First Skirmish
Even in modern times, finding a submarine was like searching for a needle in a sand dune. It wasn't just hard to comb through the entire vast expanse—there was also the nagging chance that the needle you'd overlooked might be right there in the spots you'd already checked, forcing you to double back. That meant you absolutely needed a massive number of people.
Once you descended just 100 meters into the ocean, only 1% of the light penetrated, making it impossible to spot a submarine with the naked eye—no matter how sharp the sailors' vision. To hunt pirate ships lurking on the seafloor, mages from the Deep Sea Lighthouse Tower stepped up.
"What a headache."
Nuttulla, a formal mage of the Deep Sea Tower, clutched his head against the throbbing pain from prolonged spellcasting as he rested in his assigned cabin. The magic that spread mana to probe underwater was one of the tower's signature spells. With minimal mana cost and a systematically structured formula, anyone affiliated with the Deep Sea Lighthouse could learn it easily. It was so popular because mastering it opened doors to jobs on fishing and merchant vessels. But a spell learned by so many had been researched to death—highly efficient, reliable, and easy to pick up, yet notoriously well-known.
Spells that spread far and wide inevitably spawned countless countermeasures from other mages. Nuttulla's mind brimmed with half a dozen ways to block Deep Sea Detection right now. Even non-mages could whip up a counter with a bit of study. He figured this detection method was pointless, but there was no alternative.
Even diving in person wouldn't work—the murky water limited visibility, no one could hold out long, and at night, it plunged into pitch blackness. With no other way to find pirate ships navigating the depths, Nuttulla prepared the spell despite knowing it was likely futile.
Seawater from the deep ocean, powdered dolphin skull, a bell forged from deep-sea ore. Using the catalysts for Deep Sea Detection, he cast the spell and sensed the mana waves spreading out, then echoing back. As expected, only faint schools of fish pinged. Unsure if pirate ships truly lurked below, he meditated to recover his spent mana.
---
"Hard work from the talentless is meaningless."
Ashriel, from the Deep Sea Lighthouse herself, knew Deep Sea Detection inside out. Mages always prepared counters when they knew an opponent's spells—it was second nature. Using brains from high-intelligence sea creatures that Naaru had provided, she calculated the signals the enemy would detect when no pirate ships were near and reflected them back perfectly.
"Feels so good. All that stupid studying and training feels utterly pointless now."
With her natural talent alone, Ashriel could at best nullify the detection. The enemy wouldn't pinpoint the ships' positions or shapes, but they'd know pirates were in the area. Yet by offering human souls to the god, she'd gained abilities beyond mortal limits—far surpassing what mere effort could yield.
"Hah, this is the best."
The mana-formed octopus tentacles sprouting from Ashriel's body linked to the brains of sea creatures in the tank, tapping their computational power. It never got old. Individually weaker than human brains, but after devising parallel processing across dozens or hundreds, her abilities had skyrocketed dozens-fold. Soak the brains in narcotics and link them to her head, and she got the highs without the crashes. She loved this power—and Naaru, who granted it.
"How much data and catalysts does the tower hold, I wonder?"
She'd left the tower as a talentless worm of a mage, insignificant and dim-witted. Now, venturing into the open sea to grow into a kraken and return, even attacking her nurturing Deep Sea Tower filled her with no guilt. Her eyes burned not with remorse, but with lust for the blessings from sacrificing its mages to Naaru—and the knowledge hoarded within.
-----
War's outbreak is always sudden. No judge rings a starting bell, no duelists pace back-to-back and turn on the third step. It begins with one abrupt assault, claiming countless lives.
The bay's interior plunged deep into a blue hole, but its entrance was shallow. The massive pirate ship barely submerged below the surface, and the sentry spotted it instantly, raising his magic communicator.
"Alert! Pirate ship at the bay entrance—"
Ashriel's tentacles on the pirate ship hurled coral harpoons, smashing the sentry post. But the guard, already steeled for death, reported without panic or hesitation, fulfilling his duty.
Clang-clang-clang-clang!
The mage activated the magic device at the sentry's report, and emergency bells pealed across the city. The bay mouth, plugged by what looked like a giant reef, terrified the soldiers. From afar, its full size was unclear, but the entrance was wide enough for the largest ships—yet this pirate vessel sealed it completely.
"Damn, Deep Sea Detection failed after all."
Atillain's lord had expected as much, glaring at the pirate ship blockading his harbor. In this world, wars hinged on deploying superhumans effectively. Even quasi-knights shredded regular troops like rotten straw. Commanders countered incoming foes with matching elites while striking enemy lines.
Blindly charging your strongest risked them falling early in an all-out clash—or wasting them while lesser elites stalled, letting others pick off foes. Wars with superhumans became games of cat-and-mouse: probe with elites, maximize regular casualties, seize advantageous ground.
"Report from Observation Post 3: Swordfish-headed pirate leading multiple approaching!"
"Report from Observation Post 5: Crustacean-shelled pirate with multiples approaching!"
Hearing pirates heading for the beach zone from the harbor, the lord realized they aimed to secure a beachhead for landing. As rumored, they swam fast ashore—if unchecked, they'd flood in like a tide.
Turning to the mercenary captain waiting in the command tent, the lord eyed him amid the reporting mages.
The captain caught the look, grumbling as he rose. "Damn, we're the easiest mark, huh."
"Sorry, old friend—head to Post 3. Route via comm magic."
"You'll pay handsomely for this."
"No worries. My honor on it—generous pay. And Post 5? Can Nautilus handle it?"
Simple reason: he knew most troops' levels, but not the mercenaries' or Nautilus's full strength. Best to test them in this low-risk opener, sparing reliable lord's forces. Eira, noble-born rep for Nautilus command, got it—mildly irked, but compliant.
"Of course. May I ask Heukgu to join us too?"
"We'll go."
Fully armored Eira turned to waiting Heukgu; he replied quietly and moved.
"1st Platoon, with me."
As Heukgu stepped out, the rehab squad 1st Platoon snapped to disciplined motion.
"Impressively drilled troops," the lord praised, laced with apology for sending them first.
Eira smiled lightly. "No worries. Heukgu will surely return victorious."
"Here's hoping."
----
Unlike adventurers mostly fighting monsters or gathering materials, mercenaries specialized in humans. They'd take any paying gig, but long hauls bred expertise. Some excelled in defense, others guerrilla or pursuit—reputations drew clients.
Pizhan, active in Atillain, specialized in naval combat—thus pirates. He'd bagged over 13 pirate captains, earning "Pirate Hunter." He'd seen all races of pirates, but these? Unprecedented.
"Looks like a shark gorged on seafood and puked it up."
Eyeing the swordfish-headed pirate leading them ashore, Pizhan didn't hide his disgust. He'd fought merfolk aplenty as a sea merc, even had some in his crew—but this fish-headed freak was no merfolk. Merfolk blended fish and human traits naturally; these pirates reeked of childish patchwork from corpses, pure uncanny revulsion.
"Keh-heh, weaklings obsess over looks."
"Nah, with that mug? Even if strong, women'd hate it. Whores charge you triple—quadruple—at least. Face worth less than double."
Pizhan's mockery flushed the swordfish-head red.
"Kehahaha! Look at that face turn red—first time seeing a fish blush. Dick gone too? Spawning like fish? Piss on a whore and spray roe on top?"
"I-I'll kill you!"
"I-I'll kiiill yooou~"
Mimicking and jeering, Pizhan drew cutlass and buckler as the enraged fish-head charged with rapier.
Rapier and cutlass were polar opposites: rapier thrust-heavy, cutlass slash-heavy. Thrusts dominated such fights. Rapier's balance near the hilt allowed wrist-flicks for dozens of changes post-thrust; cutlass's tip-heavy swing resisted shifts.
Clang!
Cutlass's heft edged clashes, but Pizhan tsked as rapier still pressed.
"Stronger than expected."
"Keh-heh, scared?"
Opponent's skill was middling—coverable by raw physique. Dodging a thrust by sidestepping and parrying, Pizhan rolled at a chill premonition.
"Keh-heh, rolling in dirt suits you."
The swordfish bill speared where his head had been; cold sweat beaded. Two swords sounded simple, but one in hand, one on neck? Worlds apart. Sword grips alone shifted styles wholesale—head-sword plus main-hand parry dagger (main gauche) chilled him deeper.
"Ngh!"
He'd seen freakish techniques in merc life, but nothing this insane.
"Our Naaru Pirates offer sacrifices to Naaru-sama for sea beast powers. Not all combat-useful, but some—like me—get gems!"
Blocking bill with buckler, parrying rapier with cutlass—buckler punctured. Pricy lightweight steel-tough shield, now holed.
"Keh-heh, like my power from ditching looks?!"
"This ain't about mana thrift."
Parrying side stab while targeting neck, Pizhan's blade blurred.
Salmon Against the Current—elusive art triggering only on successful thrust-deflects. Fish-head's main gauche moved to block cutlass; Pizhan flowed it aside like water, slashing throat.
Kaang!
Bypassed guard, dead-on neck—yet bounced off scales. Art nullified defense once but killed blade momentum fully.
"Not iron shark scales, I'd be dead."
Casual from edge, fish-head ditched complacency for lethal seriousness. No more toying—pure kill intent sharpened every motion. Already tough rapier grew deadlier; wilder changes forced Pizhan to grit teeth and evade.
Fish-head's three-weapon mastery (main gauche, rapier, bill) wasn't elite, but extra limb and superior physique cornered him. No win without mana.
"Can't beat you unscathed."
Sighing, Pizhan surged mana.
"Think I got no mana?!"
Veins bulged, senses honed razor-sharp. Untrained circuits wrecked him: unbalanced mana tore joints/ligaments, crushed organs under hypertrophied muscle.
Fish-head, Naaru's zealot, fared same. Instinct pulled mana to bill, but turtle neck siphoned to shell, shark scales stole more. Conflicting circuits clashed on surge, wasting power—but Naaru's blessing stocked ample mana. Bloodshot eyes glared.
"End quick, offer you as sacrifice."
"What're you babbling, seafood? Don't attack humans."