Chapter Twenty-Nine: Follow My Lead (Part Two)

“Have you figured out what's going on yet?” Victoria’s governor, Erlanga, forced himself to suppress his irritation as he asked.

For the Golden Broomflower, this war had erupted both suddenly and inexplicably. Humanity had not engaged in large-scale conflict with the Feshi in ages. At sea, humans were no match for the Feshi; typically, they defended their ports and dispatched warships to guard vital trade routes, but even the Ark Fleet would avoid direct clashes if they encountered the Feshi.

Yet this time, the Feshi had been the aggressors, brazenly assaulting the port despite the risk of being bombarded by cannons—a shocking move. Just as humans were disadvantaged at sea, the Feshi were outmatched on land. Only a few advanced Feshi clans could come ashore, and humans held the advantage in numbers. Among the Feshi were born strongmen like the Weir clan, the magic-and-martial Shaq clan, the innate water manipulators of the Siren clan, the assassins of the Otterbus clan, and the silent ocean mages of the Jenifis clan. But humans could field many more elite warriors and mages on land, and the bronze cannons of Victoria’s port had taught the Feshi harsh lessons.

With artillery support, the Ark Fleet drove the sea bats out of the harbor, heavily wounding one in the process. The Feshi retreated, for the time, back to sea. The Ark Fleet hurried to move damaged ships into the docks for repairs.

But Vice Admiral Oliver and Governor Erlanga had clearly underestimated the Feshi’s resolve. The sea bats’ Feshi riders landed ashore, massing for a direct assault on Victoria’s port. According to those who reported back, Jenifis mages capable of unleashing lightning were now among the attackers. This clan, gifted in channeling their internal energy as electricity, were one of the few Feshi groups besides the Sirens who could attack en masse. Fortunately, their notorious laziness meant they usually remained in the deep sea, seldom swayed by the ambitions of other high Feshi clans. If even they had been mobilized, it meant this assault was not a mere opportunistic raid by some powerful clan.

But what stunned the two men most—along with the dignitary at the governor’s side, the fifth-ranking figure of the Golden Broomflower Dynasty, second only to Edward III, Queen Emma, Crown Prince William, and Prime Minister Portlu—the Minister of Finance, Andrew, was the fact that even the low-tier Feshi clans had come ashore.

The lesser Feshi clans—shrimpfolk, crabfolk, even some clamfolk—joined the charge, wielding knives and forks forged from iron coral and shields fashioned from ancient clam shells, storming the port fortress.

The panic at the port was as relentless as the pounding cannons, one round after another. Thankfully, although the Feshi swarmed the coastline like locusts, their sole focus was the port fortress. Had they scattered, the nearby villages would have suffered dearly.

The Feshi clearly lacked proper siege equipment, accustomed as they were to naval warfare. At this point, humans wisely contracted their defenses, splitting into two groups: one concentrated within the port fortress, the other—the Ark Fleet—gathered at the docks.

The Feshi milled about beneath the fortress walls, aimless as headless flies, as artillery shells crashed around them, gouging deep craters. Occasionally, a shrimpfolk or crabfolk pierced with arrows would collapse, bleeding pale blue onto the earth.

Then Pompey appeared on the battlefield—a colossal figure nearly four meters tall—and his presence brought order to the chaotic Feshi. Swiftly, they withdrew beyond bowshot, needing only to dodge the fortress’s cannon fire.

“Don’t worry, these creatures from the sea have no means to breach the walls,” Erlanga reassured the Minister.

“Not necessarily,” Andrew replied, his concern evident.

Indeed, under Pompey’s command, four more Weir giants emerged, each slightly smaller than him. The five stood shoulder to shoulder, brandishing identical weapons—sea anchors—and hurled them at the walls.

The anchors bit deeply into the stone. When they yanked them free, chunks of masonry came away. Fortunately, the walls were solidly built and didn’t collapse immediately.

But the governor and minister’s faces had turned pale. The Feshi possessed no advanced siege engines, but they had their oceanic strongmen, intent on dismantling the wall by brute force. The repeated anchor throws had begun to crack the stonework; at this rate, the fortress walls could truly be destroyed. If breached, the port’s defenders could not withstand such numbers, even if the Ark Fleet’s soldiers disembarked to help. With the lesser Feshi clans ashore, nearly two or three divisions’ worth had amassed. Perhaps their combat effectiveness was diminished on land, but their numbers had swelled, giving them a temporary advantage.

“We must hold out,” Andrew declared, rallying the troops despite not knowing why the Feshi had gone mad and attacked the port, attempting to seize the fortress.

“Our Royal First Fleet is almost here. Once they arrive, along with reinforcements from local lords and knights, we’ll drive these beasts back into the sea!”

“But if they keep attacking like this, the walls won’t hold,” Erlanga whispered fearfully. The five Weir giants launched another volley of anchors, hollowing out a massive section of the wall. At this rate, only a few more rounds would bring it down.

“Fool! Can’t you concentrate all the artillery on them? Blast them away!” Andrew snapped furiously.

Erlanga, suddenly enlightened, ordered all cannons in that sector to focus their fire on the five Weir giants. Though the cannons had blind spots and their aim was not precise, the Feshi—naive in land warfare—could not discern these weaknesses and continued their assault.

Shell after shell thundered from the fortress. The massive solid shot howled through the air; a direct hit would pulverize its target, and even a glancing blow would shatter bone and sinew. These solid shells inflicted multiple casualties, bouncing and ricocheting for secondary harm. The explosive shells burst, spraying shrapnel, rivaling the deadliest arrows and bolts. The latter were especially lethal to the lesser Feshi, but for Pompey, the solid shot posed more danger.

The ground was pitted with craters from the barrage. Finally, several shells struck the Weir giants directly. One was sent flying several meters by a solid iron ball, twitching feebly on the ground but unable to rise. Even the formidable Weir could not withstand such impacts. A dozen Feshi rushed out, hoisting the wounded giant to the rear.

Pompey, enraged, hurled his anchor—not at the walls, but directly at an incoming shell. The anchor and cannonball collided in midair with a thunderous crash. The anchor rebounded, embedding itself in the earth, but the shell was knocked back, soaring over Andrew and Erlanga’s heads and smashing into the fortress behind them, startling everyone. The Weir clan truly were the strongmen of the Feshi.

Yet Pompey could do nothing more; under the relentless bombardment, he and his kin could no longer threaten the walls. After so long, they were hungry. Unlike humans, who required supply lines, the Feshi needed only proximity to the sea for endless sustenance.

Thus, what had been a battle between mankind and the Feshi devolved into a childish game. The Feshi, unable to withstand the artillery, were defeated by hunger. Most could not stomach the food on land.

The Feshi promptly retreated toward the sea bat formations at the shore, withdrawing to the ocean to hunt for their meal.