Gunmage-Chapter 51: Black Powder

Far in the distance, the silhouettes of the small Ophris fleet emerged from the dark horizon, their bows silently slicing through the water like phantoms in the night.

The dam had been destroyed, the path was clear. Their mission was done.

The entire squad moved swiftly to the cliff's edge, their figures barely discernible against the vast sky. Below, the fleet drifted into position, awaiting their arrival.

One by one, they leapt from the precipice, their bodies plummeting through the chilled night air before landing roughly on the decks of the waiting ships. The wood groaned under the impact, but no one paid it any mind. They had made it.

"Nice work."

The voice came from Major General Lovainne. He stood near the ship's helm, his rifle held with casual precision, his gaze steady.

Tonight, he had abandoned his customary crimson marshal's uniform, instead donning the red and black of the Ophris soldiers. Only the epaulets on his shoulders betrayed his rank, that and the air of authority that clung to him like an unshakable shadow.

The fleet itself was a testament to ingenuity and desperation. The channel, meant to guide their vessels, had been dug in less than two months.

Not because the workers had miraculously become twice as efficient, but because the very dimensions of the project had been altered.

Under the prince's command, the ships had been modified, unnecessary armor stripped away, heavier cannons abandoned, every excess pound had been shaved off in an attempt to make the vessels as light as possible.

Less weight equaled less water displaced. This meant a shallower channel could effectively transport the ships. Time was the true enemy, and Ophris could not afford delay.

Under normal circumstances Lovainne wouldn't have done this. Even if he did, it wouldn't have been to this extent.

However, Lugh had been the one to change his mind. His grim recounting of the horrors witnessed in Drakensmar had stripped away any remaining hesitations.

The people of Ophris were suffering. Waiting was no longer an option.

Most of the ships now carried lighter weaponry, their once-mighty artillery exchanged for more practical firepower. But the flagship—the very deck upon which they now stood—was different.

Lovainne had overseen its transformation personally. The ship had been reforged into something unconventional, its engines removed to compensate for the weight of a single, monstrous weapon.

The salvaged flamethrower of the dismantled FSV-12. A relic of destruction.

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The ship, once propelled by iron and coal, now moved by wind alone, its sails patched together from textiles provided by the townsfolk.

It was a gamble, but a necessary one.

Now, their course was set. Lovainne and the remnants of the 14th Division, barely three thousand strong, even with generous estimates, would strike against the amassed forces of Heieg.

An army of not less than fifteen thousand soldiers, not counting the unknown cohort of mages. It was a battle with seemingly impossible odds.

The 7th Armored Division, their strongest allies, could not be called upon, not yet. Heieg's greatest import might be food produce, but their largest export was and still is—spies.

Every move had to be calculated. A single slip would doom them.

Yet, they still had an advantage.

The element of surprise.

By dawn, Heieg would know something was wrong when the soldiers stationed at the dam failed to report. No, even before that, when the floods swept through the lower banks, the alarm would rise.

But by then, it would be too late.

As Lugh and the others landed on the ship, the soldiers aboard stiffened, eyes flickering with uncertainty. Lovainne stepped forward, closing the distance with measured strides.

"I think it's high time we named your unit."

Lyra's ears perked up. Lugh exhaled, already tired of the conversation before it even began.

Xhi, the priestess, didn't pay them any heed. She had already left, lounging on some ammunition crates while gazing at the stars. Her transcendent beauty was marred with a frown.

"What do you think about 'Hexgunners'? Or maybe 'Spellfire'?"

Lovainne mused aloud.

Lugh responded, his voice dry

"You're the one in charge, aren't you?"

"Well, I just can't seem to settle on anything."

Lugh paused.

"I thought the squad was supposed to remain secret."

"It is."

"Then why the hell do you want to give us an auspicious name like 'Hexgunners'?"

"Sooo... 'Spellfire'?"

"That's even worse."

"Come on, kid, it sounds cool."

Renshaw, already pulling out his ever-present flask, chimed in. His thick southern accent slurring slightly.

Lugh frowned before speaking in his monotone voice.

"Cool? We don't need cool. Just call us '21st Squad' and be done with it."

He stopped for a second before adding

"And why the hell are you drinking? We have a battle ahead."

"I'm just takin' a sip"

Renshaw drawled, tilting his head back and downing the contents in one go.

"That's right, just a sip."

Lyra, ever the voice of enthusiasm, turned to Vaelith.

"What do you think?"

The elf hesitated, her cheeks slightly flushed.

"W-well... 'Spellfire' doesn't sound too bad..."

Lugh stared at her in disbelief.

'Unbelievable'

The discussion spiraled from there. Names were thrown back and forth—'Shadow Claws,' 'Fire Fangs,' and even more absurd suggestions. In the end, Lovainne used his authority to force a decision.

"The Black Powder Task Force."

Lugh sighed.

'Ridiculous.'

A hush fell over them. Out there, beneath the moon's silver gaze, the looming walls of Drakensmar had come into view. The soldiers became apprehensive.

"All right"

Lovainne commanded.

"Everyone, into position."

Across the deck, soldiers scrambled, checking their weapons, bracing themselves. Similar movements echoed on the other ships.

The engines, which had been killed long ago so their approach would go unnoticed untill the last moment, had begun to rev up.

Fuel was injected into the cylinders, and combustion began. Smoke billowed into the air, and the tranquil calm of the night was shattered.

The ships surged forward.

In the distance, alarms rang. A city stirring too late.

The first two ships, their engines screaming at full capacity, raced ahead of the fleet. The riverbanks blurred past as they accelerated, charging toward the colossal metal grates barring the waterways.

And then, impact.

An earth-shattering crash ripped through the night as metal groaned and snapped beneath the force. The gates buckled, millennia-old defenses shattering in an instant.

"The front is clear!"

Lovainne's voice rang above the chaos.

"Awaken the beast!"

Somewhere within the ship, gears began to turn. Slow at first, then faster, louder, rising into a feverish pitch.

Lugh recognized the sound instantly...