Time passed in the dockyards of Torturer's Deep, amid the smells of tung oil and rust and an air of tension.
The craftsmen worked day and night, the sound of hammering never ceasing.
A month later, the fleet had been transformed.
The Abyssal Noose, the massive double-banked galley that had once suffered such grievous damage, now stood proudly in the main berth.
Tough ironwood had been fitted into the broken keel and riveted firmly in place with enormous bronze braces. Rotten ribs and planks had been replaced with new oak, every joint snug and seamless.
Multiple layers of linen soaked in tung oil covered the hull, forming a tough, waterproof skin.
The deck had been relaid and sanded, the sails replaced with heavier canvas, and every rope renewed, taut and strong.
The seven newly captured Oared Ships had also joined the fleet, their fearsome bow rams gleaming coldly.
Damage to their hulls had been painstakingly repaired, and their distinctive bronze bow rams polished to a sharp gleam, reflecting a cold promise of death in the torchlight.
Night slowly settled over Torturer's Deep like thick ink.
The bustle in the dockyards did not subside. Instead, work entered its final push.
Torch-bearing craftsmen carried out their last inspections and reinforcements.
Sailors busied themselves loading barrels of fresh water, salted meat, hardtack, and bundles of arrows, crossbow bolts, and stone shot aboard each warship. Weapons clanged on the decks amid rough shouts and heavy footsteps.
The air held that peculiar blend of excitement and gravity that came before a great battle.
Into that deep darkness, Rollo Uhoris led his "feint fleet," the first to set sail.
As the noise of Rollo's fleet gradually faded beyond the distant horizon, the main harbor of Torturer's Deep fell briefly silent.
But it was not the silence of relaxation. It was the last held breath before the storm.
Under cover of the thin mist drifting over the sea late that night, the true main fleet, led by Liu Qian himself, began slipping silently out of the harbor.
With Jorah Mormont beside him, he used the late-night sea mist as cover and bore down soundlessly on the hidden dockyards on the western side of Cleftjaw Island.
Cleftjaw Island, the main harbor.
A pirate on patrol rubbed his bloodshot eyes and strained to see the gray horizon.
The sea breeze carried the tang of salt and a faint, ominous chill.
He had spent most of the night on this damned tower, and the cold had seeped into his very bones.
Ever since Lord Kago had fled back with one arm missing, his temper had been as foul as a mad dog's after having its teeth pulled and its tail stepped on. He had strictly ordered every lookout to keep his eyes peeled around the clock. The men of Torturer's Deep could come for revenge at any moment.
"Fuck, that leader of Torturer's Deep is downright unnatural..."
He spat out a thick glob of phlegm and cursed under his breath.
Terrifying stories about Liu Qian, the new master of Torturer's Deep, spread like a plague through Cleftjaw Island's main harbor. Many pirates who had fought at Tidal Reef had returned to give everyone vivid accounts of that night.
A sword that could unleash flames, an enormous longbow that shot flaming arrows, and those silent, well-equipped soldiers who stood like iron towers...
Just thinking about them sent a chill down his spine.
Suddenly, his drowsy eyes flew wide open.
Where sea met sky, a hazy cluster of sails was rapidly growing larger.
"Enemy attack!!!!"
He roared with every ounce of strength he had, his cracked voice piercing the silence of the late night.
He frantically hammered the rusted bronze bell hanging beside the lookout tower!
"Clang! Clang! Claaang-!!!"
The frantic, shrill alarm instantly tore through the stillness of Cleftjaw Island's main harbor!
The docks erupted into chaos.
Pirates jolted awake from their drunken stupor rushed out of their shacks half-dressed, cursing and scrambling for weapons.
One of Kago's trusted lieutenants charged onto the pier while hauling up his trousers and snatched the spyglass from a nearby lookout.
Through the glass, he saw a fleet approaching the main harbor at full speed.
Beneath the sails of the lead ship stood a familiar figure from Torturer's Deep-Rollo Uhoris.
The cunning old fox was waving a curved sword and gesturing toward the main harbor. Behind him stood a dense crowd of pirates with their blades drawn.
"It's Rollo! The main force from Torturer's Deep! They're attacking!"
An almost imperceptible tremor ran through the lieutenant's voice. He spun around and bellowed at his chaotic men, "Sound the highest alarm! Ready the ballistae! Fucking move!"
The whole main harbor of Cleftjaw Island erupted like a hornet's nest that had been jabbed with a stick.
Pirates swarmed toward the defenses like headless flies. Heavy ballistae were pushed up to the battlements, while archers scrambled onto the low walls.
Out on the sea, Rollo stood on the sterncastle of his medium-sized Oared Ship, squinting at the distant chaos in Cleftjaw Island's main harbor and listening to the ever-louder alarm bells. A sly, smug smile spread across his face.
He grinned at the first mate beside him. "Pass the order to every ship. Make some fucking noise! Beat the drums, blow the horns, and wave every damn flag we've got! Closer. Get closer. Lurk right at the edge of their ballista range."
"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"
"Woooo-woooo-woooo-!"
The dull thunder of war drums and the shrill calls of horns rolled across the sea, while the flags of Torturer's Deep waved wildly aboard every ship.
Rollo's fleet advanced menacingly toward the main harbor, but cunningly remained at the outer limit of the enemy's heavy ballista range. The ships constantly shifted formation, poised as though they might charge at any moment.
Rollo even ordered several sailors with the loudest voices to stand at the bows and hurl abuse toward the main harbor:
"Kago, you one-armed beaten dog! Get out here and die!"
"You Cleftjaw Island scum! I've come to collect your worthless lives!"
"Lord Liu Qian wants to turn Kago's shark head into a drinking cup!"
The filthy insults drifted clearly to the walls along with the drums and horns. The pirates of Cleftjaw Island howled in fury, yet none dared recklessly leave their sturdy defenses.
Several ballista bolts whistled toward them, falling far short of Rollo's fleet and raising a few feeble splashes.
"Hahaha! That's it! Keep cursing, boys! Give them hell!" Rollo slapped his thigh in delight.
In stark contrast to the noise and chaos of the main harbor, the bay housing the dockyards remained shrouded in relatively peaceful mist.
Hidden away and far from the main shipping route, this place held Kago's last hope.
The alarm from Cleftjaw Island's main harbor had clearly reached here. Several oared warships that had been lying in the dockyards set sail toward the main harbor.
The remaining battered warships lay in the crude docks, where yawning craftsmen worked by lamplight on their repair
jobs.
Two old, small oared patrol ships guarded the outer perimeter. A captain huddled in his cramped cabin, gnawing a piece of dried salted meat as hard as stone and washing it down with cheap liquor.
He had lost money gambling the night before and was in a foul mood.
"Cap'n, there's... there's something out there..."
The sentry's trembling shout came from the masthead lookout, filled with disbelieving terror.
"Fuck, what are you screeching about?" the captain cursed impatiently. He climbed slowly out of the cabin and squinted sleepily in the direction the sentry was pointing.
His pupils abruptly shrank to pinpoints.
It was no illusion conjured by the thinning mist. It was a fleet of enormous sails.
"The... the fleet from Torturer's Deep? Aren't they over at the main harbor?!" His voice cracked, and he never even noticed the dried meat falling from his hand onto the deck.
He remembered the terrifying stories about the new master of Torturer's Deep...
The flaming sword and the flaming arrow that had shot off one of Kago's arms...
"Turn around! Fucking turn around! Get back to the dockyards and warn them!"
He screamed himself hoarse, his voice twisting out of pitch. "Send a signal! Enemy attack! It's the men from Torturer's Deep! We've been tricked! They're not after the main harbor-they're after the dockyards!"
Like startled rabbits, the two patrol ships tried to turn their bows around, their rowers pulling frantically as the instinct to survive took over.
The sailors on the masts fumbled to raise the black triangular flags signaling the highest danger and light the warning beacons.
But it was already too late.
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