episode_0030

It took three days for the seasickness to finally subside. Now, I’ve reached a point where I don’t have to cling to the railing and vomit every time the ship rocks violently. The dense sea fog, the fierce winds of the Northern Sea, and the occasional spray that sneaks into the cabin are still hard to get used to, but even those moments of hardship seem to be coming to an end.

“Once we entered the maritime jurisdiction of the Muscovian Republic, the attitude of the sailors changed.”

Just yesterday, the sailors, who had been idling with the madoboy soldiers and lazing around on deck, seemed to perk up upon hearing that they were entering the forefront of the Muscovian Navy. In reality, it was not so much the sailors showing this vigor as it was the naval officers and non-commissioned officers creating such an atmosphere, which naturally led to this change.

“We should be able to land at Valtigrask by tomorrow, right, Lieutenant Cler?”

“Valtigrask. We should arrive there tomorrow. We’ve already passed Saint Marge, so we’ve come quite deep into the canyon.”

Having obtained permission in the captain’s quarters, Cler spread out a map of the Northern Sea on the table and pointed to the location of Saint Marge with her finger. Around her, myself, the platoon leaders, and the previously bored soldiers were gathered like a screen, straining to see the map.

Cler’s finger slowly moved upward from Saint Marge. It passed over a protruding peninsula, then through a narrow strait. After passing the sea near the black forest and traversing a long, narrow strait, it stopped at a certain point.

“This is our current position. And here…”

Further in, there was a vast bay deeply indented into the territory of the Muscovian Republic. A small port was marked there.

“This is Valtigrask. It’s not a particularly significant port. Just a common village where the residents make their living through fishing.”

“The location seems favorable, but it looks like the village hasn’t developed much.”

“If it had been part of the Kingdom of Frankia, it might have grown into a decent city, but unfortunately, it’s tough for anyone who isn’t noble to live well on Muscovian land.”

In a small, insignificant fishing village, there is someone who must be rescued at the risk of the Royal Navy and a galleon. While surveying the coastline of the Muscovy Republic on the North Sea map, I noticed something strange and dredged up a memory from a past life.

“Captain, is there no port further north than Baltigrad?”

“Huh? Yeah. Lieutenant Marianne is right. Even Baltigrad’s sea freezes in winter. So, there wouldn’t be a port further north along the coast, even if there are major cities. It’s frozen solid year-round.”

The sea here was far more brutal than in my previous life. Despite not being at a very high latitude, the sea remained frozen year-round, rendering it unusable as a port. Not far from Baltigrad on the map, I spotted a large symbol labeled “Moscovy,” indicating the capital. The nearest port to the capital and several substantial port cities along the coastline from Baltigrad were visible. All these cities were nestled against dark forests.

Certainly, even ports with slightly lower latitudes than Baltigrad, despite being farther from the capital, had roads drawn on the map and appeared to be floating docks, so it seemed natural for the ports to be larger. Regardless of how advantageous the location might be, it’s better to have a port that can be used year-round rather than one that is unusable in winter. Oh, but isn’t it currently winter?

“Commander, you mentioned that the landing point freezes in winter and cannot be used as a port. How do we land then?”

“It’s just that it can’t be used as a port; landing is still possible, Marianne. We’ll approach with landing boats and disembark on the ice. The sea at this time is thick enough, so there’s no need to worry about the bottom giving way.”

Well, that’s a relief. At that moment, the shouts of the lookout and the sound of the bell rang loudly from above. It was loud enough to penetrate through the thick wooden planks of the deck, indicating the urgency with which the bell was being rung.

“Is it another bad omen?”

Barely a threat, there wouldn’t have been such a reaction. Since witnessing the skills of Subyeong and Captain Jorju yesterday, I haven’t been afraid of ordinary threats. Unless it’s a deluge like the Delpine River. I bounded up the stairs two at a time and pushed open the door leading to the deck. Thick fog billowed into the cabin. Beside the door, the captain was issuing various commands—direction of the sails, orders to the helmsman, and instructions to the deckhands regarding the positioning of cargo and cannons.

“Captain?”

“Oh, you mainland gentlemen stay safe inside the cabin. From here on, it’s the navy’s domain.”

I curtly replied, half wanting to challenge his typical sailor’s boasting and half still smarting from yesterday’s blow.

“Please consider the feelings of us mainland gentlemen who might be snuffed out by a single cannonball while in that cabin. Admiral Mado is inquiring about the situation.”

Though Cler didn’t say a word, she must be curious. He wouldn’t whip someone just for questioning a little in a place like this. Captain Jorju handed me a spyglass from his pocket and said,

“Take a look.”

I extended the collapsible spyglass and peered through. Through the hazy, speckled lens, I saw two ships approaching from behind the galleon. They seemed almost as large as the ship I was on, and the flag stuck to the side of the hull was that of the Moscovi Republic. One consolation was that they appeared quite a distance away.

“Don’t the Republic’s ships seem smaller than our thumbs? Isn’t this unnecessary commotion?”

“Lucky for you, you’re not a sailor. If one of my sailors had said that, I’d have thrown them overboard right away. Did you say Midshipman Marianne? Where are we in the sea?”

“We’re in the North Sea.”

“You know we’ve already passed the Yutius Peninsula and entered a narrow strait even in the North Sea, right? Our goal is Valtigrask, to the east, a day’s journey from here. Two ships of equal size are chasing us from the west, steadily closing in. What should we do in this situation?”

“Um… Understood.”

Captain Jorj’s words meant this. Currently, the Frangia Kingdom’s warships are in a narrow strait, making it impossible to maneuver. The only options here were to break through the two warships and retreat, or continue straight ahead to Valtegrasque.

Valtegrasque was a day’s journey away. Pursuing enemy frigates wouldn’t catch up in a day, but as they ventured deeper into enemy territory, there was no guarantee that enemy warships wouldn’t appear from the east.

“Then relay to Admiral Mado. Tell them that the bombardment will commence roughly seven hours from now, so be prepared.”

#

The start of the bombardment began with Muscovy Empire’s shells veering widely to the left. The recent shelling, fired from a single cannon on the bow, seemed to lack intent to hit. It was a gesture of threat. In this era, naval battles often involved more shelling than sinking the enemy’s frontline ships.

“If it’s two galleons, that’s understandable.”

It wasn’t until the third day aboard the La Francia-3, the galleon I was on, that I learned its name. I focused my magical sight from the ship’s bow and observed the enemy warship’s deck. They were bustling much like us, but there was an air of confidence, as if victory was already assured.

Captain Jorj thought that to overturn the numerical disadvantage in cannons, there was no choice but to resort to boarding. An hour earlier, he had sought permission from Cler to request assistance. His smile now reminded me of his words when we first met, suggesting we should stay within the navy’s jurisdiction.

“Among the Madoboy infantry who have experienced ship-to-ship combat, we are unique. Aren’t we, Lieutenant?”

“Except for the Welsh Union Navy. Anyway, let’s hope everyone comes out unscathed this time.”

The likelihood of Cler’s wish coming true was slim. Captain Jorj’s plan was to engage in close combat and then deploy the Madoboy troops to reduce the enemy galleon’s crew. For that to happen, the precondition was to approach while enduring the enemy’s cannons with their bodies. Even if Frangia’s shipbuilding technology was superior, keeping La Francia’s crew unharmed was a difficult task.

[Long-distance, the magitek infantry didn’t dismiss the idea of firing with heightened output against Matan. However, if Matan had significant destructive power, it would be a distance where the opponent could aim back at them.]

[More importantly, Matan’s power significantly wanes when passing over the sea. People in this world didn’t know the reason. Many stories were told, drawing from ancient legends, revenge of the sirens, differences between the land and sea gods. Maybe that’s true. Or perhaps the magic is weakened due to reflection off the sea surface.]

Kaboom!

A column of water from a shell landing nearby engulfed Claire. Claire closed her eyes at the unexpected rebellion, trying to contain her disbelief. It was something she should have anticipated since Sunmi had advised her to watch out.

“It seems we’ve got a reason to fight with full force now.”

“…Even without this kind of thing, we should fight with full force, Lieutenant. Surviving with such an indifferent attitude is more surprising.”

As the seawater splashed, the sea breeze felt almost like a slap on bare skin. Being wet for too long seemed dangerous, but looking at the sailors on deck, that thought dissipated. Most of them looked like drowned rats. Was naval warfare always like this? Deciding to quietly endure my odd discomfort, I glanced around.

La Francia altered course. Originally heading east, it now positioned itself to port, facing the oncoming galley. Every port gun was loaded and ready to fire at the signal from the gunnery officer.

“Royal Magitech Corps, standby for a frontal assault! May the grace of God protect us from blind shells!”

Claire playfully saluted me. Ah, as if that would make me deflect the shells.

One of the kingdom’s galleys abruptly veered to the left in response to La Francia. The helmsman’s shout of “Starboard side, fire!” seemed to echo all the way to me. The other ship, whether contemplating its strategy or attempting to tail La Francia, continued straight ahead without altering its course.

As the Galleon of the Muscovy Empire continued its straight course, it seemed to have drawn close enough to the distance when the command from the artillery officer was given.

“Fire!!”