The White Dragon sailed—a warship pristine as snow. Duke Keane led the way, Dracula and Mary trailing behind. Dracula’s gaze remained icy, scanning the bustling crew. Mary, meanwhile, gaped around with wide-eyed excitement.

Everyone understood this was Mary’s first time aboard a ship. Even noblewomen rarely set foot on vessels—sailors claimed women brought bad luck. For aristocrats, a single voyage was a lifetime boast.

"Total length: 60.2 meters. Beam: 13.4 meters. Depth: 6.85 meters. Displacement: 2,200 tons."

"Speed: 15 knots (13 mph, 24 km/h). Sail area: 3,969 square meters."

"Armament: 28 magic cannons. Effective range: 300 to 900 meters. Crew: 370. Plus... magic-powered paddlewheels in the lower decks."

Keane patted the hull proudly as Imperial Navy soldiers saluted him passing by. From bow to stern, Mary bounced with questions. Novels had only given her hazy imaginings—now she saw a real ship carving through ocean waves.

"Remarkably powerful..."

She nodded politely, mind flashing to her *Resurrection Goddess*—three times this size.

"How does it compare to ships from your homeland, Duke Dracula?"

"Not vastly different. I’ve never inspected them closely... but lengths seem comparable."

"So Wallachia’s navy is formidable too? I’d love to see it someday."

*There is no Wallachian navy...*

Greenland and Faglas lingered near the stern, bored. Greenland especially hated crowds. Faglas merely shrugged.

*That woman... clinging to the Captain... Damn it!*

*Greenland. Patience. (It’s diplomacy the Captain built.)*

*Hmph!*

Ignoring sailors’ startled stares, Greenland slung her sniper rifle and scaled the mast with barely human agility.

"You! What are you doing?!" a lookout yelled.

"Keeping watch! Or did you think I climbed up to chat with a stinking human? Scram!"

She lassoed him with a rope and dropped him spinning to the deck.

"Aaaaaahhhhh—!"

He landed softly—Greenland had calculated the rope’s length perfectly.

"This is... quite..."

"My subordinate has peculiar habits," Keane apologized, helping the dizzy sailor up. "She gets restless if she doesn’t work the crow’s nest."

"No matter. Let her stay. Surprising strength for such a slight frame... and a unique descent method."

At Keane’s words, the crew returned to duty.

"Cough... My apologies for the trouble. She’s headstrong."

"She wields a long-range magic rifle. Should serve well as lookout."

Dracula nodded. The commotion settled.

"Gentlemen, care to sample my cooking? Freshly caught grilled oysters..."

Faglas produced a tray like a magician—plump oysters with slightly charred edges, steaming with wine and lemon. He set it on a cloth-draped crate.

"Faglas, how did you catch these while sailing?"

"Oh? They cling to the hull. I dove down earlier and pried them off. Don’t worry—I know exactly where to dig without damaging the ship."

Keane’s head throbbed. *Diving alongside a speeding ship... gripping slimy, corroded grooves... the lung capacity and arm strength needed...*

"Your crew is... extraordinary, Dracula."

"They have their talents. Try them. Faglas’s skill could make gods bow."

Mary bit into a warm oyster and nearly wept. Keane gave Faglas a thumbs-up. Faglas tilted his chin up, then bowed with a smirk.

The day passed like a pleasure cruise. At nightfall, Keane and Dracula confirmed the sea chart showed no hazards ahead. With favorable currents and winds, they’d cover significant distance before dawn. Keane ordered night sailing.

"Goodnight, everyone. Sleeping aboard isn’t like on land—"

"Eh? Why not?" Mary asked. Dracula simply nodded.

"See these hammocks? The ship sways. Hammocks keep you from rolling off your bunk."

"I see... My first night at sea."

"May you dream well."

Keane and Dracula left Mary’s cabin. As a warship, quarters were cramped—they’d share one cabin. Greenland insisted on the crow’s nest. Keane sent thick blankets; she refused until Dracula’s glare made her mutter thanks and scramble back up.

—

Silence swallowed the sea. Only the ship’s wake whispered against the hull. Clouds choked the moon. Lanterns dimmed until only bow lights and deck lamps remained—tiny flames in an endless black void.

Something unknown called from the horizon. The ship sailed on.

Mary woke from a nightmare, hunched at her porthole. No moon. No stars. Only darkness.

*Clang! Clang! Clang!*

Alarm bells shattered the night. Mary flung open her door. Sailors rushed past, buckling uniforms.

"Mary! Stay in your cabin!" Keane appeared.

"What’s happening?"

"Don’t know! Stay put!"

"Be careful!"

Dracula materialized beside Keane, gave Mary a curt nod, then followed him toward the deck.

Mary threw on trousers and a navy jacket—her souvenir uniform from that afternoon’s photo session with a magic crystal recorder.

"What’s the emergency?!"

"Who rang the damn bell?!"

"That short one?"

All eyes turned to Greenland descending the mast.

"Report, Greenland," Dracula ordered. Keane joined them.

"Twenty-three unidentified ships approaching. Bearing 25 nautical miles left. Black sails. Skull flags."

Her voice never wavered.

"Ridiculous!" Keane’s lieutenant sputtered. "Twenty-five miles? In this dark? Even at noon, ships are specks at that range! You’re half-asleep—"

Greenland’s rifle snapped up, muzzle pressed to his forehead.

"Boy. Choose your next words carefully. I, Greenland, never miss. Think I’m not awake? I’ll wake you up permanently. Clear enough?"

The officer paled.

"Calm down, Greenland. Lower your weapon."

She obeyed Dracula instantly.

"Emergency protocol, Keane. Signal the escort fleet."

"...Very well. I trust you. If no enemy appears, we’ll call it drill practice! Locke, Leon—Gar, Kriklo! Signal the fleet to battle stations. Adjust formation for wind advantage at Greenland’s coordinates. Defensive posture: capital ships outer ring, support vessels in reserve. Move!"

"Aye!"

"Understood!"

The officers sprinted off. They doubted Greenland—but never Keane. The Dragon’s Son who’d led them to victory time and again.

Keane squinted into the ink-black sea. Without moonlight, visibility died at 200 meters. *Twenty-five miles? Impossible. Yet she’s not lying...* Two hours to verify. Twenty-three ships against their six. *Please be a false alarm...*

Under Keane’s orders, the fleet reshaped. Soldiers sat on deck in full gear, weapons ready. Waiting.

—

A parrot spiraled down, landing on Feremnur’s shoulder.

"Circle! Circle! Circle!"

"Tch... Did they sense us?"

Feremnur fed it a grub. *The parrot’s return time puts us 25 nautical miles out. They must be sailing slow in that tight circular formation... Night sailing demands caution. They can’t possibly spot us.*

"Full speed ahead! All ships—form line abreast! Charge the White Dragon Fleet!"

—

After 1 hour and 20 minutes, the moon tore through the clouds. Shadows emerged on the horizon.

"They’re real!"

Keane shot Greenland a grudging look of respect. She stood impassive, as if she’d merely noted the weather.

"Extinguish all lights! Capital ships—full charge! Support vessels—flanking fire! Priority target: sink their flagship first!"

Keane gave the order without hesitation. All ships extinguished their lights and lowered their sails. They had secured a prime position early, harnessing the wind’s advantage. There was no need to endure passive attacks. Keane commanded a full frontal assault on the enemy.

————

“What!?”

Feremnur couldn’t believe it. The moment his fleet appeared, the enemy had plunged into darkness.

“Worthy of the Dragon’s Heir fleet… Full charge! Charge! Distribute weapons—prepare for boarding and close combat! Kill everyone except women and officers!”

The pirate fleet scrambled to adjust their sails. The unfavorable wind left them fumbling for precious minutes before aligning properly.

————

Twenty minutes later, the fleets clashed. Feremnur stared in disbelief as snow-white warships surged terrifyingly close. Dark gunports glowed with flickering lights, shadows shifting behind them.

“Damn it!”

BOOM!!! WHOOSH! BANG! CRASH! BOOM! CRACKLE! SNAP… CRACKLE…

Acrid gunpowder stung the air. The ship lurched violently beneath their feet.

Splinters flew. Ignoring the cannon fire, Feremnur rushed to the damaged side. Two gaping holes gaped in the hull, seawater gushing in.

“Bastards! Damn it! Some of you—patch the hull! Others—grappling hooks! Get us alongside them! Faster! Move faster! Close in!”

From above, four pristine warships sliced through the pirate formation. Cannons roared from both sides, but the pirates’ return fire proved feeble. The magic cannons’ power dwarfed their ordinary ones.

The unluckiest pirate ship lost its mainmast to an explosion. Pirates panicked as their captain lay crushed beneath the fallen timber.

————

“Yes!”

Keane slammed a fist against the ship’s railing. He knew this was only the beginning. But morale demanded encouragement. As cannons fired, he whooped excitedly, lifting the crew’s spirits. Naval fervor soared.

“Heh! Watch me send them to meet the sea god! Fire!”

Another volley thundered. The warships brushed past each other.

Keane glanced back. Dracula, Faglas, and Greenland stood calmly, watching the battle like spectators.

What’s wrong with them? This is war! Shouldn’t they feel some tension?

Then Greenland fired a shot skyward. A parrot plummeted.

“Tch… Damn pest…”

Greenland kicked the corpse overboard. Keane later recalled with certainty: Greenland hadn’t even looked up. The night was pitch-black. If that shot wasn’t pure luck, how she’d hit the target remained a mystery.

————

“Damn it! Release the magic smoke! Smoke now!!”

Pirates rolled massive, waist-high wooden barrels to the stern. One lit the fuse with precious water-resistant magic flame, shoving the barrel overboard. It sank briefly, then bobbed back up.

THUD! BOOM! The barrels exploded. Thick fog billowed out like flour bursting from a sack, instantly shrouding the battlefield.

“Charge! Use small boats! Big ships, close in! Board them! Attack!”

————

“Disaster!!”

Keane spotted the spreading fog and grasped the danger immediately.

“My lord, we lack fog-dispersing ships… Command will be impossible. Their fleet outnumbers us six to one—we’ll be surrounded in this mist…”

“Damn it! No choice left! Sink one ship at a time. Pray for a miracle!”

Keane strode to the bow, drawing his rapier. He ripped down an imperial battle flag, draping it over his shoulders.

“Soldiers of the Empire! Show your courage now! After praying to the gods, your admiral—me—will lead you straight into hell! I’ll fight beside you to the last breath! Charge!! For the Empire!”

“ROAR!! ROAR!!!”

Mary burst from the cabin just in time to see Keane’s heroic stance. Swept up by the crew’s fervor, she joined the roar, sword in hand.

Through the fog, like a torn curtain, a pirate ship rammed the White Dragon. Too late to maneuver, the impact shook the deck. Pirates, poised on swinging ropes, leaped across the gap as momentum halted. Their curved blades flashed downward, aiming to cleave stunned sailors.

Keane nearly fell. He looked up—a blade glinted, a shadow lunging… Damn! I’m dead!

SPLAT! Blood sprayed. The pirate split in two.

Dracula landed before Keane, wielding a unique weapon—part sword, part blade.

“Unharmed?”

“Yes… Is that a sword? Or a blade?”

“The Tenfold Cloudless Moon Imperial—a demon blade inhabited by Slasher Juro. Cloud patterns adorn its steel; its hilt bears a cross engraving and the words ‘Imperial’,” Dracula replied. “It’s a blade.”

With the Tenfold Cloudless Moon Imperial, Dracula glided gracefully toward the charging pirates.

“Hmph… Choose: suicide or slaughter. Decide now.”

————

Black Demon—two meters tall, skin darker than charcoal. At night, he’d vanish if motionless.

He gripped a curved blade in his teeth, seized a rope, and perched on the deck’s edge.

CRASH! The collision jolted the ship. Black Demon leaped, swinging across on the rope’s momentum. Around him, pirates grinned, eager to slash the disoriented navy.

Beside him, the old cheat Bisman—who always cheated at cards—lunged at an officer draped in an imperial flag. Lucky bastard… Killing an officer meant glory. Maybe a promotion to squad leader.

Then Bisman’s body split open. Guts and blood splattered the deck.

Black Demon kicked aside a sailor, landing firmly on the deck.

“Hmph…”

A cold snort froze his blood. He looked up.

“Choose: suicide or slaughter. Decide now.”

Normally, he’d laugh and hack down anyone spouting such nonsense. But this figure was different…

A red noble’s tweed coat, white snow fox fur trimming collar and cuffs. Glossy black boots. Rings studded with gems larger than his eyeballs. In his hand, a strange weapon—a blade from a distant land.

That icy glare stole his breath. His body trembled uncontrollably. Yes… his legs shook. Golden hair. A flash of red in those eyes…

The man charged, blade raised. His voice cut through the chaos.

“Silence means you choose the latter… Die gratefully. Today, I’m merciful—I’ll grant you a swift end.”

It was a nightmare. The worst kind—facing an invincible demon. He saw every move, yet time seemed frozen. His limbs refused to obey. No! This wasn’t heightened focus in crisis… This was terror beyond human limits. Could no potential overcome such a monster?

The blade sliced down from Black Demon’s right shoulder. He split cleanly in two. The man’s footsteps faded. Darkness surged. Silence claimed the pirate once called Black Demon.

————

Dracula slashed pirates down effortlessly, like plucking wildflowers on a stroll. He carved a path alone, eliminating every boarder in moments.

All eyes locked on him. He leaped—a ten-meter gap between ships vanished under his stride.

“Unbelievable!… Quick! Counterattack! Now!”

Duke Kein was the first to snap out of it, shouting orders. The crew jolted awake, fighting back with exhilarated grins.

The night shattered. On this sea, men fell. Bodies rolled into the waves with the ship’s sway. Blood stained the water crimson.