Reincarnated with the Country System-Chapter 121: The Black Smoke:—By a Young Britannian Sailor

I never thought my first battle would be like this.

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The stench of burning wood and gunpowder clogs my throat, making it hard to breathe. Smoke rolls across the deck of the HMS Ironwind, mixing with the salty sea spray. The ship rocks violently, and my grip tightens on the rail. I’ve trained for this moment, drilled for months under harsh officers, but nothing prepared me for the sheer terror of real war.

I am Henry March, a sailor of Britannia’s Royal Navy. Seventeen years old. Born in the port city of Eldermere. My father was a fisherman, my mother a tavern maid. I grew up with salt on my skin and the constant roar of waves in my ears. When the navy recruiters came, promising coins, adventure, and glory, I signed up without hesitation. Foolish. I thought I would see the world and make my fortune. I never expected to be facing this.

The Latvians came like a storm. The first cannon volley shattered The Emerald Dawn like a child snapping a twig. I saw men flung into the sea, screaming as fire licked at their clothes. Some sank, weighed down by their armour. Others thrashed, their blood spreading into the water like ink. A man missing half his face floated past.

I don’t want to die like that.

"March!"

The shout snaps me out of my daze. It’s Petty Officer Graves, his face streaked with soot and sweat. He thrusts a boarding pike into my hands. "We’re getting hit hard! You stand firm, lad, or I swear I’ll toss you over myself!"

I nod quickly, swallowing my fear. My hands are shaking, but I grip the pike tighter. The Latvians aren’t just bombarding us—they’re coming in close, preparing to board. I see their ships now, dark and massive, their decks bristling with warriors. They aren’t like us. Some of them aren’t even human.

A Latvian longboat crashes against our hull, its iron spikes digging into the wood. The enemy clambers aboard—hulking figures in black armour, their faces hidden behind snarling wolf masks. Others have actual wolf heads. Demihumans. They snarl and howl as they swing their axes and cutlasses, their eyes burning with bloodlust.

I don’t think so. I stab.

My pike plunges into the first attacker’s chest. He snarls and swings his curved sword. I duck, yanking my weapon free. Blood splashes my face. He falls. Dead.

I just killed a man.

No time to think. Another Latvian charges. He swings his blade, and I barely parry in time. My arms tremble under the force of his strike. He’s stronger than me. Bigger. He snarls something in his language, eyes filled with hatred.

Then Graves is there. His cutlass slashes across the attacker’s throat, spraying crimson. The Latvian falls back, gurgling.

"Keep fighting, March!" Graves barks. "Or they’ll cut us down like dogs!"

I nod, forcing my feet to stay planted. The deck is chaos. Britannian sailors clash with the invaders, steel ringing against steel. A cannon blast from somewhere tears through the side of the ship, sending men flying. A Latvian berserker twice my size swings his axe down toward me.

I roll, barely escaping. I scramble to my feet, my breath ragged. I grab a fallen pistol, aim at his chest, and pull the trigger.

*Click.*

No shot.

The berserker grins, raising his axe.

Then a harpoon flies past me and pierces his chest. He stiffens, eyes wide, before toppling backwards into the sea. I look behind me—it’s one of the gunnery officers, reloading another harpoon. "Keep moving, lad!" he shouts.

I don’t hesitate.

Then I hear the roar.

A shadow passes over us. I look up—dragons. Their massive wings stir the air like hurricanes. Their riders guide them toward us, fire-lances in hand. Then the beasts open their mouths.

The sky rains fire.

The Serpent’s Cry, one of our warships, is engulfed in flames. The men aboard scream as they’re burned alive. Some jump into the sea, but the fire clings to them, eating away at their flesh.

I can barely breathe. My chest is tight, my legs weak. I grip my pike, but what use is it against a dragon? I see one descending toward us, its rider aiming a fire-lance.

Then— Suddenly

A purple flare shoots into the sky.

The signal.

I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s part of the Admiral’s plan. The ships around us begin shifting positions. Our fleet is breaking apart, spreading out. The Latvians advance, confident, and relentless. They don’t realize we’re luring them in.

Suddenly, a massive explosion erupts from the water. A mine—hidden beneath the waves. One of the Latvian warships is blown apart, its hull shattering. More explosions follow.

Then I see more ships coming from behind. Seeing this, I thought that they might be Latvia’s reinforcements and that we were going to die now.

I was very scared. But then I heard the cheers of my captain and others. Although I was a little surprised at first, I soon realized that these ships were not Latvia’s but ours.

We had surrounded the Latvian navy from all sides. The forces that had been exerting so much pressure on us until now were now becoming stagnant. I saw a huge sea wave that had sunk many Latvian ships under the water.

It was Admiral Nicholas’s trap all along.

The mines, the positioning, the retreat—it was all a feint, a manoeuvre to draw the Latvians in, to make them over-commit. Now, they were trapped between our reinforced fleet and the deadly waters filled with Britannian mines.

The battlefield shifts. Our warships are bolstered by fresh cannons. The Latvian flagships, even the Colossal, are struggling to manoeuvre. Their dragons still swoop down, but we are ready. Ballistas loaded with chain-shot fire into the sky, catching wings and bringing the beasts crashing down.

I watch as a Latvian warship, its hull punctured by our cannons, begins to sink. The crew leaps overboard, but the sea shows them no mercy.

On our deck, the enemy falters. The demihumans, once relentless, now hesitate.

The battle isn’t over yet, but something inside me has changed. Enjoy new stories from novelbuddy

Our morale was boosted.

I clutch my pike, staring at the chaos around me. I am Henry March. A fisherman’s son. A sailor of Britannia.

And today, I will survive.