Chapter 172 - 172: Reaching the Second Continent
The lingering golden dust from Silas's projection drifted slowly toward the floorboards, but before the glowing particles could even touch the wood, they flared with a sudden, blinding intensity.
A massive shockwave of pure, silent energy pulsed outward from the center of the cabin. It swept through the colossal ghost ship, causing the lavish velvet rugs, the floating lanterns, and the heavy iron walls to warp and dissolve like a mirage baking under a desert sun.
Iron-Scale instinctively raised a clawed arm to shield his eyes, while Gulag braced her heavy legs against the shifting reality of the deck. The wooden floor beneath them vanished entirely in a flash of golden light, dropping the boarding party a few feet through the empty air until their boots slammed hard against the solid, familiar star-iron grating of their own Vanguard flagship.
The pulse of energy didn't stop at the hull. It violently blasted the dense sea mist away in all directions, tearing the suffocating grey shroud apart in a matter of seconds. The eerie silence of the fog was instantly shattered, replaced by the deep, rattling hum of their alchemical engines and the violent crashing of heavy ocean waves against the armored prow.
Landing perfectly balanced on her feet, Syra quickly planted her staff against the deck and looked out across the newly cleared horizon. The endless expanse of dark water had finally broken.
Rising ominously in the distance were the heavily fortified coastlines of the Second Continent.
Thick plumes of black smoke stained the sky above the rocky cliffs, painting a grim picture of a land completely consumed by war. Even from several miles out, the faint, thunderous echoes of heavy artillery fire rolled across the water, vibrating against the flagship's hull. Dozens of massive Fourth Continent warships formed a brutal, interlocking blockade along the burning coastline, completely suffocating the Iron Arbiter's eastern ports.
The trial was over, and the Vanguard had finally arrived at the battlefield.
Iron-Scale stepped up to the railing next to the Grey-Fin elder, his slitted eyes narrowing as he analyzed the massive enemy fleet blocking their path to the shore. He slowly raised his sleek sword, a vicious, predatory smile creeping back onto his sloped face.
"The illusions are gone," the supreme commander hissed, his voice carrying perfectly over the roaring wind. "Sound the siege horns. We are breaking their line."
A deafening, bone-rattling blast erupted from the flagship, immediately answered by the war horns of the fifty ironclads flanking them. Down in the lower holds, fifty thousand Vanguard troops roared in perfect, bloodthirsty unison, their heavy weapons clashing against their shields as the fleet accelerated straight toward the burning horizon.
On the other side, Admiral Vaelor leaned against the polished brass railing of the galleon Starfall. He watched black smoke billow from the eastern ports of the Iron Arbiter's domain. The naval blockade had held the coastline hostage for months, starving the defenders into submission. His troops simply waited for the city to finally break.
Vaelor took a sip of spiced wine. The total lack of resistance bored him immensely.
'They are broken,' Vaelor thought with a scoff. 'We will feast in their grand halls by the week's end.'
A sudden gust of wind violently tore his attention away from the burning coastline.
The dense sea fog lingering miles out into the ocean shattered. A silent shockwave ripped the grey mist apart to reveal the open water. Vaelor frowned at the bizarre weather anomaly and raised his brass spyglass to his right eye.
The crystal glass slipped from his fingers and shattered against the wooden deck.
A massive armada of pitch-black ironclads churned through the dark ocean, charging directly toward his blockade. The sail-less vessels tore through the waves with terrifying speed, leaving thick trails of alchemical exhaust in their wake. A bone-rattling war horn echoed across the water to deliver the combined roar of fifty thousand bloodthirsty troops.
"Sound the alarm!" Vaelor screamed, frantically drawing his steel sword. Panic erupted across the Starfall deck. "Turn the broadside cannons! Prepare for impact!"
Before the Fourth Continent sailors could pivot their galleons, the horizon lit up with blinding flashes of alchemical fire.
Aboard the Vanguard flagship, Iron-Scale stood perfectly still at the prow. He pointed his sleek blade directly at the center of the enemy blockade. The supreme commander dropped his arm, signaling the dozens of star-iron cannons mounted along the bows of the ironclads to unleash absolute destruction.
'Let us see how well their wood handles our metal,' Iron-Scale mused with a vicious, predatory smile.
The sky screamed as artillery shells crossed the distance in a heartbeat. They slammed into the Fourth Continent's floating fortresses with devastating kinetic force. Reinforced wooden hulls exploded into clouds of splinters and fire. Entire galleons were instantly ripped in half by the superior Vanguard firepower. Armored sailors and siege equipment sank like stones into the dark, churning water.
"Maintain forward momentum," Syra commanded from the upper deck. Her glowing glass slate projected the optimal trajectory to completely shatter the enemy's weakened center line. "Do not let them regroup. Ram their flagships."
The alchemical engines roared with increased power as the ironclads accelerated. They completely ignored the frantic, uncoordinated return fire pinging harmlessly off their dense metal plating.
Down in the lower holds, General Gulag felt the flagship brace for impact. She raised her massive spiked club high above her head while her eyes burned with the thrill of impending slaughter. Thousands of Troglodytes and elite Beast-Kin mirrored her stance, packing tightly against the metal doors as the distance closed to zero.
'Finally,' Gulag thought, grinning wildly. 'Blood and bone.'
With a catastrophic crunch of rending metal and tearing wood, the Vanguard flagship violently rammed its star-iron prow straight through the broadside of Admiral Vaelor's vessel.
"Drop the ramps!" Gulag roared over the chaos.
Steel doors slammed down directly onto the burning decks of the Fourth Continent ships. A terrifying tide of hyper-aggressive, fully armored apex predators poured out from the dark holds.
They instantly transformed the chaotic naval blockade into a close-quarters slaughterhouse.