Ten years to build an army, a hundred to build a navy.
That saying alone showed how technically demanding-and difficult-a navy was.
But until they boarded the Storm and sailed her out to sea, the five hundred-odd players, Knife-in-the-Butt included, had little real understanding of where those difficulties lay.
Chris understood, however, so he assigned them a basic sailing crew, ninety intelligent NPCs who worked tirelessly without complaint.
Since the Storm used Chinese-style junk sails, which required less manpower and were easier to handle than Western square sails, this ninety-strong crew included teams for operating the sails, working the anchor capstan, steering, keeping watch, taking soundings, and carpentry, along with rotating relief personnel to cover injuries and illness. They could work around the clock in shifts.
Ninety people in all.
With those ninety aboard, the players only needed to take over gunnery, command, medical care, boarding combat, and navigation to get the Storm running.
Given the players' abilities, that should not have been difficult... well, in theory.
Yet this seemingly "easy" handover sent those five hundred-odd players, especially the self-proclaimed elite Knife-in-the-Butt, crashing into a towering wall called "professional expertise."
The first trouble came from what seemed the simplest job... navigation.
As far as the players were concerned, it was merely a matter of looking at a chart and pointing out the direction. They knew the coordinates and understood the distances involved. Surely they could not head the wrong way.
But when they actually took the navigator's station and faced the charts Chris had provided, covered in rhumb lines and complex depth markings, along with a compass, quadrant, log board, and other antiquated instruments, most of those previously confident players became utterly bewildered within minutes.
Wind direction, currents, tides, magnetic declination... countless variables intertwined. A single mistaken judgment could send