Chapter Twenty-Eight: Unexpected (Part One)

When the Golden Broom Second Fleet, the Ark Fleet, tasked with defending Victoria Harbor, unexpectedly encountered the vast Fishfolk army led by Pompey at sea, the situation was unusual. As per established protocol, the human fleet retreated toward the harbor—after all, the Ark Fleet’s duty was to safeguard Victoria Harbor, but that did not necessarily include engaging the Fishfolk in battle. Typically, when the human fleet chose to withdraw, the Fishfolk would not pursue them all the way to the port, as the fleet would then gain support from the shore, such as the dozens of bronze cannons stationed there.

But this time was different. The Fishfolk pursued relentlessly, showing no sign of pausing.

Thus, Admiral Oliver, commander of the Ark Fleet, had no choice but to order his ships into a battle formation.

The Ark Fleet comprised the flagship, Royal Ark, and ten other giant ballista warships of the same class. These ships were all modified from the latest carrack designs, boasting great speed and capacity, able to carry more sailors and ballistae than before. The rest of the fleet consisted of older cogs or light caravels.

The Ark Fleet spread out in a line, and under the signaling flags of the flagship, the sudden battle began.

The Fishfolk, riding their sea demons, charged desperately toward the harbor. The ballistae on the human warships began firing from at least four hundred meters away, launching massive bolts that struck down shrimpmen and crabmen, sending them bleeding into the waves. The Fishfolk retaliated with bone arrows shot from bows crafted from undersea coral and sea demon sinews—their arrows fashioned from the bones of dead sea monsters found in seabed graveyards. To the Fishfolk, who claimed to be the true masters of the sea, everything related to the ocean belonged to them.

In this opening exchange, humanity held the advantage. The Fishfolk’s bows and arrows were crude; lacking alchemy and metallurgy, they had to search coral forests for suitable pieces to shape into bows, reinforcing them with monster sinew. They cherished these rare weapons. One major reason the Fishfolk coveted the land was because humans could forge weapons that seemed both practical and exquisite—something most Fishfolk, reliant on nature, greatly envied.

However, at the command of Lord Pompey, the Fishfolk quickly changed tactics. Most of the sea creatures dove beneath the surface, making it impossible for the human warships to target them accurately. Ballista bolts could only be fired blindly; though blood sometimes colored the water when a shot found flesh, these casualties were negligible compared to the Fishfolk’s numbers.

This was precisely why humans avoided engaging the Fishfolk at sea. The self-proclaimed ocean masters held a significant advantage: most could remain submerged indefinitely, living like fish—hunting, sleeping, and surviving underwater. Only the lowest ranks, such as crabmen, needed to surface after a time, as the pressure in deeper water became uncomfortable for them. In contrast, only a handful of water-controlling humans, or the most experienced pearl divers, could remain underwater for half an hour at best.

With the Fishfolk submerged, the Ark Fleet’s ballistae had to turn their focus on the sea demons—tamed monsters used by the Fishfolk in warfare. These, if allowed to draw near, could threaten the fleet as much as their masters.

The massive ballistae thundered—great weapons requiring several men’s strength or winches to fire, capable of punching through an ox, a bear, or even a rhinoceros. Many medium and small sea demons that accompanied the Fishfolk were grievously wounded by the huge bolts, and blood soon stained the surface of the sea.

Yet this had little effect on the sea bats. Each sea bat stretched over forty meters long, with a serpentine neck and head measuring seven or eight meters, a short tail, and a vast midsection broad enough to carry scores of Fishfolk resting atop. The ballistae could seriously injure medium-sized sea monsters like tiger-mouthed beasts or bloodthirsty spiral turtles, but for the sea bats, a bolt was like a fruit knife to a human—painful, but rarely fatal unless they were hit by concentrated fire. In previous records, to slay a sea bat, the human fleet always had to first eliminate the Fishfolk on its back, then have all ships fire upon it simultaneously with their biggest ballistae; otherwise, these giants would simply swim away, bolts protruding from their hides.

But this time was different—it was not one sea bat, but nearly twenty.

After several waves of giant ballista bolts, bodies of Fishfolk floated on the waves—those unlucky enough to be hit, pierced even in shallower water. Many medium and small sea demons also fell, but among the twenty or so sea bats, only one was forced out of the battle line by five or six bolts, retiring to the rear where other Fishfolk extracted the missiles and tended its wounds. By then, the fleet had already expended a third of their ammunition.

Most importantly, the sea bats had drawn close. Any further hesitation, and the ballistae would be unable to target them due to their proximity—their blind spot. Then, the Fishfolk lurking below would seize the chance to surface, climb back onto the sea bats, and launch an assault against the human ships. They would skillfully climb up the serpentine necks of the sea bats to engage in close combat aboard the warships.

Sweat beaded on Admiral Oliver’s brow. He had weathered such scenes before. The Fishfolk and their sea bats coordinated with deadly precision—the serpentine necks would deftly deliver Fishfolk warriors onto the decks, while the bats themselves would open their serpent-like jaws, attacking sailors with razor-sharp teeth to aid their masters in battle. Once the Fishfolk drew close, unless the ship happened to carry an exceptional human warrior, the crew stood little chance in hand-to-hand combat.

And the Fishfolk’s tactics did not end there. If a ship did carry a large number of human mages or warriors, making a direct assault too costly, the Fishfolk would switch strategies, employing the traits of the Swordfishmen. Hundreds or thousands of these would lurk beneath the surface, coordinating to ram the hull of a chosen ship. If the bottom was breached, the crew would be forced to abandon ship, or else sink with it.

Against such attacks, humans had little recourse. Even the mages were often helpless; only a few adept in water magic could manipulate the sea itself to inflict harm in return. Most other kinds of magic were greatly weakened by the water. After suffering many such painful losses, the human fleets developed a passive countermeasure: never stay in one place. They kept their ships in constant motion, attacking as they moved.

Thus, the key to battling the Fishfolk at sea was distance. At range, human ballistae could still do some damage, but once the sea bats closed in, disaster was almost certain.

Facing the Fishfolk’s advance, their warriors hidden beneath the protection of the sea bats, Admiral Oliver, though deeply reluctant, knew that once the enemy drew close, the ballistae would be useless, and the fleet would be doomed. He decisively ordered a full retreat back into Victoria Harbor, relying on the fortress’s support to resist the onslaught of these crazed Fishfolk.

Even now, he could not understand—after decades in which the Fishfolk had proven themselves masters of the sea and grown relatively quiet—why they had suddenly begun attacking the harbor with such reckless fury.