Sea Lion(3)

Caius stood atop the deck of his flagship, his arms crossed, his stance rigid as he observed the chaos of battle from afar. Unlike that fool of the enemy commander, who had recklessly thrown himself into the heart of the fight, Caius remained exactly where he was meant to be—behind the main line, where his mind could reign over the battle rather than be swallowed by it.

War was not won by the first man to draw blood but by the one who dictated its flow.

The afternoon sun reflected off his crimson-crested helmet as he studied the clash before him. The sea had turned into a maelstrom of war cries, clashing steel, and the splintering of wood as ships battered against one another. Smoke from burning vessels coiled into the sky like the breath of a waking beast, and the air reeked of salt, sweat, and blood.