Blackstone Code-Chapter 384: A Meeting Gift

Sailing on the open sea is a monotonous experience. At first, it can feel fresh and even awe-inspiring—especially for those who’ve only lived inland and never imagined waves could be so majestic or terrifying. They might lean on the railings, gazing at the endless horizon where sea and sky meet, marveling at the beauty and wonder of the world.

All things novel are beautiful, intoxicating, even poetic. A new car, a new romantic acquaintance, a new experience—all evoke similar excitement.

But that sense of novelty soon fades. The unchanging scenery and the constant motion can make even a simple boiled egg rolling around on a plate infuriating—so much so you’d want to smash it just to make it stop.

Sea voyages become boring, tedious, and frustrating faster than people expect. Once past the initial adjustment, the soldiers’ moods stabilized, thanks largely to the priests onboard, who regularly spoke with any sailor showing signs of emotional instability.

This helped many escape their irritability and confusion.

At that moment, a navy soldier was writing in his diary—a pastime seemingly favored by sailors far more than infantrymen. Sailors’ diaries often turn up in shipwrecks, yet few ever hear of soldiers on land being so fond of journaling.

That’s because land-based troops can distract themselves in many ways, even by sneaking off to see women. But at sea, there’s little to do but write or re-scrub already-clean decks. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Just as the sailor was jotting down hopeful thoughts about the future, a sharp, whistling sound—like a boiling kettle—suddenly pierced the air. The ship jolted violently. Thrown off balance, he slammed sideways into a wall and rolled to the ground.

Battle stations! The alarm sounded instantly—they were under attack.

“Report the damage…” the captain barked from the command room, scanning a cluster of displays. The reporting officer stood behind him. Except for the known green dots, no new signals were appearing.

Useless tech.

The captain’s face darkened. Every year, the military poured funding into tech companies and arms manufacturers. Some innovations were helpful; others—like the radio-based positioning systems—were completely worthless.

Clearly, the enemy was maintaining radio silence. Worse, they had arrived almost three days earlier than expected, meaning they had increased speed.

“The stern has been hit. The aft deck is breached. Emergency repairs underway…” came the report.

Shaking his head at these irreversible facts, the captain muttered, “They’re targeting us for artillery calibration. Have the rear fleet change formation.”

Some operators hesitated. “That will reveal our coordinates, Captain.”

Gephra and the Federation were both developing radio positioning systems, but Gephra was ahead—driven by its ambition to dominate the seas. They couldn’t afford to fall behind technologically.

Their own fleet had been observing timed radio silence—brief contacts every 45 minutes. Using the radio now would immediately expose their position.

And in this era, revealing your location at sea wasn’t met with a plane or torpedo strike—neither technology had the range or reliability yet.

But artillery? That was another story.

This wasn’t a single test shot. Judging from the impact zones, at least six shells had been fired. The enemy was collecting targeting data for their battleships.

If they revealed themselves now, the consequences would be catastrophic.

“Execute the order!” the captain snapped, hand on his sidearm. If the operators resisted, he’d shoot them and find replacements.

Understanding the situation, they complied. In seconds, radio waves broadcast into the sea—intercepted by their own fleet but also by the enemy ships now just within visual range.

The captain straightened his uniform, removed his broad naval cap to fix his hair, then calmly replaced it. “Engines to full, evasive maneuvers. All crew to battle positions—seek cover and prepare to fight fires.”

Raising his binoculars, he saw the enemy fleet clearly now. He hadn’t expected them so soon. These so-called invincible navy weren’t to be underestimated.

And then, whether by illusion or fate, he noticed something odd—the clouds in the sky seemed to move faster. Before he could speak, the first full salvo landed.

There are no words to describe the sensation—two battleships firing simultaneously felt like the moment before a thunderstorm crashes down. Air froze. Time slowed. All reaction halted.

He saw the shells, but couldn’t speak, couldn’t issue a command—as though some invisible hand gripped his throat.

He had never felt so powerless, so insignificant.

Then, the destroyer he commanded was suddenly shoved backward by an unseen force. The ship dipped heavily into the sea. A massive wave surged, sweeping over repair crews at the stern, dragging them out with the retreating water.

Smoke plumed rapidly. A second later, the ammunition storage detonated. Fire engulfed the ship. It split in two at the midsection and sank without a chance to recover.

Behind them, more Federation ships released a series of tan-colored observation balloons. Though primitive, they proved more effective than radio tracking.

Each balloon carried an observer with binoculars and a wired phone to report directly to command. Simple and functional—far superior to unreliable tech.

From one balloon, the spotter saw fifteen approaching ships in a broken wedge formation. Moments later, just as the enemy captain had seen before death, the spotter witnessed the next terrifying sight.

The great enemy ships trembled—then the sky filled with black shells. The second salvo came faster than expected.

This, perhaps, was why Gephra ruled the seas: their experience, tactics, and flawless execution. Their sailors were elite—jealously admired by others.

On the deck of the Royal Navy’s Holy Knight battleship, the captain smiled with a mix of pride and arrogance. Downing a small ship in one volley wasn’t even worth celebrating.

He was curious, though. “The Federation always relied on clever tricks, but those balloons… they’re actually useful.”

He immediately grasped their advantage: higher, clearer vantage points over the sea’s curved surface. Spotting the enemy even 30 seconds sooner could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

If they could launch similar balloons, they’d be able to strike from even farther away.

He then thought of a classified Gephran project: developing single-use fixed-wing aircraft capable of taking off from the ocean—early aerial scouts for naval warfare.

The project was halfway complete. Engineers claimed the aircraft could already launch from lakes and rough rivers. Soon, they would conquer the open sea.

Thinking of this, the captain relaxed. He even had a young female lieutenant bring him coffee and pastries.

“A straightforward battle,” he said, savoring the rich coffee from his silver cup. “Once they lose a few more warships, they’ll probably leave in tears…”

That was how he defined the naval engagement—no one had ever defeated the invincible Royal Navy. The enemies of the past had failed, and so would the Federation.

What he didn’t realize was that this battle would be far from easy. While they rushed toward the coastal waters of Amellia, the people across the sea had already prepared to die there.

Farther back in the Federation fleet, submarines floating on the sea surface began to submerge. Every crew member had written a final letter before departure.

Due to design and technological limitations, each submarine carried only a small number of torpedoes.

Aside from those already loaded in the launch tubes, only a few spares remained. If those were exhausted and the tide of battle remained unchanged, they would resort to suicide attacks—ramming their submarines into enemy ships.

To ensure this plan could be executed, each submarine saved one final torpedo to fire at the moment of collision—so they and the enemy vessel would sink together.