at Fort Letroisti, and the latecomers combined, their forces now totaled sixteen thousand.

At the center of such a large army, Clarisse stepped out of the white carriage that Regis had lent to her. She was as silent as a doll, no doubt because there were others watching her. But when her and Regis’s eyes met, for the briefest moment, the gentle smile from that memorable night crept onto her face. Her pale lips moved ever so slightly, seeming to mouth the words, “Welcome back.”

Just as Regis and Altina were about to head toward her, a knight in majestic black clothing appeared on an equally jet-black warhorse. “Oi, Regis!”

“...Sir Jerome,” Regis replied, having to crane his neck to see him.

“Ah, Jerome! Where’s my horse!? I’m ready to go anytime!” Altina declared.

“Hmph. Sounds like capturing the port wasn’t enough to put an end to things. What happened?”

“Yes, about that...” Regis began, lowering his head. “It seems the enemy managed to unload a substantial amount of their supplies yesterday.”

Taking out the transport ships had hopefully removed the threat of any further supplies coming in, but they still needed to do something about the provisions that were already headed for the war front.

Jerome’s expression turned even grimmer than usual. “Before we got here, Regis, you said it’d be impossible for us to beat their ten-thousand-strong supply unit.”

“I did say that...”

“But now that very same supply unit is headed for the capital with ammunition in tow. How are you gonna fix this?”

“...Well, we have to do something. There is one idea that comes to mind.”

“Oh, really!? Another plan!? Go on, then!” Jerome exclaimed, placing a hand on his sword. “And while you’re at it, you can explain why you bothered with this whole sea operation when this was obviously what was going to happen!”

Regis could feel the cold sweat on his back. He’s not going to accept a half-baked response.

“...Taking out their ground troops would have been a temporary solution. They could have simply delivered their next shipment to another port, and not even our horses would have been able to keep up.”

“You mean this was all an excuse to focus on taking down their ships? You were lying when you said we wouldn’t be able to beat them on land?”

“I-I wouldn’t put it like that, though I suppose you’re not necessarily wrong... But had I made it clear from the get-go that we were capable of defeating their ground units, and that their supplies would eventually be headed for the capital either way, then my proposal to instead sever their sea routes would have seemed irresolute at best. Who would have agreed to that?”

The Belgarian Navy had already lost to High Britannia’s transport vessels once before, so had Regis told the truth—that challenging the enemy on land was indeed a viable option—then perhaps Latrielle would have ordered him to prioritize that approach instead.

Altina frowned. “Maybe you’re right, Regis. Had you told me this before the naval battle, I probably would have agreed that we should challenge them on land, rather than out at sea where we’re at a clear disadvantage.” But even then, she had enough faith in her tactician that she knew she would have likely supported his plan regardless.

Jerome nodded. “So be it, then. Can’t say this is the first time you’ve deceived me!”

“...I-I’m really not a liar.”

“Hah!” Jerome scoffed, his horse braying along with him.

Unfortunately, even Altina seemed to be having doubts. “He’s... not a liar... right...?” she muttered to herself.

Regis was getting teary-eyed. “I can’t believe it. I simply took the best measures I could... Why am I being treated like this?”

At that, Jerome brought the conversation back on track. “So, the enemy has five thousand of the latest firearms? And the path to the capital is clear enough that they could use the cannons from their shipment, too.”

“...They also have Mercenary King Gilbert at their disposal.”

“Oho!” At the mention of the famed mercenary, said to be the strongest in the entire continent, a broad smile spread across Jerome’s face. Regis struggled to understand why.

“I already know how to deal with their guns, and the Mercenary King didn’t bring too many of his own men, so we should be okay. It’s just...”

“What?”

“Is something bothering you, Regis?”

Jerome and Altina spoke up in turn, waiting on Regis’s response with bated breath.

Regis looked to the east. “This is taking longer than anticipated... so I’m a little worried about what’s happening back in the capital.”

Something had seemed noticeably off about Latrielle’s behavior during their meeting atop Le Lucé, and while Regis had forced himself to ignore it, his concerns were quickly starting to resurface.