Carnoble's Steel Monster Tears Through the Seas, Delivering Flawless Goods to Masina
"Arrrgh! My money! My gold coins!! My buildings, my ships—all mortgaged!!"
Lorenzo rolled on the floor, vomiting bloody tears. If only he could cry foul to the council about being swindled—but speculative bond trading premised on a partner's bankruptcy was a grave taboo under continental commercial law, an illegal black-market deal. The moment it left his lips, he'd be guillotined by the council before his creditors could slit his throat.
"Damn you, Valerius! Damn you, Elpanso Carnoble!!"
As he scratched at the floor in voiceless agony, unable to complain to anyone—
Bam! The office door flew open, and a lackey from the dark guild under Lorenzo's employ burst in, panting.
"Count! The creditors are swarming! We need to bolt tonight...!"
"Shut your trap! You think I'll abandon Masina, the city I've devoted my life to?!"
Lorenzo bellowed with bloodshot eyes, and the lackey gulped, glancing around before whispering his report.
"Uh, Count. I just overheard some Carnoble guild sailors boasting in a dockside tavern. That creepy black ship? It's not heading back to Peluah."
"What? They've sold their cargo—where the hell else would it go?"
"The Orient."
The lackey's voice trembled faintly.
"Straight to Kipro Island off the Osan Empire coast! They just swept up a waterfall of pure gold from southern merchants—no banking it, all loaded straight into that ship's hold!"
"...!!"
Despair clouded Lorenzo's eyes, but serpentine venom seeped in just as swiftly. Overwhelming hard cash. The massive fortune that had stripped bare the markets from Peluah to the southern alliance, now loaded in that hideous ship's belly? And headed for the eastern seas, a deathtrap beyond western armies' protection, into heathen waters?
"Heh, heh heh heh... hahaha!"
A chilling laugh leaked from Lorenzo's lips. The rat on the brink of death under a mountain of debt had found its fatal poison for a desperate comeback.
"Right. There's only one way to pay this debt and reclaim my assets: strip that arrogant bastard's gold with my own hands!"
With shaking fingers, Lorenzo pulled a black wax seal from the deepest desk drawer—a forbidden tool for secret dealings with those who ruled the shadows of the Masina Strait, the southern pirates' privateer fleet.
"Send the pigeon now. Message to the chief of the southern sea lords, the 'Blue Crescent Pirates'!"
Lorenzo's voice quivered with excitement.
"Word it like this: 'A freak ship without masts is chugging east. Its hold overflows with gold heaped from the southern alliance's entire wealth. Seize it, loot the gold—I claim only thirty percent'!"
"B-but Count! The Blue Crescent Pirates are merciless cutthroats! If we're exposed, the council drags us to the gallows—no mercy!"
"Tomorrow my head rolls under creditors' blades—think I give a damn about the council?! Send the damn message now!!"
The lackey fled the office pale as a ghost at Lorenzo's frantic command. Staggering to the window, Lorenzo peered out. Far across Masina Port, Carnoble's steamship belched black smoke skyward, turning its prow toward the red eastern horizon.
"Fine. No matter how fast or tricky that ship, it's just a merchant vessel—no masts, no arms. Surround it with dozens of galleys, harpoon and cannon it to bits, and that tin can becomes seabed scrap."
Lorenzo pressed his forehead to the glass, glaring at the steamship's wake with bloodshot fury.
"I'll teach you the sea's terror, Elpanso. Your arrogant hunk of metal and gold will feed the fish in the eastern deeps."
A vile homing pigeon launched by Masina's power player soared silently toward the overcast eastern night sky.
*
In a hidden cove of the Masina Strait, a small homing pigeon fluttered into the lair of the bloodthirsty reavers terrorizing southern seas: the Blue Crescent Pirates. Chief One-Eye Karga tore open the wax-sealed note on its leg and read.
A feral guffaw burst from his scarred lips.
"Kehahaha! Old fox Lorenzo's finally lost his marbles!"
"What'd the Masina geezer babble, Chief?"
His lieutenant approached, and Karga spat the note onto the deck with a sneer.
"Says a freak ship sans masts is heading east. Hold's stuffed with cash that vacuumed the southern alliance markets—mountain of gold. Seize and loot, he'll take just thirty percent."
"Merchant ship without masts? Slave-galley?"
"Nah, note don't say galley. Just no sails, no guns."
The lieutenant snorted in disbelief. How does a ship without sails or oars sail open sea? Plus, southern waters now cursed merchants with a pirate's blessing: dead calm. Windless seas turned laden traders into floating wooden ducks.
"No wind, even top warships stall. Mastless? It's like they laid out a feast mid-ocean for us to chow down!"
"Uhaha, that old coot brought gold news for once."
"...We really givin' him thirty percent?"
"You nuts? We'll say the gold got dumped overboard—we salvaged ten percent. Thirty of that's plenty for the geezer."
"Keh heh, boss knows best!"
Karga licked his lips greedily. Sure, targets were prime, but rough currents and noontime blaze deterred ocean runs. Moving meant whipping chained slaves by the hundreds—botch it, they dropped dead before spotting prey.
But Carnoble's ship carrying "the southern alliance's entire wealth in gold"? Temptation sweet enough to brave it all. (Not all the wealth, true—but plenty.)
"Whip the slaves! We sail now!"
At Karga's thunderous roar, three massive pirate galleys ripped from their hidden berth, cleaving waves fiercely.
Splash! Splash!
"Row, you maggots! Faster, you slow-ass worms!"
Below decks, hundreds of slaves rowed colossal oars through bloody tears. The galleys' sleek prows charged the sole eastern strait passage: the "Viper Pit."
"Chief, we block this pass at this speed—no merchant escapes, sails or not. Probably drifting into reefs on currents by now."
"Keh heh, easiest hunt of my life. Scoop every coin, feed the crew to the sharks."
Pirates oiled blades, hefted harpoons, giggling over visions of the cocky metal tub and gold piles.
Thus, three galleys sealed the channel perfectly. They set the trap, awaiting self-delivered prey.
A day passed. Only gull cries; no rats stirred.
Two days. Slaves collapsed from exhaustion; pirate faces soured with irritation.
"...What the hell?"
On the third morning, sweat-drenched Karga hurled his spyglass down under the blistering sun and roared.
"Left Masina for the east—must pass here! We've watched night and day—where's that damn scrapheap?!"
"Ch-Chief! Maybe Lorenzo conned us? Or it hit reefs and sank already..."
Then—
"Chief! Mid-sized brig with Peluah guild flag crawling in from ahead!"
A lookout atop the mast yelled. Karga's spyglass confirmed: a spice trader plodding slug-like, wind-starved.
Not the mastless monster—but no empty-handed return.
"Not Lorenzo's ship, but... vent some steam. Loot 'em! Confirm if from Masina—snag it!"
Pirate ships swarmed like sharks, oars churning. Grapples flew, embedding in the brig's deck; cutthroats poured aboard on ropes.