The shrieks, cannon fire, and crashing waves on the battlefield were swallowed by another, far more commanding sound.
"Woooo-!"
It was a deep rumble, so low that it set teeth on edge.
The fog tore apart, revealing the bow first.
It was nothing less than a moving black cliff.
As it advanced, an intensely acrid smell instantly blanketed the battlefield.
This was the smell of industry, proclaiming its sovereignty over these waters.
An unlucky pirate brig lay directly across its course.
Once, that ship had been a hulking predator to merchant vessels. Now, it did not even qualify as a speed bump.
The Fernando did not sound its horn, slow down, or even bother turning its rudder.
Crack.
The wooden keel shattered into powder the instant it touched the steel bow, while tens of thousands of tons of steel carried on under their own momentum.
Splintered planks, torn canvas, and dozens of pirates who had yet to understand what was happening were instantly dragged beneath the enormous black hull, leaving a faint wash of blood.
Against absolute mass, skill and courage were nothing but jokes.
Inside the armored command tower, it was as quiet as a bubble in the deep sea.
Thick bulletproof glass shut out the destruction completely. Only the low, heartbeat-like vibrations of the steam engines reached them through the floor.
The air was warm and dry, with even a faint fragrance of black tea.
Fleet Commander Alwin stood before the chart table.
His dark blue, double-breasted naval uniform was pressed crisp and buttoned all the way to the top.
He held a command sword in one hand, tapping it idly against his palm.
Louis stood beside him with a cup in hand, as though watching a play rehearsed long ago, though he was actually quite curious