I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 539 The Lucky One and the Fleet Set Sail
Old sailor Hank, chewing on salted meat, leaned against the railing of the merchant ship "Seagull," enjoying a rare sunny afternoon in Port Omdur. The busiest port in the Kingdom of Bagnia was as bustling as ever, with sails like a forest, a cacophony of voices, and the air thick with the smells of spices, salted fish, and asphalt.

Just as he was squinting at an oriental spice ship unloading its cargo in the distance, the young helmsman Joseph beside him suddenly gasped and pointed towards the port entrance.

"By the sun god... Uncle Hank, look at that ship!"

Hank looked in the direction the young man was pointing, and his cloudy old eyes narrowed instantly.

A large armed merchant ship was slowly, almost strugglingly, entering the safe waterway marked by the port pilot.

Its sails, which should have been billowing, are now tattered, as if torn apart by countless invisible giant hands, with several huge pieces of canvas hanging down like dying flags.

The hull was in a terrible state, covered with deep scratches, dents, and large patches of dark red stains that had turned black but were still faintly recognizable... It was definitely not seaweed or rust.

What's strange is its waterline; it's neither high nor shallow, just the middle, suggesting that the ship is carrying a lot of cargo, but it's not fully loaded.

At the bow, a bird sculpture, barely discernible, is missing half a wing, revealing jagged wood.

"It looked like it had just crawled out of a sea monster's stomach..."

Joseph murmured.

Hank didn't answer, he just stared intently at the ship.

He had been sailing the seas for thirty years and had seen all sorts of ships that had escaped storms and pirates, but none of them exuded such a strong sense of exhaustion from surviving a near-death experience and... the stench of blood.

It came silently, without cheers or horns, only the creaking sound of its hull rubbing against the water, almost a groan.

As the distance closed, more details came into view; there were many figures on the deck, but it was unusually quiet.

Many people can be seen sitting or lying down, their clothes tattered and almost unrecognizable from their original state.

Most of them remained motionless, as if they had exhausted even the strength to lift their heads, while some figures moved slowly and stiffly on the deck, as if they were dealing with something.

"Look at their faces..."

Joseph's voice trembled slightly.

Even from a distance, one could sense that the faces of those leaning against the ship's railing, gazing towards the harbor, did not reflect the joy of arriving in safety, but rather a deep-seated numbness and emptiness.

That wasn't the sailors' composure after weathering storms, but rather a kind of exhaustion from which all their spirit had been drained.

What did they encounter?

Joseph couldn't help but ask.

"Pirates? Or..."

Hank slowly shook his head, spat out the bits of salted meat in his mouth, and felt a little dry in his throat.

"Unlike pirates, the pirates I imagine wouldn't have their ships like this, nor would they..."

He paused, recalling the dark red stains and the unusually few people on the deck.

"Taking away so many lives."

The wrecked boat, guided by the pilot, finally limped, almost scraped, to a relatively secluded dock.

Once it came to a stop, it created an even more striking contrast with the bustling and prosperous surrounding harbor. It was like a piece of driftwood that had drifted from the edge of hell, silently embedding itself into this vibrant coastline.

Soon, a group of people wearing Bagnia Port Authority uniforms and several people wearing dark cloaks whose faces were obscured quickly boarded the ship.

The dock was also cordoned off by people who looked like soldiers, preventing unauthorized personnel from approaching.

"The cleaners of Omdul have been dispatched."

Hank lowered his voice and spoke to Joseph, his tone carrying a hint of seriousness.

"It seems the people on that ship really had a terrible time."

Joseph looked at the eerily silent ship, at the survivors who were quickly led onto carriages or escorted away by soldiers, their eyes still vacant, and couldn't help but shudder.

The bright sunshine shone on the brightly colored rooftops and sailboats of Omdour Harbor, but it seemed unable to dispel the invisible chill surrounding the wrecked ship.

"Where did they come from?"

Joseph asked the last question, his voice so soft it was as if he were afraid of disturbing something.

Hank looked eastward, towards the tranquil sea, his gaze seemingly trying to pierce the horizon and see an island shrouded in storm and darkness.

"Who knows, kid."

He sighed.

"It's very unlucky that such a ship arrived just as the Bunu fleet was about to set sail."

……

Port Chief Elliott stood on the dock, his brow furrowed, staring at the armed merchant ship that seemed to have emerged from the depths of a nightmare.

The salty sea breeze couldn't dispel the nauseating mixture of smells wafting from the ship—the stench of blood, corpses, fish, and an indescribable putrid odor.

When the water pilot returned to report, he was pale and only mumbled a single sentence.

"Sir, you'd better go and see for yourself... but it would be best to make some preparations first."

Although Elliott only served as the port's chief officer for two years, a short time, he had dealt with shipwrecks, plagued ships, and pirate hijackings, and considered himself experienced in the ways of the world.

But as he stepped onto the ship's gangplank with two clerks who had covered their mouths and noses and a small squad of port guards, his stomach churned.

The deck resembled a mixture of a slaughterhouse and a garbage dump.

The gaps in the wooden planks were filled with dark brown stains, so sticky they almost adhered to the soles of the boots.

Dried, blackened bloodstains were visible everywhere, splattered and dragged, covering the bulkheads, masts, and remaining ropes.

Even more shocking were the damages... deep claw marks, cracks from bone blades, and even several sections of the ship's side that had been forcibly torn and then patched up with rough wooden planks.

Some survivors sat or lay in the corners of the deck, their eyes vacant, showing no reaction to those boarding.

They were dressed in rags, many with blood-soaked strips of cloth that were unrecognizable, yet they still clutched something tightly in their hands… worn-down spears, chipped swords, even broken oars and crowbars.

Their faces and arms were covered with a mix of old and new scars, and a deep-seated weariness and fear still lingered on their faces.

A man who appeared to be the leader, wearing tattered leather armor whose original color was almost unrecognizable, staggered up to Elliott, supported by two equally haggard sailors.

His voice was as hoarse as a broken bellows.

"My lord...we escaped from...from Casarina Island."

Casarina Island?
Elliott felt a chill run down his spine.

That was the Macon Alliance's stronghold on the edge of the Tranquil Sea. They had lost contact with it three months ago. He knew that it had been besieged by the merfolk, and that the Macon Alliance had fallen out with him due to some issues, resulting in the failure to sign the third mercenary contract.

"Who is your superior?"

"Elliott asked."

A flicker of pain crossed the leader's eyes as he pointed to the area below the mainmast, where several distorted corpses lay covered in canvas.

“They’re all dead… I’m the officer now.”

He recounted the story haltingly, his voice devoid of inflection, revealing only the numbness of someone who had survived a catastrophe.

"We hadn't been gone from the dock under the cover of mercenaries when they caught up... not pirates, but fishmen, thousands upon thousands of fishmen... they crawled out of the sea, clawing and scraping at the hull with their claws and bone knives, scrambling upwards like ants..."

Elliott could imagine that hellish scene.

On the vast ocean, the lone ship was surrounded by countless slippery, ferocious figures, which screeched and clung to it like a malignant infection.

"We didn't have enough cannons and gunpowder, so we threw all the cannons into the sea to accommodate everyone...we had to fight hand to hand."

The leader's voice trembled slightly.

“Men and women, anyone who could lift anything, went up to the deck. We poked them with spears, smashed them with sticks, and bit them with our teeth… We knocked them off the ship’s side… The deck was so slippery you couldn’t stand on it, it was covered in blood and slime…” He paused, as if recalling those unbearable scenes.

"We killed wave after wave...it seemed like they would never run out...corpses piled up on the deck, ours and theirs, we used the corpses as stones to throw into the sea..."

Elliott finally understood where the suffocating stench came from.

He gestured for the clerk to take notes, while simultaneously suppressing his discomfort and asking a question.

"How many people did you lose?"

The leader looked around blankly, then at the canvas covering the area, making a hoarse sound that sounded like both crying and laughing.

"When we set sail, the ship was packed with nearly eight hundred people, including soldiers and civilians from Macon. Now, there are probably less than three hundred people still alive."

I've lost count of the exact number of dead; it's all a mess... The bodies alone, those we threw into the sea ourselves and those we had to pile up, number over two hundred... maybe more..."

He raised his trembling hand and pointed to the cabin.

"There are still many bodies in the lower deck, we can't do anything about it..."

Elliott felt a chill run down his spine.

He immediately ordered the port guards and the urgently dispatched cleaners to wear thick masks and gloves soaked in medicine to begin the initial cleaning and personnel transfer work on the ship.

As the cleaners carefully lifted the hatch in the lower deck, the pent-up, concentrated aura of death surged forth like a tangible fist, causing even the most experienced cleaners to bend over and gag.

Elliott did not go to see it himself.

From his subordinates' pale faces and trembling reports, he could already piece together a scene of utter hell.

Elliott looked at the survivors who were being carefully helped off the ship, their eyes still empty and numb, and at the heavily damaged armed merchant ship that was filled with death and despair. His heart was heavy.

He picked up the preliminary report recorded by the clerk, and before the ink was even dry, he hurried to the back... Elliott needed to report to the port governor and even higher authorities immediately.

The arrival of this ship is more than just a tragic record of surviving a shipwreck.

It brought confirmation of the fall of Casarina Island, and even more terrible, yet good news... Casarina Island was now unclaimed.

……

"That's great news!"

Chris received the message the next day. He was quite moved, but he didn't waste any time. He immediately turned around from the garden, went back to his office, took out a blank document, signed the order, and ordered the First Fleet to set sail.

When Chris decided to break with the Macon Alliance and take Casarina Island, he had already ordered the First Fleet to make preparations. In fact, by the time spring arrived, the First Fleet, consisting of nearly 10,000 men, was ready to set sail.

In addition to the navy, a 5,000-strong NPC marine corps, as well as a larger player force, can also set sail and land on Casarina Island ten days later.

However, to make things legitimate, Chris waited... He knew the situation on the island better than anyone else; every player was his informant, including Olaf and the others on the island.

Chris found out on the night Olaf and the others died, but he couldn't reveal what he knew to anyone.

It doesn't matter if the NPCs find out; it just adds a layer of mystery to your image.

If the players find out, it could easily cause problems... If the players knew that Chris could know their situation anytime, anywhere, could spy on them, and even see offline game forums, Chris really couldn't say how they would react.

Anyway, this is definitely not a good thing.

So Chris held back and waited until his subordinates relayed the message before giving the order.

First Fleet, set sail!
The First Fleet is currently in Omdour port, but it is located in the adjacent military port, not a civilian one.

Whether it was a coincidence or the players were deliberately waiting, on the same day the First Fleet set sail, a fleet consisting of 150 armed merchant ships and over 10,000 people, known as the Second Phase Revenge Fleet or the Far Voyage Slave Supplement Fleet, also set sail.

……

The military and civilian dock area of ​​Omdour Port witnessed an unprecedented spectacle on this day.

The two massive fleets raised their sails and weighed anchor almost simultaneously, preparing to sail into the vast and tranquil sea.

Near the naval port, Chris's First Fleet stood in solemn formation.

Dozens of warships were lined up neatly according to regulations. The main force consisted of cruisers and destroyers with strong lines and sturdy hulls. The copper plating covering the hulls was generally painted with a matte dark gray-blue paint, which made them look cold and majestic in the sunlight.

The tallest battleships resembled mobile steel fortresses, their thick armor belts gleaming with a cold, hard luster. The gun ports on the sides of the three-tiered gun decks were tightly closed, yet they could not conceal the destructive power hidden beneath.

On the mast, the double-headed eagle, representing the Kingdom of Bagnia, and the azure double-sword flag of the navy fluttered in the wind.

Sailors and marines, dressed in uniform dark blue, stood in rows on the deck in complete silence, broken only by the short commands of officers and the sound of waves crashing against the hull.

The entire fleet exuded a silent, lean, and steely aura, born solely for conquest and order.

In the adjacent civilian port area and surrounding sea, the second phase of the Bagnia Kingdom's "Revenge Fleet" presents a completely different appearance.

More than 150 armed merchant ships of varying sizes gathered together. They were not standard warships, but rather different types of vessels, and came from various chambers of commerce and private sponsors.

The hulls were painted in various colors, some with exaggerated patterns or family crests, and the canvas was often printed with sponsor logos, making them colorful but also giving them a wild and untamed feel.

The decks of these ships were crowded with all sorts of people... adventurous players eager for wealth, mercenary players who lived on the edge, speculators who dreamed of getting rich overnight, and a large number of NPC sailors attracted by the generous rewards.

They chattered and greeted each other, the air thick with excitement, greed, and restlessness for the unknown journey ahead.

Compared to the First Fleet's cold discipline, this fleet was more like a pack of wolves driven by shared interests.

Despite their vastly different characteristics, the sight of the two fleets sailing out of the harbor one after the other, adjusting their course under the guidance of pilot ships, and converging into an even larger stream of ships in the open waters outside Omdour Harbor was still incredibly spectacular.

The sails blotted out the sky, the masts pierced the blue sky like a forest, and hundreds of prows cleaved the azure sea, leaving countless trails of surging white waves, as if a group of giant marine creatures were migrating together.

The booming sound of cannons echoed from the naval port forts, sending off the voyageers on their journey.

On the shore, countless people waved goodbye, prayers, blessings, and vendors' cries mingled together, creating a noisy background.

The two fleets initially shared the same course, heading towards the edge of the storm belt to the southeast.

Steel behemoths sailed alongside colorful armed merchant ships, and silent blue formations sailed alongside noisy, multicolored fleets, creating a strange yet powerful scene.

The weather was fine at the beginning of the voyage.

The ships of the First Fleet always maintain a strict formation, communicating efficiently with each other through flag signals and light signals, like a precisely operating machine.

The second-phase revenge fleet, on the other hand, appeared much more disorganized, with ships positioned at varying distances, relying on a few large lead ships for navigation. Radio telegraphs were frequently used to transmit information between the ships, exchanging their desire for wealth and their speculations about the future.

They could see each other.

The sailors of the First Fleet might look at that "rabble" with a hint of arrogance.

Meanwhile, the adventurers of the revenge fleet, while marveling at the enemy's disciplined military bearing, also harbored aspirations for their own freedom and "getting rich faster," laughing and joking in a relaxed atmosphere.

However, whether they are disciplined warriors or adventurers eager for wealth, they will soon face together the infamous storm belt of the tranquil sea... that natural barrier separating the relatively safe nearshore waters from the dangerous farshore.

Crossing that place requires courage, but even more so luck and skill.

Once they successfully crossed that stormy sea, the nautical chart before them would point in two completely different directions.

The First Fleet will turn northeast and head towards Casarina Island, which has just been ravaged by blood and fire and is now occupied by murlocs.

Their mission is public war, to reclaim lost territory, to eliminate threats, and to reclaim a frontier fortress for human civilization with steel and fire.

Their battles were driven by clear political objectives and strategic significance.

The second phase of the revenge fleet will continue south along the ocean currents, heading towards the legendary, rich, and dangerous Blue Flame Islands.

Their goals were private warfare, plunder, and the capture of elven slaves, all to satisfy the immense desire of a certain group within Bagnia for elven beauty and the participants' own extreme thirst for wealth.

Their actions are driven more by self-interest than by the guise of "revenge".

At this moment, they are still on the same shipping lane, sharing the sea breeze and sunshine, and about to face the baptism of the storm together.

But the wheel of fate has already set different course. This vast fleet, which brings together different human desires and goals, will eventually part ways on this vast and dangerous sea, each sailing toward a destiny full of unknowns and challenges.

(End of this chapter)