At Carville's command, the fleet heeled over and accelerated. Barrels of sharkfire oil rolled out of the hatches, and the sailors deftly broke their seals, lit them, and poured.
Scalding oil spread along the waves, and thick smoke rose from the sea, carrying an acrid stench toward the harbor breakwater.
Sails trembled against taut rigging, and the wooden hulls groaned as they ground through the tides.
Every ship advanced at maximum speed, with men hauling lines while the sails were trimmed to catch the wind.
This was the limit of old-fashioned North Sea sailing ships. There was no miraculous technology, but in the hands of veteran sailors, they were still as swift as a powerful gust.
Horn blasts sounded in succession across the decks, and every ship changed its flag signals at once.
The support ships on both wings began slipping behind the smoke, using the screen and the current to form a pincer formation.
Carville stood atop the raised deck, both hands braced on the railing, never taking his eyes off Dawnlight's cargo ship.
The Demon Explosive Bombs were loaded. He leaned forward to check the angle, relying on experience rather than instruments to judge elevation and wind direction.
With a deep boom, white flame burst from a cannon, and its shell streaked through the smoke screen, striking a Dawnlight hull in the front rank.
The impact made the sea shudder, nearly knocking men off their feet.
But when the smoke cleared, Carville saw the ships still holding steady, with only a few shallow dents in their sides.
Their armor consisted of thick northern frontier oak and cold iron, with an outer layer of Alchemical Coating to disperse the impact.
"How is that possible..." he cursed under his breath.
The shells had almost no effect on the enemy hulls,