1

Under the starlit night sky stood no land but only a level, crystalline surface, a windless sea, outlined by nothing but the planetary curve. Cloned on its mirror face was the likeness of cosmic lights in flawless fidelity, cold and perpetually out of reach. Above the hair-fine horizon in the immeasurable distance dangled the faint glow of smokeless fire, a burning ring encompassing all of creation, heralding morning that would never come.

Aurlemeyr didn’t see dreams.

She would disconnect her consciousness from the material while the self-restoration system ran its course, but even if superficially alike, it couldn’t be called sleeping. It was certainly closer to what most people would call death. The scenery in front of her now did not originate from her soul, nor was it any subliminal presentation of her mind, or memory—she soon dismissed notions of such.

This space was but a simple simulacrum rendered by the Gilded Bow.

A short distance ahead of the woman, a few feet above the clear surface, but casting no reflection of its own, hovered a peculiar being. It looked humanoid in appearance, but sported dazzling, voluminous hair, which flowed like golden tongues of flame in a starry fan about the head. The entity’s face was fair as that of a gallant woman, but the body was tough and slender like man’s, lacking noteworthy characteristics of sex, or the diminishing qualities of age. The being was clad in strange, black clothes, which closely traced its figure, as though painted directly onto the body, a fusion of fabric and metal, featuring peculiar, golden patterns and swirls. As youthful as the creature appeared, in its piercing eagle eyes and expression was quiet wisdom conjoined with irony, reminiscent of an ancient sage.

“At last, the time has come!” the being spoke to the woman with a wide smile. “The time to suspend these trifling games and hunt proper prey once more!”

“Ekate...?” Aurlemeyr faced the creature and frowned. “What is it this time?”

“Nothing much,” the spirit of the Celestial Relic replied with a smile. “Only, I could hardly contain my excitement in my lonesomeness and wished to share it with someone! It has been thirty-two thousand and eighty-two years, three months, two weeks, and two days since I last felled a dragon! Give or take. Oh, how I’ve yearned to drink of the blood of Immortals again! For too long have we busied ourselves stomping out worthless vermin that could hardly be considered threats to a pixie. It is only the prey that fights back, the prey that has the power to destroy us in kind, that is most worthy of pursuit! Aah, that thrill has no equal! Not that you’d know of such joys, my young driver. You have missed much, being born so late! You ought to praise Providence for being granted this rare opportunity, as it is doubtful you shall ever have another.”

“Ridiculous,” the Imperial replied with a sigh, unable to join in on the peculiar creature’s excitement. “Going into battle with any probability of failure is irrational. ‘The thrill of the hunt’? What were the Gods thinking, giving emotions to a weapon?”

“You ask me that, as a human?” Ekate 0100 retorted with an amused look. “Emotions are your greatest asset, your key to following in the gods’ footsteps. The potency to draw might out of nothing, allowing the living to exceed their boundaries, reaching what reason and instinct alone cannot grasp...Yet, your kind is ever at odds with their own potential. Either you allow it to usurp and destroy you, or else seek to suppress it altogether. It’s either one extreme or the other with you. Rejecting your true self, if anything, is what I find senseless. Oh well, if having a handicap makes the hunt more intense, then isn’t it well? Now that is what I call good sportsmanship indeed! Perhaps my assessment of you has been mistaken all along?”

“I can’t recall any time in my life when having emotions was anything but a massive hassle,” Aurlemeyr replied.

“Well, you are you.” The spirit nodded with a knowing look. “I cannot pretend to comprehend you, yet I wouldn’t think to try and change you either. After all, it is this very...eccentric character of yours, which—for one reason or another—makes you exceptionally suited to wield me. Let us leave it at that then! You need but be the catalyst of my passion! Go forth then, human! Dragons or pirates, do away with the lot of them! Burn off this tumor of disorder that’s taken root in the side of mankind. Destroy! Destroy! Here begins the last stretch of our run! Ah, I can feel it loom in the horizon already; the nearing end, the nightfall of all things! And the conclusion of our duty comes along with it. If these days are to be our last, then let us make them a show worthy of the long service! We shall burn out in a blaze of glory unlike anything seen on land, in air, or at sea! I shall accept nothing less.”

“Don’t go killing us off before anything has even started,” Aurlmeyr retorted, turning her back on the spirit. “I’m not empty enough to self-destruct for your personal gratification. Since I happen to be quite content with my current lifestyle.”

“Ah, I see,” Ekate remarked, its grin growing wider. “There was one emotion you didn’t erase as irrelevant: your libido! The base driving essence of life. You mean to say there is yet something down that path you have not seen yet? Ku, ku, ku! Have it your way then! If hedonism may give your thin life meaning, then by all means, indulge yourself! Certainly, a weapon that fails to maintain itself would not remain operable for long! After 21,000 years of searching, I finally found an adequate component! It was worth going through all those misfires, if it means being able to enjoy the hunt a little while longer ere the finishing line!”

“And you certainly seem bent on your demise, if you go out of your way to cheer me on,” the woman retorted. “But you can keep minding your own business, for all I care. I have everything under control, even without pep talks from a machine.”

“You do, don’t you?” Ekate replied. “But now that we have the chance, let me give you one more useful piece of advice, even if uncalled for. Get not too attached to whatever temporary sentiment pulls you on. See to it that your will to live shan’t ever cross the border to cowardice! For even should the need strike you, fleeing battle is never an option for you, my driver! Be it victory or defeat that lies ahead of us, your lot in this life is only to fight. Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight, till you earthly shell crumbles to dust. Sanity or dignity are not a requirement. Neither are approval or gladness. I care not what means you use to distract yourself with in the meanwhile, but when our fate so beckons, you are to answer without delay. For the future of mankind.”

“You’ve made this clear,” Aurlemeyr answered and closed her eyes. “Even without all the generous reminders.”

“Have I?” the spirit asked with a subtle smile. “That is well then. But you have not faced a dragon before, ‘partner’. I’ve observed that your kind tends to forget rules and convictions when the time comes. What manner of a reaction will you have—I admit, I am most curious to see it.”

“A man, a monster, a dragon, a god, come whatever may, I don’t particularly care,” Aurlemeyr said. “They’re only targets to me. All I need to do is wield you to end them, as usual, and then move on. Isn’t that right?”

“That is correct,” Ekate replied with a slow nod. “Although, I wouldn’t mind if you were a little more…into it, you know? I may be only a weapon, but being left so alone with my joy is just a little wretched. Then again, I suppose it does best the alternative. Were you to develop an unusually intense yearning for something other than this life and our target...my joy as well might come to a premature end then.”

Outside the thin window glass, thrushes were singing. Like waking up from a dream, the bearer of the Gilded Bow felt her own material body again and opened her eyes, back in the inn room. Briefly exhaling, she banished the dread of the apocalyptic vision from her mind and stood.

Barely a heartbeat after, the door was struck, and a soldier’s voice called from the hallway.

“Orders from the Grand Marshal, ma’am! The fleet departs within the hour! You are expected aboard the Crucifico at your earliest convenience! That is all!”

Not daring to open the door to check if the message was heard or not, transferring all responsibility to the recipient, the soldier departed in a hurry, his footsteps carrying down the hallway to the staircase. Even though they were both “human”, and in the service of the same ruler, being a member of the Guild made everyone treat her as something else altogether.

Or maybe it was just her.

Aurlemeyr was used to it. The fear and loathing which surrounded her from every direction, every day. She could understand the reaction. She had felt the same way towards herself, at first. But being so mindful of her differences was irrelevant to her duty and therefore better removed from the consciousness. Deleted.

Having wishes for the future. Hope for tomorrow. Life goals beyond this one day. Dreams. All completely unnecessary. Deleted.

Memories of the past. Regrets over missed opportunities. The looks of familiar faces. Such information served on purpose here and now. Deleted.

Names. Smiles. What it felt like to touch another body. Warmth. Pleasure. Joy. All of that could be discovered again, another time. Deleted.

Deleted.

Deleted.

Deleted.

One part at a time, the champion emptied her awareness of unnecessary distractions, until all that was left was the mechanical impetus to do what had to be done. For the future of mankind. Then, she departed for the door, left the inn, and spared no thought to ever coming back to this place.

2

Looking at it up close, it was difficult to identify the Crucifico as a ship.

For one, it was far larger than the other nearby vessels and even most of the buildings at the harbor. The tall, rounded sides of the galleon—mostly painted white, with lines of dark blue—looked too formidable to have been crafted of mere wood. The steel-reinforced bulwarks towered over the waves like castle fortifications, and far above them rose three great masts, like heavenly pillars with their cruciform spars. The vast sails remained yet furled, so that one could behold in full the bewildering maze of the lines of the standing rigging, and it was almost impossible to believe every last one of those bindings had been put in place by human hands and for a specific purpose.

The Crucifico had been originally assembled in the honor of the Royal Family of Luctretz, for the pride of the common public, as a simple showcase of naval architecture, and it had never been intended as a ship of war.

Yet, that was precisely what it had become.

Instead of aristocratic party cruises, legions of servants and entertainers, the multi-layered craft had been repurposed to house an army. Four of the lower decks—fire decks, as they were called here, and not gun decks—had been remodeled with lidded ports for archers and mages. Below them, near the water line, was the sailmaker’s deck, the carpenter's quarters, and below that, the cargo area, and below that, the hold, loaded with multiple tons of ballast. The crew of a hundred and forty-four sailors were stationed aboard to manage the ship, in addition to a force of two hundred knights to defend her.

In a ship of war, magicians were the primary armament. But while wizards were a great deal more maneuverable and versatile in output than lead balls and cast iron cannons, they carried certain disadvantages also.

For one, they were far fewer in number and harder to produce.

The Empire had discovered that magic-users could be recruited and trained, the same as any soldier, but unlike a conventional troop, or a mass-produced firearm, they were all different in terms of affinity, potency, and output. Nearly every living person on the planet—naturally born on the planet—had potential of some sort, but hardly one in a thousand qualified as a combat mage, and far fewer still could manage the challenging role of a naval mage, which came with its own peculiar set of challenges.

Anyone could be taught how to use a rifle, and once equipped and trained, every single person with a rifle would produce more or less identical results. However, of the two hundred mages in a standard Magic Battalion, all two hundred would exhibit wild variations in performance, regardless of training, and their commanders had to think carefully where to put each one. This random nature made magicians rather costly and unreliable compared to rifles, but without any freedom of choice in the matter, the local military had to make do with the former.

Warships on Ortho were essentially castles built to shield their mages, seeing as said mages were the only ones who could reliably take down an enemy fortress. Knowing the heavy expectations built for them over the ages, even those patriotic souls who did hold the potential would often rather take a sword or a bow, and deny ever knowing magic at all, than risk having a crushing defeat pinned entirely on him or herself. Which led to an acute shortage of manpower in this department. Moreover, humans weren’t made to live away from land. Wizards who knew their trade typically shunned fighting at sea, where their power became also diminished by the foreign environment.

Because of this and various other reasons, naval combat as a whole remained a rather underdeveloped field to this age. The simplest measure against piracy was to build ships so large that sinking or capturing them was unfeasible by the smaller, less resourceful rogue vessels. This tactic worked well enough for prosperous government voyagers, but whereas it generally kept state ships safe, it also abandoned the lighter, less equipped merchant crafts and private sailors entirely at the mercy of the corsairs. Anyone without a royal escort was easy pickings for the villains, and while the heavy ships were safe themselves, they were also too slow to pursue the hawkish foes.

In this overly simplified way was explained the Confederacy’s current upper hand on water.

Regrettably, if the reports were true, a historical tipping point had been reached. The emergence of the dragon had shaken the already skewed power balance to the core, tilted it too heavily in favor of one side. Not even larger ships were safe from the rogues anymore, as her majesty’s capture had effectively demonstrated. Moreover, wizards were no longer on top of the food chain.

From here, only two paths were possible, one of which was the rise of piracy from a modest but inescapable taxation element into the reigning power above any one nation.

And then there was the second possibility, to the materialization of which the people of Efastopol today paid witness. The prospect of criminal domination, alongside the Imperial catalyst, had spurred the Law and Order to rise against the menace with force, at last.

The Crucifico. Total crew: 361.

This First Rate galleon formed the heart of the fleet, carrying the commanding officers.

The Magister – First Rate Frigate. Crew: 240.

The Henessy – First Rate Frigate. Crew: 235.

These two great frigates were to escort and guard the flagship. They were likewise owned by the Royal Family, and borrowed by the navy for this operation. They were sister ships too, nearly identical in build, and rather longer than their typical Earthly counterparts. Streamlined, one-deck forecastles and low sterns characterized their design. Their square sails of pearly white shone bright under the unclouded morning sun. The Victoria had been part of the same series, but was still undergoing repairs and remained unavailable for the mission.

The Wrathall – Second Rate Frigate. Crew 190.

The Sicstus – Second Rate Frigate. Crew 188.

The Honorall – Second Rate Frigate. Crew 193.

The Diabol – Third Rate Frigate. Crew: 170.

The Dune – Third Rate Frigate. Crew 174.

The Thessalan – Third Rate Frigate. Crew 168.

The Thalmekian – Third Rate Frigate. Crew 156.

The Mirabelle – Third Rate Frigate. Crew 179.

These eight lighter frigates were owned entirely by the Royal Navy, bearing uniform paint work. By the Principality's standards, Second Rate ships had three fire decks, and Third Rates two.

The Levian – Brig. Crew: 80.

The Sinoan – Brig. Crew: 79.

The Parathian – Brig. Crew: 76.

The Danhua – Brig. Crew: 67.

The Scopole – Caravel. Crew: 55.

The Celthelm – Caravel. Crew: 65.

The Norrena – Caravel. Crew: 57.

The Alvrik – Caravel. Crew 54.

These two smaller and mobile ship types of the Navy were not so simple for the untrained to distinguish, built closer in style than their earthly counterparts. Both were two-masted, the caravel's hull only slightly smaller than the brig. The key difference was in the sails. Whereas the brigs sported full square rigging on both masts, the caravel bore the triangular latin-rig for the foresail.

The Ifalna – Carrack. Crew: 120.

The Hagrave – Carrack. Crew: 113.

These two red-black Imperial crafts were also included in the fleet. They stood out among the lightly colored Principality vessels like wine stains on a clean white tablecloth. The Thule, in the meanwhile, was ordered to remain on standby at Efastopol, to serve as the headquarters of the Tratovian forces in the city, and to relay messages between the two nations, should the need arise.

With eleven light schooners for escort, the fleet's total strength reached up to thirty-two ships. Nearly 3,400 people. A few smaller civilian crafts were coming along to carry supplies, but they had no place in battle, with no armors or armament to speak of, and were therefore not included in the numbers relevant for combat.

Such was the joint fleet of the Empire and Luctretz in its entirety, whereas the enemy numbers were unknown.

Nine captains were in the Confederate Council, but those nine captains each commanded a small fleet of their own. Never once before had they had a pressing need to show their hand in an open confrontation. The only thing certain was that the rogues lacked the training and discipline of the organized navy, as well as the quantity of adept casters. Most their ships were also far lighter in build. The navy leaders counted on the surprise strike to leave the enemy unable to muster all of their forces in time, and thereby be overwhelmed.

In statistical terms, the chances of victory looked good.

But the enemy had a dragon. And they had Cartognam, whom the rumors painted as unrivaled among sailors, as a captain and a commander, and which was perhaps close to the truth.

It was not out of any sort of respect or sympathy that the Imperials had not disclosed Cartognam’s true identity to the public, or even all of their allies. The main reason was the unpredictability of the consequences. There was no telling what the Prince would do, if so cut off from his homeland and backed against the wall. Yuliana’s life was in his hands. Worse yet, the Prince remained ever popular at home; the common people and politicians of Luctretz might choose to side with the pirates by association, and begin to shelter the rogues instead of turning them in. Down the line, even the Royal Navy might come to abandon the shaky alliance. In such an event, the Imperials would find themselves pinned between two fronts. This outcome had to be avoided at all costs.

Their strategy was to seize victory with a speedy and precise strike, in an irresistible blitzkrieg, by which to incapacitate and disarm the Confederacy, before they could make full use of their assets. The Navy had a weapon by which to neutralize the dragon, and stronger ships by which to sink theirs. With Cartognam’s fall in combat and the recovery of the Empress, the criminal federation was guaranteed to fall apart.

They had the location of the enemy sanctuary. The pirates would have no choice but to meet the Principality’s forces at sea, or else let their homes and loved ones alike be pulled into the bloodshed.

Of course, there was also the possibility that Confederates would merely run away and hide, and abandon their homes. The ocean and its uncharted shores held ample opportunity to do so. But if they indeed took this perilous path and gave up resistance, their reputation would be slain in turn, and their influence at the Bay broken—and they had to be aware of it.

No, there would be no escape from this match for either side.

This was the end, for one or the other, if not all.

Miragrave and her retinue boarded the Crucifico. The Minister of Defense had sent word earlier, expressing his regrets at not being able to join the operation in person, citing his high age and declining health as the reasons, but wished them all the best.

Not that there was a particular shortage of authority figures, even in Lancaster’s absence.

Admiral Wittingam of the Royal Navy continued to collaborate with the Grand Marshal to oversee the operation.

Major Uleison coordinated the Imperial Magic Battalion, which had been divided into smaller squads to secure the key ships. Miragrave would have liked to summon a better-qualified Court Wizard for such a critical job, but had to give up on the idea due to the time constraints. It would take a week for a messenger bird to fly to Bhastifal, another two weeks for the magician to ride to port, and then another half a week would be wasted on the voyage to Efastopol, depending on the weather. The operation would be long over by then. They had to make do with Uleison—who had yet to receive his promised promotion, it might be added.

Commodore Giesé of the Royal Navy was in charge of the sailors.

Brigadier General Phereis of Tratovia was to take charge of the participating Imperial knights, while his colleague, General Tobersson, commanded the soldiers of Luctretz. Of course, each ship also had their own officers as well. A less educated old sailor might have pondered if there weren’t more badges in this fleet than there were honest jacks, but such is the way the army does things, regardless of the flag or the platform.

The crew of leaders proceeded onto the quarterdeck of the galleon, where they shook hands with the Captain of the Crucifico, Belfraum.

If not for his deep blue uniform and its silvery buttons and linings, Captain Belfraum would have been easy to mistake for a pirate himself, with his fluffy, black beard and tanned, sun-aged face. As the Crucifico belonged to the state and not the Navy, her Captain was not of aristocracy like the other officers, but a civilian. He was also a giant well over six feet tall, wide and strong, an extra mast on the ship, towering well over the group of leaders. He spoke in a loud, forceful voice, as though half-deaf, and bowed to no titles.

After the brief round of greetings, Belfraum made the following declaration:

“Now, battles and blood-spilling I leave all to you—such is not my course. But when it comes to this vessel and the slackjaws handling her, I am the only king there can be! At sea, I care not one whit if you’re admirals, generals, divines, or mermaids, or wherever you’ve been, or whatever you’ve done before you showed up on my deck! Not at all! Whenever there is no swashbuckling going on, you lot are passengers, and worth not one molass to me here! It is the critical job of passengers to keep quiet and out of the way when they're not needed! Plot your wars as you see fit, but ask me not for a quarter—I’ll give you none! If you so much as breathe in the direction of the wheel, or the sails, or the rigging, I will damn well throw you overboard with my own two hands! You do me good and tell me right away if this idea rubs you the wrong way! Because if it does—then true as day, you will find yourself another beard to steer this leviathan! And damned the fool who is put in charge of her while stranger to her ropes, and damn all who go with him! They will come to see no war, but only the bottom of this bleeding Bay! Do I have your understanding?”

Left in silence by the Captain’s terms, the party of leaders turned reflexively to look at the Grand Marshal, harboring an unpleasant hunch that she wasn’t going to take such an ultimatum well. Yet, they saw none of the fumes they braced themselves for.

“Ah, I don’t mind,” Miragrave told the Captain without much tension to speak of. “I’ll leave the ship in your hands.”

The others were not a little surprised by the sudden, uncharacteristic lenience of this person, who could only be described as a “control freak”, in gentle terms.

“What?” Miragrave noticed their stunned faces and responded with a shrug. “The Captain clearly knows what he’s doing. Contact the others, I want the troops ready for address.”

The commotion aboard the ships stopped. The harbor quieted entirely, which was quite a miraculous feat, seeing how many people there were. Aboard every vessel, sailors, knights, and officers assembled in orderly form, filling the decks from stem to stern, evenly spaced. Two weeks of hard work were at an end. The time they had relentlessly prepared for had come.

The time to write history.

The Marshal’s speech was conveyed remotely to every participating vessel by means of magic, even as she remained standing on the flagship’s quarterdeck.

“All hands, attention,” she called, and waited a beat for everyone to fix their standing. “In a moment, we will sail forth to confront the forces of the pirate Confederacy. For over two hundred years, their criminal order has overshadowed the Edrian Bay, and the seas around Noertia. Most of you grew up thinking of that shadow as inescapable—mandatory, even. It is no shadow of an unknown enemy, but one we people cast ourselves. When the time comes, you may find familiar faces in the opposing ranks. Perhaps people you least expect. Neighbors. Friends. Brothers. Sisters. Loved ones. The promise of freedom and easy living calls to us all. But never forget that this freedom is bought at the expense of the honest, and undeserved. Unlike what these rogues take for granted, the souls and labor of our peoples were never free for the taking. What they took was never their own, but only borrowed. The loan has built up a steep interest; it’s come time to go and collect.”

Miragrave paused there. She could’ve ended there just as well, having conveyed the essentials, yet she didn’t. A fire, once lit, couldn’t be quenched. Such had been the Marshal’s life, for as long as she cared to remember. Burning. Fuming. Ever quietly smoldering. None of it could be seen on her steady visage. She was used to hiding it. But the innate inferno came through her voice.

“Her Imperial Majesty is held by the enemy,” she spoke, allowing the emotion to take her on, knowing it was wrong, yet making no effort to stop it. “She was on her way to this land to vie for peace, at great personal risk. She believed that so long as the opponent is human, anyone could be reasoned with. She believed it was possible for men to find a path past fear and hate, and come to coexist in harmony. Her faith was rewarded with betrayal, her selfless cause made the tool of criminal greed. For this, I will pay them back in spades. I will not rest until I see those bastards get what’s coming to them. Whoever or whatever may turn up against us out there, I will see it sent to the abyss it belongs. This I swear, the Sun as my witness.”

Prepare to get under weigh. Finished, or more like, forcing herself to stop, Miragrave turned away and gestured at Uleison to end the sound sharing. The time of plans and speeches was done. All that was left was to see things through, whatever should come of it.

“One of the better speeches I’ve heard,” Aurlemeyr commented, climbing the stairs to the quarterdeck. “Might this be the opportune timing to tell you I can’t swim?”