Naval Battle

"The target is not responding. Shall we continue to confirm?"

"Confirm again." The captain replied to the lookout, not forgetting to bark orders at his first mate, "Notify the lower decks to open the gun ports. Prepare for battle."

"Understood." Hearing this, the first mate looked eager, his footsteps light as he dashed toward the cabin. It seemed it had been a long time since a decent fight, and the first mate's hands were itching for action.

"The target isn't slowing down! The target isn't slowing down!" The lookout's voice grew urgent.

"Prepare for battle! Strike down those reaching claws first!"

The captain lowered his telescope, drew the long blade at his waist, and held it high, shouting loudly. He had already seen through the lens that the two leading enemy warships were slowly opening their gun ports; they clearly meant harm.

"Prepare for battle!"

"Prepare for battle!"

"..."

Following the captain's order, shouts rang out one after another across the ship. The lookout at the top of the mast blew the alarm made from a giant conch shell, the sound drifting far and wide, rendering the atmosphere of war to its absolute peak.

"What do we do?" Wilton looked at Liam beside him and asked in a low voice.

"Watch closely, of course. Fighting two to one is a rare learning opportunity. You must commit this to memory so that if we ever encounter a similar situation, we'll know what to do."

At this time, Kul Tiras had not yet suffered the internal strife that would plague it later, so there was no risk of infighting. Since the captain had confirmed the others were not from Kul Tiras and was confident in taking out the vanguard, Liam had no doubts; he simply wanted to observe this first naval battle he had chanced upon.

"And what about you?" Wilton asked, puzzled, seemingly confused by Liam's emphasis on him being the one to take notes.

"Me? I'm the captain!" Liam's answer was matter-of-fact, though the logic differed from that of ordinary people. "When the time comes for me to shout 'prepare for battle,' the rest is up to you."

So, in your eyes, a captain is only responsible for declaring war, leaving everything else to the subordinates? Wilton was speechless, silently complaining to himself, Might as well let Coral be the captain.

Thinking of Coral, who had been locked in a small box for days, Wilton felt a headache coming on. He wondered if there would be any issues after keeping the creature locked up all day and only letting it out for a brief, silent breather at night. Coral was already a bit dim-witted, and with this kind of treatment...

"Of course. As a captain, if I did everything myself, it would be beneath my station." Liam continued as if it were only natural, though Wilton no longer wished to offer suggestions on the matter.

Wilton certainly didn't believe this was Liam's true mindset. Despite Liam's dismissive words, he was watching more closely than anyone, desperate not to miss a single detail of even the common sailors' movements. He didn't even shift his gaze while speaking, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

This guy talks nonsense, but he knows exactly what he's doing, Wilton thought. For some reason, he recalled the scene on Atonement Island where Liam had casually blown a Syndicate member's head off with a single shot. Wilton had never met such a contradictory person in his life, and he wondered how young Liam had developed such a personality.

The standard warships of Azeroth were now new-model vessels that concentrated their cannons from the perimeter to the broadsides, and the Mist of the Maiden, being a royal flagship of Kul Tiras, was no exception. The Mist of the Maiden was a medium-sized ship of the line with two rows of twelve cannons on each side. The power of a single broadside was enough to raze cities and strongholds; if half the shots hit an opponent of the same class, it could instantly render them combat-ineffective.

Thus, linear tactics had become the mandatory doctrine for the Kul Tiras navy. It required the fleet to maintain a single-column formation and demanded that commanders execute precise T-crossing maneuvers—positioning their own line horizontally above the enemy's vertical column—to pummel the enemy with a full broadside. The opponent, forced to face them with their weaker bow, would theoretically be defeated if the tactical position was successfully seized.

And what were the people of Kul Tiras best at? Nine out of ten would answer: sailing! Watching the ship's wheel spinning rapidly in the hands of the Mist of the Maiden's captain, Liam finally understood the true meaning of the title "The Coachmen of the Sea."

They could truly maneuver their ships with the speed and agility of a horse-drawn carriage.

In Liam's eyes, after a few continuous S-turns, the Mist of the Maiden had inexplicably seized the weather gauge, its broadside firmly aimed at the leading destroyer.

Liam, who had wanted to learn something, hadn't even clearly seen the captain's steering technique before the Mist of the Maiden was already in position.

"Tell the gunners, fire at will! Hit them hard, take down the one in front first!"

The shout displayed immense confidence. Fighting two to one didn't even require a coordinated broadside; this was absolute trust in his gunners.

"Boom!" "Boom!" "Boom!" The sound of cannons thundered, continuous and deafening. Because it was independent fire, the recoil wasn't as jarring, but it still made Liam and Wilton lose their footing, forcing them to grab the railings.

The sailors nearby, however, were completely unaffected, moving across the deck as if walking on flat ground without the slightest hesitation. A young sailor even glanced at them curiously as he ran past, as if puzzled by how anyone could be unsteady during free-fire.

Although the people of Kul Tiras were simple and honest, and the two didn't face malicious scorn, they still felt embarrassed. Even with Liam's thick skin, his face flushed slightly.

He had insisted he was "the man who would become the Pirate King," yet he couldn't even stand steady—the gap between reality and his ideals was just too vast!

A single broadside from the Mist of the Maiden's flank turned the leading enemy ship into a tattered honeycomb, with ruined cannons and mangled sailors spilling out from the holes.

Twelve shells fired, ten hit. One even struck the enemy's mainmast, snapping it in a single blow, leaving Liam clicking his tongue in amazement.

What surprised Liam even more was that the captain didn't seem satisfied with the results.

"Two misses at this range? I see you lot are overdue for training! Tell the first mate, dock the liquor rations for the two who missed tonight!"

The sailors on deck roared with laughter, gloating over the two unlucky souls. Only two faint complaints were heard before being "suppressed" by the first mate in the gun deck.

Having easily sunk one ship, the Mist of the Maiden finished reloading all its cannons in under three minutes. By then, the second enemy ship had just rounded the wreckage of the first, sailing alongside the Mist of the Maiden.