Lord: I can see loyalty.

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The western border, the port of the Silver Fox family.

The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the sea was shrouded in a gray haze, making it impossible to distinguish where the sky ended and the sea began.

On the dock, more than a dozen merchant ships were lined up in a row, their hulls heavily drafted, and their decks piled high with provisions and weapons.

These ships originally belonged to various families in the North and were used to transport goods and caravans. Now they have been temporarily requisitioned and converted into warships.

The bow and stern were fitted with rudimentary crossbows, and wooden shields were nailed to the sides of the ship to protect against arrows, but the hull still resembled a merchant ship, cumbersome and slow.

Alberto, the captain of the Silver Fox family, stood at the bow of the largest ship, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his gaze fixed on the south with a somber expression.

He was the commander of this operation and one of the few naval warfare experts in the Northern Family.

Forty years of maritime experience gave him an intimate knowledge of this area; he knew exactly where the reefs were, where the currents were swift, and where it was suitable to land.

But at this moment, he felt a vague unease in his heart.

"Sir, the fleet is ready," a lieutenant ran over and reported in a low voice.

Alberto nodded without saying a word.

His gaze swept over the ships and the soldiers—five hundred sailors from the Silver Fox family, five hundred infantrymen from the Iron Hammer family, and two hundred reserves from other minor families.

The force totaled 1,200 people, well-equipped and highly trained.

But he knew that of these people, no more than 30% had ever actually been to sea, and most had never even been on a ship, let alone fought on a swaying deck.

"Sir, what are you thinking about?" the adjutant asked tentatively.

Alberto was silent for a moment, then slowly spoke.

"I'm wondering, what kind of enemy is the Earl of the South?"

The adjutant paused, taken aback. "Sir, does that mean…?"

"In the Battle of Blackwater, he annihilated our elite knights and militia. In the Battle of Blackwood, he annihilated two hundred elites."

"None of the men we sent out came back alive." Alberto's voice was soft, but every word was clear. "His Majesty Cedric sent us to lead the vanguard, saying that the Earl of the South was just an earl and not enough to be an enemy of the entire North."

"But what's the truth? We've already lost three hundred men, and we haven't even touched a hair on his head."

The adjutant opened his mouth, unsure of what to say.

"I'm not afraid of war." Alberto turned to look at his adjutant. "What I'm afraid of is that we're fighting a war we can't win."

The adjutant lowered his head, not daring to reply.

Alberto sighed and waved his hand. "Alright, pass the order down: weigh anchor."

As the horn sounded, the fleet slowly sailed away from the dock and headed south into the sea.

As the morning mist gradually dissipated, the sea surface shimmered and stretched as far as the eye could see.

The sea breeze blew from the northwest, filling the sails, and the fleet moved quickly, reaching the western coast in less than half a day.

Alberto stood at the bow of the ship, gazing at the approaching coastline, his mind filled with a myriad of thoughts.

He remembered that the western border was once a paradise for pirates.

Those pirate ships came and went like the wind, plundering merchant ships and attacking ports; even the kingdom's navy couldn't do anything about them.

Especially that woman named Timothy, whose fleet was invincible, sweeping across not only the West but also the coast of the North, striking fear into the hearts of the merchants and nobles of the North.

Later, the Earl of the South rose to power, wiped out the pirates of the West, and Timothy disappeared without a trace.

Some say she was killed, some say she fled overseas, and others say she sought refuge with the Earl of the South.

Alberto didn't know which version was true, but he knew that the sea was unsafe if Timothy were still around.

"Sir, look!" the adjutant suddenly pointed to the sea ahead, his voice tinged with tension.

Alberto looked in the direction his finger was pointing, but there was nothing on the sea except for the shimmering water.

But his heart sank suddenly, not because he saw anything, but because he saw nothing at all!

This sea area is too quiet, abnormally quiet. There are no fishing boats, no merchant ships, not even seabirds.

It was as if something had scared away all the living creatures.

"Pass down the order: all on alert." Alberto's voice deepened. "Bow the ballistae, archers to position."

"yes!"

The fleet slowed down, and the soldiers picked up their weapons, stood on the ship's side, and nervously watched the sea.

Time passed slowly, and there was still nothing on the sea. Some people began to relax their vigilance and whisper among themselves.

"It's nothing, just a false alarm."

"Exactly, the ships from the South and West are all in port; they don't have time to bother with our North."

"Once we get ashore, we'll take over their home base and see if they still dare to be so arrogant."

The murmurs rose and fell, but Alberto's brow furrowed even more.

He felt something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Just then, a column of smoke suddenly rose from the sea—not cooking smoke, but beacon fire.

Rising from the southern coastline, one, two, three streaks appear, like a fiery dragon winding along the shore.

Alberto didn't answer, he just stared at the column of smoke.

He had expected to be discovered, but he didn't expect it to happen so quickly.

Their fleet was still at sea, at least half a day's journey from the coast, when the people of the South had already raised the alarm.

This shows that they have been monitoring this area of ​​water continuously without letting their guard down for a moment.

"Sir, shall we continue?" the adjutant asked.

Alberto paused for a moment, then nodded. "Keep advancing. Even if they discover us, they won't have time to mobilize troops. We have 1,200 men; a surprise attack would be enough to take down several cities."

This was part of their plan; their objective was to harass and attack the southern rear.

The fleet continued sailing south.

The sea breeze grew stronger, and the waves crashed against the hull, splashing up white foam.

Some people have already started to feel seasick, vomiting on the ship's side; some are pale and clinging to the mooring ropes; and others are praying quietly, asking the sea god to bless them so they can land safely.

Alberto stood motionless at the bow of the ship, his eyes fixed on the southern coastline.

There, their war achievements await them.

But at this moment, his unease reached its peak.

On the sea, a fleet is quietly emerging from the fog in the west.

The ship is long and narrow with a shallow draft and an astonishing speed.

The black sails billowed in the sea breeze, and the ballistae on the bow gleamed coldly in the sunlight.

There were no flags, no bugles, only the sound of waves crashing against the ship and the sailors' hulled conversations on deck.

The female pirate—no, now the commander of the Western Fleet—Timothy, stood at the bow of the largest ship, her bluish-gray eyes coldly fixed on the cumbersome fleet ahead.

She had been waiting here for a long time, from dawn to afternoon, without moving an inch.

The sea breeze tousled her long hair, which fluttered in the wind, and a faint smile played on her lips.

"Miss, they're here," an old sailor said in a low voice as he approached her from behind.

Timothy nodded. "How many people?"

"At least a dozen ships, with more than a thousand people, but most of them were converted merchant ships and their combat capability was average."

"Are there any elite troops?"

"Yes, there are Silver Fox sailors and Iron Hammer knights. Although they are lightly armored, there are about a thousand of them in total. The rest are miscellaneous soldiers."

Timothy's lips curled into a slight smile. "A mere thousand men, daring to venture into the Western Seas?"

The old sailor was silent for a moment, then tentatively asked, "Miss, shall we inform the Earl?"

"Report." Timothy turned and walked towards the cabin. "Write a letter to him, telling him that the Northmen are coming by sea, and I've held them off. Tell him to finish the war quickly, and when he returns, he must treat me to a drink."

The old sailor grinned. "Yes."

Timothy stopped and glanced back at him. "Also, tell him he'll have to thank me properly this time."

The old sailor suppressed a laugh and nodded repeatedly.

Timothy turned around, walked back to the bow of the boat, and his gaze fell once again on the sea.

In the distance, the cumbersome fleet was still sailing south, completely unaware of what awaited them ahead.

A cold glint flashed in her eyes as she placed her hand on the hilt of the sword at her waist.

"Pass down the order: prepare for battle."

"yes!"

As the horns sounded, the black fleet emerged from the mist like ghosts, rushing towards the cumbersome ship.

The sea breeze howled, the waves surged, and the shadow of war instantly enveloped this sea area.