Lauren ignored his opponent’s taunts as he slashed forth with his gladius. Mana empowered the strike, turning the steel into a swift flicker of death.
The blade failed to find purchase. Lauren’s opponent laughed as his sword missed their neck and cut across their rusted breastplate instead.
Fat, tall, and plated in oil-stained armour, the large pirate admiral was nonetheless unnaturally nimble. Whirling a two-handed axe with a flourish, the sea-blue metal hummed dangerously as it sliced the air. From those swings alone, Lauren could tell that the man’s powerful build was not for show.
If nothing else, the Ruby Core blazing within the pirate was more than a match for Lauren’s.
Another exchange was made. The greataxe outranged Lauren’s shortsword, so the knight captain rushed in. Narrowly dodging a decapitating swing, Lauren spun his gladius around, pivoting into a full turn before he jammed the blade expertly between the plates.
Thick liquid burst from the wound, foul and unnatural. The ‘blood’ stung his skin when it dribbled onto his fingers. Rather than sanguine crimson, the caustic bile was pitch black, flecked with starry light.
“What the hell?” Lauren hissed. He was pushed back when a brutal uppercut caught him in the chin.
It should not be possible. The shortsword embedded in the admiral’s flank should have incapacitated him, or at least slowed him down. Yet, his opponent had retaliated with startling speed, as if the wound or the pain meant nothing.
Lauren rapidly retreated, hands instinctively already setting back his dislocated jaw. The bright flash of agony behind his eyes nearly dropped him to his knees. Lauren willed his Ruby Core to full power, burning precious mana to expedite his recovery.
Meanwhile, the armoured admiral pulled the shortsword out of his belly casually. The sticky, tar-like blood soon stopped pouring as the wound was sealed up. He threw the sword away. “Point to you, little knight.”
“Which pit spawned you, abomination?” Lauren spat, drawing a second gladius from his back.
The knight captain made a feint, trying to run past his opponent, but the admiral did not fall for his tricks. The axe clashed against his sword, and in that brief exchange, Lauren was forced to retreat.
“I was born in the Crucible Islands, closest to the Hellgate of the West.” The admiral's voice was surprisingly soft despite his robust size. Foul fluids welled from his mouth as he spoke. “I was a boy when I saw the maw of the Maelstrum open with my own eyes during the Great Collapse, a hundred years ago.”
“Pity you didn’t die there.”
Lauren tried attacking again. His superior speed allowed him to land another wound — a slash across the giant’s forearm. It meant nothing, and nearly killed him in return when the retaliating axe swing almost cleave him in two. The admiral appeared inured to pain. That made every exchange dangerous, for Lauren could not trust his strikes to flinch his opponent, even when they landed true.
The admiral continued speaking, as if in a trance. “The boy that I was fled. He sailed on the last boat leaving the Crucible Islands. He watched the skies spew oil and stone from the caustic hells, crushing those left behind. He swore vengeance against those who failed to protect his home that day.”
Lauren was growing agitated. Every second wasted here was a second that placed Eri at risk. The knight attempted a feint, diverting his opponent’s swing before following up with a leaping stab. His offensive was repelled when the spiked butt of the admiral’s axe slammed into his shoulders. The pauldron prevented a lacerating wound, but the impact left his arm shaking.
The admiral was still talking.
“I have since haunted the Slaver Isle, killing those who fail to recognise the true foe.” Baleful dark eyes fell upon Lauren. “But I have never killed one of your kind before, Spartan.”
Fuck.
“Get out of my way,” Lauren snarled. “I have no time for you.”
Eri had rushed ahead, as he always did. That left the scion of House Elathion without protection within a port infested with pirates — Gold Cores among them.
An unacceptable situation, even if Eri would likely be more than a match for any Gold Core.
The rage within the Young Master had made him reckless, though not directionless. Eri believed that the dwarves on the island were still alive. The dreadnought and the shipyard were lost, but that did not mean there was nothing left to salvage. The pirates’ presence on the island was proof enough that there was something left to save.
Time was of the essence, or so Eri claimed as he took up his blades and carved a bloody line through the pirate ranks. His rampage left behind a trail of bodies, and Lauren was forced to intercept the wrath of the Jewelled-Core pirate admiral before the brute could attack his ward.
“Hold him back. Buy me time,” Eri had instructed before he ventured deeper into the wreckage. Lauren’s protests fell on dead ears. The Young Master was now alone.
It was lamentable that, as the knight captain of the Elathion noble family, he often performed his duties of protecting the House’s scions so poorly. Lady Dulcina was without her knights’ protection, though her task at least lacked the same danger as her brother’s. Eri had completely forwent the protection of his household troops while he took on the most perilous roles.
It was a frustrating situation, born of his own weakness and Eri’s rashness. Lauren doubted it would be the last time such a thing occurred.
“You are weak, Spartan,” the admiral taunted as Lauren was forced back again. “Where is that famous rage, that bloodlust? Feel my strength, my hatred! I am blessed by the blood of ancient beings! Where are your blessings, Son of the Red Angel?!”
Blood of ancient beings… “Great, another half-blood pawn of the Duskcrowns,” Lauren groaned. “Which of the Elderkins did they stuff in you?”
“You will never find out.”
Lauren cursed as the next heavy axe swing broke his gladius when he tried to parry it.
Confound it all… The boy better be alright…
~~~
Eri made it two steps into the secret dwarf chamber before a blast of buckshot slammed into his chest.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“OW! Friendly, friendly!” Eri yelled. “I’m not with the pirates!”
There was the sound of another weapon being loaded. “Prove it!”
“Prove— Do you idiots see all this blood on me?! Whose do you think it is?!” Eri shouted back, gesturing to himself — soaked in gore head to toe. “I’ve been slaughtering those fools outside left and right just to get to you in time! If you shoot me again, I swear to the Goddess, I will shove that gun up where the sun doesn’t shine before I fire it!”
There was a bunch of irate squabbling before he heard the click of a weapon’s safety being switched on.
“What fool rushes into a hidden panic room unannounced?! You were asking to get shot!” A deep voice roared out from the dark. “If you’re allies here to help the dwarves of the Throngdravi Clan, name your faction!”
Eri groaned as he injected a healing ampoule. The buckshot failed to penetrate the giant-crafted magic chainmail, but the force had damn near broken his ribs.
“Eridane Elathion, of House Elathion!” Eri shouted. “I was the one who ordered the construction of the Ironclad Dreadnought! I came for my damn ship!”
“... The human Paragon? He’s here?”
There was a stretch of disbelieving silence. Then, hushed whispers and frantic grumbling. Finally, someone stepped out of the dark.
A stout and short humanoid creature emerged, intensely muscled and bearded. Ash-skinned and dark of eyes, the dwarf spoke with a voice like gravel. His tone was cautiously respectful. “Greetings to you, foreign Paragon. If you came for your order, I’m sorry to report that the delivery will be delayed by, say, somewhere around a hundred years. As you can see, our shipyard is a little on fire at the moment.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate, because I am owed a warship, and I’m a bit on a tight schedule,” Eri snapped. “The lot of you are coming with me. If I can’t get an all-conquering dreadnought fitted with enough ordnance to fight the Goddess herself, then I’m at least getting the engineers so that they can build me another one!”
~~~~~~
Optional Excerpt
[System Tutorial: Ships of the Slaver Isles]
Within the present-day chaos of the lawless West, only a madman would sail the waters without a proper warship or two in their fleet.
Since the Great Collapse a hundred years ago, any semblance of order and safety upon the trading sea lanes of the Slaver Isles is lost. Pirates infest the waters, as do aquatic demons and other unknowable horrors of the deep. No vessel travels between ports without its decks bristling with cannon, its crew manned by hardened sailors, and — unlike their mundane cousins of old — its hulls empowered by naval sorcery.
From nimble schooners to colossal dreadnoughts, the modern navies of the West are no longer satisfied with fleets of timber and iron. Danger necessitates spellcraft and arcane engineering, and so in time, bigger ships, bigger guns, Chosen crews, and even the use of Hellgate Cores as primary power sources became the norm.
Where once oak and pitch defined the limits of naval construction, now runic enchantments of buoyancy, wind-binding, and structural reinforcement allow vessels of impossible size to remain afloat. Hulls vast enough to carry entire settlements’ worth of men and guns roam the seas, while more exotic fusions of magic and ship designs — such as flying fortresses or animated islands — serve as capital flagships of the more powerful fleets.
The weaponry of the seas no longer limits itself to mere gunpowder or pyrotechnics. Greater classes of warships, especially those sized as ‘Frigates’ and beyond, regularly employ magical instruments of destruction alongside their batteries of cannons. Alchemical fire that burns even in water. Ballistae hurling spears wreathed in lightning. Runic mortars that shatter hulls with thunderous shockwaves. Even cannonballs hollowed out and filled with foul magic to pierce protective enchantments.
The people who crew these weapons are no less dangerous — Chosen mages stand shoulder-to-shoulder with gun-bearing sailors, weaving wards to shield rigging or calling wind to fill sails. Arcane might often accompany broadsides of iron, for nothing less could repel the dangers of the Slaver Isles.
A ship’s strength is often measured by its size, with six common categories used for classification in the West — starting with the smaller and speedy ‘Schooner’ and ‘Brigantine’ (or ‘Brigs’ for short), then rising to the medium-sized war vessels of ‘Corvette’ and ‘Frigates’, before finally arriving at the benemoth warship classes of ‘Galleon’ and ‘Dreadnought’.
The majority of ships within the West lie within either the brig or corvette classification. Anything larger than Corvette-Class requires significant magic and arcane machinery to construct, and such capable shipyards are far and few between in the modern age. In fact, most of the Galleons or Dreadnoughts that sail today are powerful relics of a bygone era, rather than anything recently built in the modern age.
Below is a quick evaluation of each of the six ship classifications.
~~~
- Schooners
Role: Scout
Qualities: Small, fast, and nimble. Lightly armed (4–10 light cannons). Barely any magical enchantments (if at all). Excellent for chasing merchant vessels or evading larger warships, but extremely fragile in prolonged fights.
- Brigantines/Brigs
Role: Skimisher
Qualities: Medium-sized, with a respectable armament (10–30 light/medium cannons, a mortar). Balances excellent speed with light-to-moderate firepower. Arcane engineering grants it more swiftness for its size in exchange for protection. Popular among the Slaver Isles for being able to both engage and harass larger vessels while retaining swiftness and a relatively large loot capacity.
- Corvette
Role: Escort
Qualities: Sleek and armoured warship built for combat. Powerful ordnance (30 to 60 guns, ranging from light to heavy), great speed, and acceptable endurance in a firefight. Bolstered with a variety of magic that allows the ship to maintain its speed and buoyancy despite its size and heavy armour plates. The fleet’s go-to for frontal naval engagement, and the flagship for most minor fleets of less than 5 vessels.
- Frigate
Role: Hunter
Qualities: Size becomes absurd, as arcane engineering overtakes the limitations of physics or common sense. Their hulls are often at least twice the length and height of most corvettes. Large and slow compared to the lesser vessels, but with massive cargo space and multiple decks loaded with heavy cannons and magical artillery (60 to 100 guns). Crewed in the hundreds and built to uphold naval dominance within the hostile West.
- Galleon
Role: Cruiser
Qualities: A mind-bogglingly giant vessel born more of sorcery than mundane ship design, they represent the limit of what most modern-day shipyards can produce. Most are nearly three times the size of frigates, with eight to twelve decks, each bristling with hundreds of guns, arcane munitions, and exotic war machines. Often at least hundreds of metres long, their enchanted hulls are immune to regular cannon fire. Each is an equal to entire lesser fleets and serves as the backbone of most great navies, where dreadnought capital ships lead the way.
- Dreadnought
Role: Capital Ships
Qualities: The absolute terrors of the seas. Their fantastical designs and sheer size confound the limits of human imagination. Each is a naval monster upon the waters, and no ship would ever dare stand in their way, save perhaps for another dreadnought and their fleet. Fewer than ten are known to still sail the seas of the West, with the four most infamous ones belonging to the Four Pirate Lords of the Slaver Isles.
~~~
On a final note, ships smaller than a traditional schooner are often simply referred to as ‘war boats’ or ‘fire boats’. Larger warships may deploy them to act as distractions, minor fire support, boarding vessels, or suicidal rams loaded with powder barrels and pyrotechnic intent. Do not dismiss them too easily, lest you find yourself caught off guard.
The navalcrafts of the extinct Elderkin races — Elves, Giants, etc — are exceptionally rare in the present age. However, those few that still exist are always regarded as monstrous warships, no matter the size. The magic they wield is decisively destructive and not to be underestimated.
For the sake of classification, no ship — no matter how big — will ever exceed the ‘Dreadnought’ classification, save for one. The only acceptable exception belongs to the mighty vessel that once defeated the Demon King of the West — a legendary God-ship constructed by the efforts of all twelve Elderkin races, simply known as ‘the Ark of the Covenant’. It disappeared after the death of the Second Demon King — the Drowned Dragon — and was never seen again.