Chapter 14. Demonstration of Force.
The Parpaldian Empire. Esthirant, the Capital.
Central Third Division of Foreign Affairs and National Strategic Development
In the imperial capital—Esthirant, the shining heart of the Parpaldian Empire—three divisions oversee diplomatic affairs and strategic development. These meticulously structured departments, each with clearly defined authority, form the backbone of the empire's foreign policy power.
The First Division
The First Division is housed within the imperial palace itself—the very core of the empire's authority. This elite department is exclusively responsible for diplomatic relations with the five superpowers that dominate the civilized regions. A high degree of delicacy, meticulous execution, and the authority to make decisive political decisions are essential here.
Leadership in this division is typically composed of members of the imperial family, reinforcing its exceptional status. However, on rare occasions, highly trusted individuals from the ranks of lords, dukes, and marquesses are also admitted. Every decision made within this department is carefully weighed to maintain the delicate balance of power in global political affairs.
The Second Division
The Second Division, while located outside the palace, extends its influence across all civilized regions except for the superpowers. This department is tasked with shaping foreign policy and negotiating with other nations. Its primary goal is to advance the interests of the imperial capital through displays of power and strategic pressure.
Staffed by members of the middle and high aristocracy, this division takes pride in its status and expertly wields diplomatic tools to achieve strategic objectives. Their work frequently involves manipulation, trade agreements, and economic sanctions.
The Third Division
The Third Division is unique in that it maintains branches both within the empire and beyond its borders, including in territories classified as the Uncivilized Lands. Enshrouded in secrecy, this division is often perceived as an underground organization due to its unconventional methods. Its primary focus is on dealing with barbarian nations caught in a historical transition between the Early and Late Middle Ages.
This division operates with complete autonomy in these regions, possessing full carte blanche to resolve any matters as it sees fit. Its methods range from economic and political coercion to orchestrating coups, blackmail, and targeted assassinations. For intimidation and suppression of resistance, the division commands elite combat groups known as Zonderkommandos—special units under the Imperial Oversight Army that enforce the empire's will with ruthless efficiency, turning barbarian uprisings into wars of sheer survival.
The ultimate objective of the Third Division is the maximum exploitation of nations unable to mount effective resistance due to technological backwardness or political fragmentation. These territories become the targets of full-scale imperial expansion, where every resource—from natural wealth to human labor—is extracted for the benefit of the Parpaldian Empire.
The Office of the Director of the Central Third Division was dimly lit, the only source of illumination being the flickering glow of a magical lamp resting atop a massive oak desk. Behind it sat a middle-aged man with neatly combed hair, streaked with gray, and a well-groomed mustache that added a touch of austerity to his otherwise refined features. He was leisurely slicing a juicy cut of meat, occasionally sipping red wine from a delicate glass.
"Ambassador, do you have something important to discuss?" he asked offhandedly, his gaze never leaving his plate. His voice was deep and cold, carrying a tone of complete indifference to the matter at hand. "I apologize for receiving you during my meal."
The ambassador of the Kingdom of Topa—an elderly man with pale skin and trembling hands—took a cautious step forward and bowed. His unease was evident, though he struggled to maintain composure. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke:
"Lord Kaios, my king has sent an urgent message." His voice trembled, but he pressed on. "The World's Gate has fallen to demonic spawns. Nosgorath has returned, bringing with him high orcs and…"
At these words, Kaios froze, casually letting his fork clatter onto the plate. His sharp gaze locked onto the ambassador, his lips thinning into a hard line, while his eyes gleamed with an icy curiosity.
"Hah, you're talking about that so-called Demon King from your nation's legends?" he asked mockingly, leaning back into his chair. "Don't make me laugh, Ambassador. Nosgorath is nothing more than a remnant of primitive weaponry from the Ancient Magical Empire. That empire vanished long ago, and what remains—these so-called 'demonic beasts'—are nothing but echoes of its lost technology occasionally surfacing in our time."
The ambassador took a deep breath, his face turning even paler.
"Be that as it may, we have requested aid from all nations with whom we maintain diplomatic relations," he continued, doing his best to sound resolute. "My kingdom requires military assistance to eliminate this threat. And, if possible, we would like to request your magical artillery, which, according to rumors, is highly effective…"
Lord Kaios listened in silence, taking his time to slice another piece of meat and chew it slowly, savoring the flavor. Once finished, he wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and finally responded:
"You probably expect an answer right now. Very well, I'll give you one. That is impossible."
"Lord Kaios!" The ambassador's voice rang with desperation. "You don't understand! If this abomination conquers our kingdom, it will turn its sights on you next! I beg you, if Topa falls, then Philades will be next..."
Kaios raised a hand, silencing him.
"My dear ambassador, I believe you're mistaken," he interrupted coldly. "Our army is mighty, and our strength is unparalleled. A single battalion would be more than enough to tear your so-called 'mythical demons' to shreds." His voice remained calm, yet there was a steely certainty beneath it. "However, you have chosen a rather inconvenient time for your request. Look at this stack of documents from the Southern Third Division."
He gestured toward several small wooden boxes stacked neatly on his desk, filled with envelopes and scrolls.
A heavy silence settled between them. Kaios reached out, picked up one of the envelopes, carefully sliced it open with a letter opener, and unfolded the parchment. His brows raised slightly as he scanned the text. Then, without lifting his gaze, he spoke:
"You did not send us slaves this year, dear ambassador. And while I consider myself a moderate, I must urge you to be more careful."
At last, he looked up and smiled—a thin, mustached smile that sent an icy shiver down the ambassador's spine.
"There are many within the Empire who are, let's say, easily angered and rather... impatient. I suggest you make use of my carriage—it will take you back along the safest route possible."
The Sky Over the Coast of Fenn.
The sky was clear and cloudless. A gentle sea breeze brushed against the faces of the riders as they sat atop their majestic wind dragons, soaring high above the coastline. These beasts, sent to aid the allied Kingdom of Fenn by decree of the God-King Gahara, glistened in the sunlight, their scales shimmering like precious gemstones. Each rhythmic beat of their twin sets of wings was accompanied by a faint whisper of the wind.
"Such beautiful weather," one of the riders mused, squinting slightly as he took in the vastness of the open sky. His voice was quiet, almost dreamy, as if he wished to merge with the harmony of the moment.
"Lord Susanoo," rumbled the dragon beneath him, "that fortress-ship is watching us… using bright 'lights.'"
Susanoo furrowed his brow, straightened in the saddle, and tried to make out something in the distance.
"What are you talking about? I don't see any lights," he replied, narrowing his eyes toward the horizon, which, to him, seemed entirely unremarkable.
The dragon gave a slight shake of its head, a gesture of mild irritation that caused its rider to shift ever so slightly in his seat.
"Tch, humans... These lights are similar to the signals we use to communicate with our kin. They allow us to gauge distance and identify friend from foe," the dragon explained, slowly turning its head toward the barely visible ship far on the horizon.
Susanoo nodded thoughtfully, continuing to scan the distant expanse. Finally, his eyes caught a faint glint — almost imperceptible in the glare of the sun.
"Hmm… so this ship can see us even from this distance?" he asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone.
"Precisely. But the light it emits is so strong… it may see even farther than we can imagine," the dragon replied, its deep voice calm, yet laced with a subtle warning.
Susanoo let out a low hum, running a hand across the metal breastplate of his armor, as if testing its durability. His gaze once again swept across the horizon, this time with a newfound awareness of how small he truly was in the grand scheme of things. Sensing his rider's tension, the dragon subtly adjusted its wings, shifting the air currents beneath them.
They continued their journey in silence, each lost in thought. The wind played through the dragon's mane, while the golden sunlight illuminated their path. And yet, the invisible tension between the skyborne riders and the distant ship grew ever more palpable
Kingdom of Fenn. Demonstration Grounds. "Observation Gallery."
The royal harbor of Amanoki, the capital of the Kingdom of Fenn, stood before the invited guests in all its grandeur. Anchored in neat formation, warships from various nations beyond the Civilized Lands swayed on the water, their hulls adorned with crests and banners. However, amidst this colorful assembly, there was a notable absence of Russian ships. The harbor's depths were insufficient to accommodate the massive hulls of the Russian Federation's vessels, leaving them stationed further offshore, looming enigmatically on the horizon.
On the observation platform, draped in golden banners and bearing the insignia of Fenn, gathered the aristocracy and military elite. Among them stood Sword King Shihan—a man of imposing stature, his sharp gaze honed by years of assessing the strength and potential of his adversaries.
"Look at those floating fortresses from Magreb," he muttered, tilting his head slightly toward the distant ships. "They call them warships… but that is clearly a misnomer."
One of his advisors, dressed in a silk haori embroidered with silver patterns, gave a respectful nod.
"I must agree, Lord Shihan. However, there are two kilometers between our old vessels and theirs. I doubt they pose any significant threat."
Shihan tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
"Are they planning an attack? I see no movement from their fleet."
"And yet, their flagship is enormous… though it looks rather absurd. Only two cannons, and even those seem laughably small." The advisor let out a restrained chuckle.
Shihan turned his head and narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the chronometer on his wrist—a sleek, elegant gift from the Russian envoys. The thin second hand ticked forward, counting down each fleeting moment.
"Hmm… it begins?" he murmured under his breath, as if sensing something profound.
At that very moment, on the horizon where the Russian warship "Nashtoychivyy" loomed, the twin AK-130 naval artillery turrets slowly lifted their barrels, aligning them with the aged warships of Fenn. The harbor's tranquil silence was shattered by a thunderous roar.
"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!—one deafening shot after another tore through the sky, echoing across the water. Shihan and his retinue instinctively flinched, their bodies reacting to the sheer force of the barrage.
As the smoke cleared, the sight before them was nothing short of staggering. Where once stood proud ships, now remained only burning wreckage, riddled with gaping, jagged holes. The water boiled with scattered debris, and remnants of shattered masts and sails floated lifelessly on the waves.
The assembled audience fell into stunned silence. Even the battle-hardened aristocrats and generals, men who had witnessed the brutality of war firsthand, were visibly shaken. In this moment, their very understanding of warfare had been rewritten.
Shihan, a man who had long judged the strength of his enemies by the steel of their blades, now stood face to face with an entirely different reality—one that rendered traditional combat obsolete.
"My esteemed advisors and friends," Shihan finally broke the silence, his voice steady, yet tinged with undeniable awe. "I believe it is now abundantly clear… that strengthening our ties with the Russian Federation is not just a matter of diplomacy — it is a matter of survival."
His words hung in the air, met with murmurs of agreement and approving nods.
Every person in attendance understood the gravity of the situation. The power displayed by the Russian warship was absolute.
Forming an alliance with such a force was no longer a choice—it was the only path forward.
Kingdom of Fenn. The Bridge of the Destroyer "Nashtoychivyy"
The bridge was steeped in focused silence, broken only by the hum of instruments and the sharp, precise reports of the officers.
"Comrade Captain Second Rank! I have visual on twenty wyverns approaching from the west!"—the junior lieutenant reported loudly, his voice cutting through the air and drawing everyone's attention.
The Captain Second Rank, a tall man with a sharp gaze and the composure of a seasoned sea wolf, held his breath for a moment. Leaning over the table, he studied a detailed map of the area, recently updated with satellite imagery. His fingers lightly traced the markers indicating Parpaldian Empire territory.
"…The Parpaldian Empire…" he muttered thoughtfully before straightening sharply. "Establish contact with our people in Amanoki! Have them clarify the situation!"
"Aye, sir!"—the radio operator snapped to action, swiftly reaching for the communication console.
The wait felt like an eternity, though only a few minutes had passed. The tension on board was palpable, like a taut wire ready to snap. Finally, the speakers crackled, and a clear voice came through:
"Comrade Captain Second Rank! Reporting in! The Parpaldian Empire is in direct confrontation with the Kingdom of Fenn. There is a high probability of an attack, likely as a show of force. Military advisors from other countries outside the Civilized Lands are currently present in the royal capital."
The captain exhaled slowly, then turned to the officer standing to his right.
"Understood. Sound battle stations!"—his voice was firm, leaving no room for hesitation. "All ships, prepare to open fire at will! Do not let them get within attack range. Let them understand we are not to be trifled with."
"Aye, Comrade Captain Second Rank!"—the executive officer saluted sharply.
The alarm blared throughout the ship, echoing through the corridors and cabins. Despite the sudden alert, the crew moved with precision and efficiency. Years of training and constant drills had prepared them for moments like this. On the bridge and at battle stations, there was no panic—only professionalism and discipline.
The AK-130 naval guns rose into firing position, their barrels gleaming under the sun like instruments of inevitable destruction. On deck, engineers and weapons operators ran final checks on targeting systems, while radio operators coordinated movements with the rest of the fleet.
The Captain Second Rank fixed his eyes on the distant horizon, where dark silhouettes of wyverns rapidly approached from the west. Their movements resembled a graceful yet ominous dance in the sky. But to the crew of the Nashtoychivyy, this was just another challenge—one they were more than ready to meet.
"They think we'll flinch?" — the captain murmured under his breath. "Let's see how well they dance… to the tune of our artillery.
In the skies over the Kingdom of Fenn.
"Captain, the wyvern lords are trembling with fear. There may be wind dragons from Gahara nearby," one of the Parpaldian Empire's riders reported over the manacomm.
The captain, a man with piercing eyes, scanned the horizon with a calculating gaze. A smirk touched his lips — he clearly wasn't taking his subordinate's words seriously.
"Proceed with the second plan," he ordered in an icy tone, cutting through the whistling wind. "Fly directly to the location of these savages' festival. Split into groups. Your team will head for the coastal cities. Burn everything in sight."
"Yes, sir!"
The riders immediately began repositioning themselves in accordance with his command. However, before the captain could complete his maneuver, his body — along with his wyvern—was suddenly engulfed in a wave of searing heat and molten shrapnel. A deafening explosion rang out.
From the ground, like titans awakening from slumber, the artillery guns of the Russian warship roared to life. Their accuracy and devastating power left no chance for survival. In the tightly packed formation of wyverns, every hit turned into a deadly chain reaction. With each impact, an inferno of destruction swept through the sky, tearing riders and their dragons apart.
The thunderous booms shook the air, and the heat scorched everything in its path. Explosions ripped bodies apart, while razor-sharp shrapnel shredded flesh without mercy. Those who weren't instantly torn apart by the blasts perished within moments — either from suffocating shockwaves, the searing heat, or by being burned alive. It was a gruesome, merciless death—one that no survivor would ever forget.
On the ground, Sword King Shihan stood among his advisors and subjects, watching the spectacle unfold. His expression remained calm, but his eyes burned with a mix of horror and awe. Never before had he witnessed such powerful beings wielding weapons of such terrifying lethality. It was hard to even call them "men" — not when they so effortlessly annihilated the elite of the Imperial Oversight Army.
The Russian warship — this floating fortress—was eradicating wyverns with its "magical" cannons as if they were mere insects. A deep sense of respect and gratitude welled up in his chest. These people had not only defended his nation, but they had done so without demanding anything in return. Shihan realized that this moment would mark a turning point in his kingdom's history. More and more, he was beginning to believe that forging closer ties with Russia—and perhaps even placing Fenn under their protection — might be the wisest course of action.
Around him, cheers erupted from the spectators and diplomats. The people of the Kingdom of Fenn, who had only moments ago been paralyzed by fear, now rejoiced as they watched their enemies fall before the might of Russian weaponry. The crowd shouted praises toward the warship, barely visible on the distant horizon.
When the battle concluded, a report came in for the second-rank captain:
"Comrade Captain, the combat objective has been accomplished. The enemy squadron has been completely wiped out."
The man nodded but furrowed his brows as the report continued:
"However, parts of the royal capital, including the coastal districts, are now engulfed in flames."
The captain stroked his chin thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the flickering glow of the fires in the distance.
"I see. Keep monitoring the radars," he ordered curtly. "I have a feeling this isn't over yet."
"Yes, Comrade Captain!" his officer responded immediately.
Not far from the site of the attack.
The ocean waves crashed against the cliffs with a deep, rhythmic roar, sending clouds of salty mist into the air. Standing at the edge of the precipice was Susanoo, clad in a dark blue hitatare adorned with cloud patterns, over which he wore a light cuirass with sode (shoulder guards) and an ebosi (headpiece). His katana, its hilt wrapped in silk and mother-of-pearl, rested at his waist. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the crimson sunset cast its glow over the remnants of a brutal battle. The warships of the Russian Federation loomed over the water like impregnable fortresses, while the smoldering remains of wyverns and the charred bodies of Parpaldian Empire riders slowly sank beneath the waves, becoming food for the creatures of the sea.
Beside him, with two pairs of powerful wings outstretched, stood a wind dragon. Its scales shimmered with silver in the fading sunlight, and its ancient eyes, reflecting centuries of wisdom, carefully studied the battlefield's remains. Like an eternal sentinel, the dragon stood motionless—majestic and unfazed.
"Waiting here on the rocks was the right decision. Our intervention would have been unnecessary," the dragon's deep voice rumbled, echoing against the cliffs.
Susanoo nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His usually calm expression now carried a mix of relief and the weight of understanding.
"Yes. Russia took up the fight for the Kingdom of Fenn… and emerged victorious," he said, his eyes never leaving the horizon. "Their power is astonishing. Even for us, who have faced the mightiest of enemies, there is much to learn."
The wind picked up, sweeping tiny stones from the cliffs. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of nature. They felt more vivid than ever before.
The dragon turned its head, its gaze now focused on Susanoo.
"The Russians… Their technology and will to win are more than just brute strength. They have introduced new rules to the game, breaking the world's long-standing balance. The only question is… how long can this equilibrium last before the world is thrown into chaos once more?"
Susanoo exhaled slowly. His hands clenched into fists but then relaxed, as if releasing a heavy burden.
"Perhaps we are merely witnesses to the dawn of a new era. If Russia can so decisively alter the course of war, then what awaits us in the future?"
The dragon seemed to ponder his rider's words. Then, its gaze drifted back to the sea, where the last glimmer of light from the Russian ships faded into the twilight.
"Time will tell, Susanoo. For now, our role is to watch and be ready for whatever trials the future may bring."
Susanoo gave a silent nod, letting the dragon's words settle within him. He knew that greater storms might be lurking beyond the horizon, but for now, they remained observers of a turning point in history. And deep within, he felt a quiet gratitude for this fleeting moment of peace that the rocky outcrop in the vast ocean had granted them.
Kingdom of Fenn. Royal Palace.
— Allow me to express our deepest gratitude and appreciation for your assistance in repelling the Parpaldian attack, Motam said respectfully, bowing his head in a sign of deference.
— We thank you for your kind words," replied the senior Russian diplomat, giving a slight bow in return. "However, to compile a comprehensive report, we need to clarify some details. May we ask a few questions?
— Of course, ask away, esteemed envoys, King Shihan replied calmly, nodding his head.
— The type of wyverns used in the attack, did they belong to the Parpaldian Empire? They came from that direction, and they're noticeably larger than the ones we've seen before.
— Yes, they came from Parpaldia. They're a new breed of wyverns that the Empire takes great pride in, and as odd as it might sound, they were in the service of the Parpaldian Empire's Imperial Oversight Army, Master Swordsman Motam stated confidently, recalling how they were crushed like pesky flies.
The Russian diplomat, with a slight frown, pressed on:
— The Imperial Oversight Army? What are its objectives in this region? According to the information we received from you, they intended to exert pressure on your kingdom for intimidation purposes. Can you clarify the reasons?"
Shihan sighed, his face shadowed by memories of recent events.
— This army was created with one sole purpose… to wipe out dissenters and bleed dry the resources of nations too weak to fight back. Their magically enhanced muskets against our swords — it's a battle with no hope. They recruit the most ruthless individuals, training them in the arts of destruction and terror. I'm terrified for my homeland. If we fall — me, my advisors—do you think the Oversight will stop? No, my people, from children to the elderly, will fight to their last breath. But what can they do against an enemy like that? The Empire is a ravenous beast that devours everything in its path and never chokes.
His voice trembled slightly as he added:
— I remember a time when, as a boy, I heard about a country much like ours. The Empire lured it into a trap, staging a sham with the murder of its riders, then seized and annexed it. I don't want my homeland to meet the same fate.
He looked at the two Russian diplomats, his gaze brimming with hope and a silent plea. The room was thick with tense silence, broken only by the muffled exchanges of the diplomats in Thai and Mongolian—languages Shihan couldn't make heads or tails of. After a brief discussion, the senior diplomat addressed the king:
— We've received word that a squadron is approaching your kingdom from the southwest. Does it belong to the Parpaldian Empire too?"
Shihan let out a heavy sigh, and Motam answered curtly:
— Yes, those are their forces.
The king lowered his head, biting his lip as if struggling to hold back anger and despair.
— We will help you deal with this threat. Don't worry, the authorized Russian ambassador declared firmly.
— And what do you want in return? Shihan asked cautiously, lifting his eyes to the diplomats.
— We want to establish trade with your kingdom and build two naval bases on your territory for a term of one hundred fifty years," the diplomat replied, pausing for emphasis.
Shihan pondered briefly, but then his face brightened.
— That's a reasonable proposal. I agree. I see things clearly and am ready to repay you for saving my homeland.
Two days later, in a solemn ceremony, two critical documents were signed. The first was a trade agreement between the Kingdom of Fenn and the Russian Federation, bringing the kingdom into the Eastern Economic Community. The second was a lease agreement for land to construct two naval bases for one hundred fifty years. In exchange, Russia took the Kingdom of Fenn under its protectorate for the full duration of the agreement.
Shihan signed the documents with a mix of relief and pride. He knew his people would gain protection and a chance to rebuild under the wing of a powerful ally. Now, his kingdom would live and thrive, despite all the threats looming on the horizon.
Southeast Sea.
A tense atmosphere hung over the flagship, a hundred-gun line frigate of the Parpaldian Empire. Despite the usual order, there was an undercurrent of unease on board, uncharacteristic of the confidence with which the imperial fleet had set sail.
— Captain, sir, the wyvern squadron sent on the punitive mission hasn't responded to the manacom message. The last response came two days ago. There's concern that something may have happened to them," the lieutenant stood straight before the captain, holding a magical tablet with communication logs in his hands.
The captain, a man with a weary yet resolute gaze, raised an eyebrow questioningly. His face remained impassive, but his voice betrayed a hint of irritation:
— The riders are probably still caught up in the thrill. The savages couldn't do anything to them. Don't talk nonsense, Lieutenant."
The lieutenant, undeterred by the sharp tone, remained composed. His posture spoke of discipline and confidence:
— But, Captain, sir, the fact remains: the squadron still hasn't arrived. We must remain vigilant.
— You're right," interjected the admiral, standing by the ship's rail and gazing at the horizon. His voice was deep and commanding, as if the ocean itself spoke through him. "In this region, even savages shouldn't be underestimated. Their cunning can be more dangerous than our cannons. Captain, you must be prepared for anything.
The captain snapped to attention, clicking his heels:
— Yes, Admiral, sir!
— Captain, sir! shouted a sailor from the lookout mast. I see the barbarian ships of the Kingdom of Fenn! They're approaching from the east!
The captain's face lit up with a mix of excitement and predatory curiosity. He quickly waved his hand:
— Excellent! The prey comes right to the hunter! Prepare the magical cannons for battle! his voice thundered across the deck.
The sailors and junior officers sprang into action. Their movements were precise and sharp, like a dance honed through hundreds of hours of training. Discipline and endurance were what made the Parpaldian imperial fleet invincible.
From the gun ports of the frigate, the barrels of magical cannons slowly extended, glowing with a faint bluish light. Each one was a masterpiece of engineering, capable of striking the enemy with incredible accuracy. The sailors checked their readiness, preparing for the first shots.
The admiral, still gazing at the horizon, calmly added:
— Don't rush. Barbarians love to charge into battle without assessing their strength. Our task is not just to win, but to demonstrate the full might of the Empire. Let every one of their shots be in vain.
Southeast Sea. Territorial Waters of the Kingdom of Fenn.
Thirteen ships resembling Kohaya (medieval Japanese small-tonnage military vessels) of the Kingdom of Fenn's navy patrolled their waters, tensely scanning the horizon. The atmosphere was thick with unease — the Parpaldian Empire was increasing its pressure with each passing day. Masts creaked, sails rustled, and the splash of waves against wooden hulls heightened the taut ambiance. The Fenn ships, equipped with sails and oars, appeared far more modest compared to the Parpaldian battle frigates. Yet, their structures were sturdily clad with wooden planks at regular intervals, a safeguard against flaming arrows — a remnant of earlier battles with more primitive foes.
The commander of the Fenn fleet's flagship, Kushirа, stood on the captain's bridge, gazing intently at the horizon. The wind tousled his light hair, and a fine crust of sea salt coated his face. His eyes betrayed a blend of concern and resolve. He had a plan — or rather, an ace up his sleeve: a large-caliber magical cannon that the crew had secretly mounted on the flagship. This was their sole edge in the looming clash with a mightier enemy.
Kushirа's focus was broken by the voice of his assistant, a young officer with a keen gaze, nervously tapping his fingers on the railing.
—So, they've sent a fleet too. The assistant's voice quivered, though he fought to keep it steady.
Kushirа nodded silently, his eyes still fixed on the horizon.
— We need to strike first, before they can turn their broadsides toward us," the assistant suggested, as if peering into the commander's thoughts.
At last, Kushirа turned to face him. A spark flared in his eyes—the kind that kindled confidence in the crew's hearts.
—They don't expect us to put up a real fight. Kushirа's voice was firm, as though he already foresaw their triumph. They think we're nothing but savages. That's where our tiny chance lies.
The assistant furrowed his brow but didn't dare contradict him. The tension swelled. The crew pressed on with their battle preparations: sailors secured ropes, inspected weapons, and exchanged silent glances. They knew the odds were slim, yet they stood ready to fight to their last breath.
—Commander, on the horizon! Parpaldian ships! the lookout shouted from the mast, pointing toward dark silhouettes.
Kushirа whipped around. In the distance, through a faint haze, the outlines of the enemy squadron began to take shape. These ships loomed formidable, their mighty sails gleaming a dazzling white against the sea's blue expanse. They advanced swiftly, like ravenous predators scenting prey.
—Relay the order: prepare for battle! Kushirа commanded, his voice ringing out.
—Aye, Commander!" the assistant replied, hastening away.
The ship fell still for a moment, then erupted into motion. Sailors tightened ropes, mages readied spells, and archers tested their bowstrings. An ominous silence descended, broken only by the sea's restless murmur.
Kushirа watched the nearing enemy with unwavering focus. Dozens of thoughts churned in his mind, but he betrayed no hint of doubt. In that moment, he was more than a commander — he was a beacon of hope for his crew and the entire Kingdom of Fenn.
— Distance to the enemy? he asked, without turning.
— One and a half miles, Commander, an officer replied.
Kushirа nodded and raised his hand.
— Hoist the attack flag! It's time to show them what we're made of!
The flagship hesitated, then surged forward, gaining speed as it bore down on the enemy. The other twelve ships followed in its wake, like a pack of wolves poised to leap upon a larger, stronger adversary. In that instant, it was clear — even if this were their final stand, they would fight in a way that ensured their names would echo through the ages.
The Southeast Sea. Territorial Waters of the Kingdom of Fenn.
A tense atmosphere gripped the destroyer Nastoychivy. Every crew member understood that even a single slip-up could lead to disaster.
— Commence missile attack! boomed the senior officer's commanding voice. "Combat unit two commander, surface target, bearing three hundred twenty! Range seventy kilometers. Accept targeting data!"
The crew leapt into action without a moment's hesitation. Consoles flickered with activity, operators swept their eyes over radar screens, and sailors primed the launchers. The hum of machinery in motion and the crisp, coordinated reports from the team merged into a symphony of combat readiness.
— What is that?! cried one of the sailors from the Fenn fleet command, jabbing a finger toward a bizarre object trailing smoke as it sliced through the sky above them.
Every gaze locked onto the swarm of anti-ship missiles streaking from Nastoychivy toward the Parpaldian fleet. The spectacle defied belief. Even battle-hardened sailors couldn't wrap their heads around what they were witnessing.
The ships of the Parpaldian Empire stood like majestic sailing vessels straight out of the early 19th century, designed with an unmistakable emphasis on power and awe-inspiring presence. Their graceful wooden hulls, fortified with anti-magic plating, towering masts, and arrays of magical cannons embodied a vision of might that had seemed unbreakable for centuries. Yet, in the face of these lightning-fast, deadly-accurate arrows, their proud heritage looked utterly defenseless.
Barely a minute passed before the first Parpaldian ship was swallowed by flames. Its masts splintered with a bone-chilling crack, and the deck erupted into a blaze like dry tinder.
— Impossible… muttered Kushirа, commander of the Kingdom of Fenn's flagship, struggling to keep his footing. His hands shook, his eyes wide with dread. He, a veteran of desperate clashes with foes, couldn't process what had just unfolded before him. That single minute turned everything he knew about warfare upside down.
One after another, the missiles zeroed in on their targets. The terror of the high seas, the pride of Parpaldia, proved powerless against this mysterious weapon. In mere minutes, a fleet that once struck fear into its enemies was reduced to smoldering wrecks drifting helplessly on the waves.
Seizing the moment amid the chaos, Kushirа barked an order:
— Hoist all sails! We've got to strike now, while they're off guard!
His crew snapped to attention and carried out the command. The Fenn fleet, weary and reeling though they were, charged into the fray. Kushirа knew full well—this was their one shot.
The battle's outcome was nothing short of staggering. Thanks to their bold assault and the pandemonium sparked by Nastoychivy's arrival, the Fenn sailors managed to take Admiral Poquetoire and his captain prisoner. The rest of the enemy crew met their end in the water.
As the destroyer Nastoychivy cut through the swells, drawing near the battlefield, the Fenn sailors couldn't hide their astonishment. The enormous, metal-clad ship, bristling with strange weaponry far beyond their era, seemed like something out of a dream—or a nightmare.
Poquetoire and his captain, battered and broken in spirit, were handed over to the Russian fighters. What became of them after that remained a mystery.