Perhaps it was because the Mage directing the strategic spell had died, or perhaps the other four Magic Towers had exhausted their stored mana.
The enormous whirlpool trapping the Storm did not last much longer. After just three or four minutes, it began to slow, then vanished completely within another three minutes.
With the whirlpool gone, the players, who had kept firing even as the ship rocked and spun, unleashed an even fiercer, faster barrage. Had every cannon aboard the Storm not been forged from modern steel, making them tougher than ordinary guns, this bout of rapid free fire would have heated their barrels red-hot long ago.
Even so, several of the faster gun crews had their cannons smoking and had to pour seawater over the barrels to force them to cool.
Doing so shortened the cannons' service life, but the players did not care. The guns were not theirs, so why worry? Getting shells downrange was what mattered now. They were not afraid of a burst barrel, either. At worst, they would die.
But if they moved too slowly and fired one less shell, missing out on a few kills, that would be a real loss.
Freed from the enormous whirlpool and the Magic Towers' relentless suppression, the Storm lunged viciously toward Moonstone Port like a savage beast breaking its chains, wreathed in gunsmoke and covered in scars.
The players manned the cannons, pouring every remaining shell into the port's defenses, the scattered warships at anchor, and any building that looked like a barracks or warehouse.
Explosions flashed one after another, and thick smoke billowed upward. The once-bustling port was now a scene of devastation.
The four Magic Towers could no longer resist. Their shields had been all but shattered, and their walls were pitted with marks left by