Chapter 135 Encounter at Sea

The soldiers moved with practiced precision, their hands swift and sure as the battle horn thundered across the sea. Its sharp, urgent blare signaled the beginning of war.

Muscles strained as seasoned sailors pushed massive ballistae into position between the bow and the ship's flanks. They worked in silence, sweat streaking down their grim faces. Every adjustment to the angle, every locked mechanism—calculated, controlled. They knew that one well-placed bolt could mean the difference between victory and ruin.

Nearby, ammunition crews laid rows of razor-tipped bolts with military efficiency, stacking them within arm's reach for rapid reloading. Every motion had purpose—there was no room for hesitation now.

Other soldiers hurried to don reinforced leather armor, strapping it tight over their torsos. Swords were drawn and inspected, their edges gleaming under the morning light. Shields were buckled firmly to forearms, tested and retightened again and again. Each man and woman prepared themselves for the chaos of close combat.

Across the sea, the Myr fleet had clearly spotted Gavin's forces. Their own war horns shrieked across the waves, a high-pitched call to arms. Crimson and black banners snapped violently in the wind, as though eager to clash.

Both fleets surged forward, cutting through the water like arrows loosed from the string. There was no hesitation—only the inevitable crash of steel and fury.

At the helm of the Belleris, Gavin gripped the railing tightly, eyes narrowed like twin blades, locked on the enemy. Every ship, every flag, every formation—he studied them with razor focus.

Just then, Hassan rushed over, breath short.

Without a word, Gavin handed over command and turned sharply toward Syndor. The dragon was already waiting.

As the ships grew closer, the enemy flags finally came into view.

"Myr," Gavin muttered grimly.

The sea winds howled louder, as if cheering the bloodbath to come.

Then, with a beat of powerful wings, Syndor launched into the sky with Gavin astride. His ascent triggered the first strike—Gavin's ballista crews unleashed a thunderous volley. Sharp, barbed bolts tore through the air in a deadly swarm, falling upon the Myr fleet like a hailstorm of iron.

But the Myr commander had planned for this. Rather than return fire, their crossbow crews took aim—not at the enemy fleet, but at the sky. At Syndor.

Dragon-hunting bolts—thick, barbed, deadly—glistened under the sun as they were raised toward the circling beast.

The Myr fleet endured the first barrage silently. Ships shifted subtly, tightening their formation, their hulls nearly brushing. A shield wall of ships.

From the air, Gavin quickly took in the tactic. The enemy commander knew they stood no chance in a head-on battle—not with barely fifty ships against Gavin's hundred and a dragon. Instead, they meant to pierce the center and break free.

"They're going to run," Gavin growled. Syndor echoed with a guttural snarl.

Without delay, Syndor let out three thunderous roars across the sky. Hassan understood instantly.

On the water, Hassan raised his arm.

"Split the center! Form the jaws!" he bellowed.

The heart of the fleet parted, warships veering away to flank the enemy. On either side, Gavin's ships pressed inward, forming a deadly corridor. A trap.

The pocket began to close.

Then, the Myr fleet struck back.

Their bolts screamed across the water, a blistering hail of death. Soldiers cried out—some flung from the deck by sheer impact, swallowed by the frothing waves. The wooden hulls of Gavin's ships shuddered under the impact. Shards of timber erupted like shrapnel as bolts pierced clean through, sending smoke and splinters into the air.

And then it happened—the crash.

The front line of the Myr fleet barreled into Gavin's formation like a rampaging beast. There was no subtlety now—just raw force. Ballistae on both flanks opened fire, shredding the leading Myr ships. One after another, the warships buckled under the storm, tilting, cracking, slowing as they took on water.

Ships behind had no time to react. With nowhere to go, they rammed into the wreckage ahead. Wood snapped like bones, and the deafening roar of colliding hulls filled the air.

Still, the Myr fleet pushed forward, desperate. The trap was working.

Amidst the chaos, boarding hooks were thrown. Grappling lines snapped taut. Ships collided at close quarters, and the decks became battlegrounds.

Gavin's soldiers roared as they vaulted onto enemy ships, blades flashing. Steel clashed in the narrow confines of blood-slick decks. Every swing was fueled by desperation. Men screamed. Swords pierced flesh. Blood sprayed the walls and flowed freely to the sea below.

The cries of the dying mixed with the roar of fire, the groan of ships, and the thunder of battle.

And then—finally—something broke.

Seeing their lines thinning, some Myr captains began to strike their flags. The tide was turning.

Several enemy ships were overtaken entirely, their decks swarming with Gavin's soldiers. Surrendered weapons were thrown into the sea. One by one, the Myr began to fall.

But not all.

The last few remaining ships, bloodied and battered, surged forward—slipping through the chaos, desperate for escape.

Just as the first Myr warship broke through the outer line, a monstrous black shadow blotted out the sun.

Syndor.

He plummeted from the sky like a thunderbolt, wings slicing the air, his form outlined in flame and fury.

The warship's crew looked up—and screamed.

With a roar that shook the heavens, Syndor unleashed a torrent of dragonfire.

Flames consumed the bow in seconds. Wood cracked and popped under the heat, turning to ash. The fire spread like a living thing, devouring sails, devouring men. The ship was aflame from prow to stern, smoke curling into the sky like a funeral pyre.

Some men jumped. Others burned.

Syndor wheeled through the air and dove again. This time, the fire tore a crater through the mid-deck, sending shattered planks and bodies into the sky.

Gavin leaned forward in the saddle, his voice calm but cold: "Burn them all."

Below, Hassan saw the destruction unfold and wasted no time.

"Sound the horns! Press the attack!"

The warhorns blew once more, louder than before, piercing through the chaos. Gavin's fleet surged ahead.

Like hunters closing in on wounded prey, they surrounded the remaining Myr ships. Waves crashed, spraying seafoam high into the air. The ocean itself seemed to boil with violence.

The battle would soon be over—but its memory would be burned into the sea for years to come.