Wrong Anchor Harbor should have been at its busiest that time of year, but now it was frighteningly quiet.
Caroline stood in the Third Fleet's designated berthing area, the sea breeze stirring her long hair. Chief Alchemist Valerius stood behind her.
Veylin stood slightly behind her to one side, wearing a hooded cloak and a black mask that left only his wine-red eyes exposed.
His gaze passed over the crowd and settled on the flagship moored in the center of the berthing area.
The Strong Spirits.
The three-track warship resembled a floating hill, casting a shadow large enough to cover almost half the dock. Every strand of the roaring lion figurehead's mane had been carved with lifelike precision, and its wooden surface gleamed with the deep luster of magic worked into the grain.
Its captain, a burly middle-aged man, was wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. He had been a sailor aboard the Strong Spirits in his youth, and had polished that proud lion with his own hands.
Yet as he looked at the massive ship now, a chill rose in his heart for reasons he could not explain.
"It's still here." Caroline's voice held a relief that even she failed to notice.
As long as the flagship remained, the fleet still had its backbone. There was still a chance to salvage everything.
"Master Valerius," she said, turning her head, a little composure returning to her expression. "Please come with me. We need to see for ourselves just how much trouble these little creatures have caused."
She was about to step forward when a series of groans filled the air, setting everyone's teeth on edge.
At first, there were only faint popping sounds. Then they grew louder and louder, as though someone were beating a drum beneath the hull.
It was the Strong Spirits.
The middle-aged captain's face went deathly pale. He murmured involuntarily, "No... that isn't the timber creaking... it's the keel. That's the sound of the keel breaking!"
Everyone froze. Sailors, foremen, merchants-every last person instinctively raised their head to look at the massive ship.
The warship began to tilt... unbelievably, both ends rose while the middle caved in. Its angle continued to steepen visibly, and the hull below the waterline gave off an unbroken series of cracks as its wooden fibers tore apart.
"No..." Caroline's lips moved soundlessly. Her mind went blank, leaving only a high-pitched ringing in her ears.
As though answering her denial, the Strong Spirits' mainmast, inscribed with the runes of "Wind's Blessing," snapped in the middle.
The Golden Sail Merchant Guild's flag fell with the broken mast. Like a worthless scrap of cloth, it slammed into the sea, throwing up an enormous wave of white water.
That crash marked the beginning of the panic.
Screams, sobs, and curses erupted throughout the harbor.
Veylin instinctively reached toward the bridge of his nose, adjusting something that was not there, and could not help thinking, They used supernatural materials without giving any thought to controlling supernatural pests. These people's tech tree is ridiculously lopsided.
Cold seawater splashed onto Caroline's face with the wave. She jolted, her body trembling uncontrollably.
Before everyone's eyes, the Strong Spirits' sturdy hull, built from enchanted dragonbone wood, split in two down the middle like waterlogged cardboard.
Seawater rushed in wildly. In its final moments, the roaring lion figurehead rose high, then plunged headfirst into the fathomless sea, leaving only a vast whirlpool behind.
A symbol of an era, the instrument of force that had secured the Golden Sail Merchant Guild's dominance over the duchy's southern coast, met its end before their eyes in the most humiliating way imaginable.
Caroline stood rooted to the spot, utterly motionless.
Panic spread like a plague.
The atmosphere in the Golden Sail Merchant Guild's headquarters at Wrong Anchor Harbor was as oppressive as a tomb.
In the reception room, people filled the seats around the long conference table, yet no one spoke. Outside the windows, the docks were in chaos. Inside, there was only deathly silence.
An obese senior administrator slammed a thick report onto the table with a bang, his eyes bloodshot as he roared, "Vice President! It's over! Everything's over! It isn't just the Third Fleet! Every ship we have in the harbor that's touched the water-more than five hundred of them-could now be infested with shipworms!"
"We've tried everything: fire, poison, spells... we've spent money like water, and all we can do is watch them rot even faster! These aren't worms. They're devils! Devils that have come for the Golden Sail Merchant Guild!"
Caroline sat upright at the head of the table, her face expressionless, and turned her gaze toward the chief alchemist, who had remained silent.
"Master Valerius, what about alchemical potions?"
The master stood and took out a glass jar containing several live shipworms. "Useless... the alchemists studied them for three days and nights! Without sleep or rest! We tried forty-seven pest-repellent formulas. Only the incredibly expensive Sea Monster Repellent, prepared with deep-sea giant squid ink, had any effect... but the production cost is too high. High enough for us to build an entirely new fleet."
One captain spoke despondently, sounding less as though he were reporting than complaining.
"The sailors tried something too. They towed one of the least damaged dispatch boats into an inland freshwater river and left it to soak. And guess what? The shipworms did stop eating. They just... went to sleep. But less than an hour after the boat was towed back out to sea, they came alive again and gnawed even more fiercely than before!"
The discussion in the conference room grew louder, lamentations and complaints mingling with arguments over who was to blame.
Caroline listened quietly, allowing the despair to fester. Only when one captain began cursing the guild's diviners did she finally speak.
"Shut up."
Her voice was not loud, but the entire room fell silent at once.
She slowly rose to her feet, her gaze sweeping over every face with a ferocity that seemed ready to devour them alive.
"Does crying help? Does complaining help? Are you telling me how formidable they are because you want me to kneel and surrender right now?" Her voice remained low, but every word struck at their hearts. "The Golden Sail Merchant Guild has not fallen. As long as I'm still standing here, it hasn't fallen."
The queen's display of resolve in the face of catastrophe forcibly suppressed their despair.
Then her gaze settled on Veylin, who had not spoken a single word from beginning to end.
Veylin was still wrapped from head to toe in the same outfit. Seated in a corner by the wall, he was sketching something on parchment with a quill: a collection of geometric symbols.
He had turned a deaf ear to the farce. As far as he was concerned, ninety percent of it was useless information.
Veylin finished his last stroke just as he noticed Caroline watching him.
Tap.
He set the quill down on the table.
In the deathly silent conference room, that crisp sound rang out like thunder.
Everyone's gaze shifted from Caroline to Veylin.
Veylin raised his head and met Caroline's eyes, filled with a storm and one last glimmer of hope, then calmly asked:
"Are you done arguing? If you are, we can discuss a solution."