Chapter 68: Five Hours Later

Five hours later, the sun dipped below the jagged silhouette of the imperial capital, bathing the western naval harbor in deep shades of crimson and violet.

At the end of the stone pier, two sleek, three-masted imperial reconnaissance corvettes swayed gently against the tide. Unlike the bulky, gold-gilded battle galleons that typically represented the church’s divine might, these vessels were built strictly for speed and shadow. Their hulls were coated in dark, alchemical pitch, and their deep crimson sails bore no holy sigils or imperial crests.

Dockworkers in plain tunics quickly hauled the final crates of dried rations and mana stones aboard, avoiding eye contact with the cloaked figures standing on the main deck.

A squad of tier-four wind mages stood near the quarterdeck, adjusting their deep blue robes. At their feet, complex arrays of wind runes glowed faintly along the varnished wood, humming with dormant energy. These runes were designed to artificially fill the sails with gale-force currents, allowing the two corvettes to cross the wide ocean expanse in less than three weeks.

Captain Daniel, a veteran naval officer of the Holy Empire, stood at the gangway reviewing the sealed orders bearing Prime Minister Belis’s wax crest. Beside him, an inquisitorial observer in white-and-gold trim stared out toward the open sea with cold indifference.

"You know the mission parameters," the inquisitor said quietly, his voice low enough that none of the passing sailors could overhear. "Sail west under complete communication silence. Keep your distance from the Cragspine coast. If you spot imperial wreckage, record it. If you spot Wallachian colors, do not engage. Turn around and burn the wind runes to bring the report back to Lady Viona."

"And if we find native resistance?" Daniel asked, tucking the parchment safely into his leather tunic.

"Natives do not wipe out an inquisitorial vanguard, Captain," the inquisitor answered flatly. "If someone eliminated Lord Valerius, it was a civilized power with warships. Look for the black dragon crest of Wallachia. Now cast off."

Daniel gave a stiff, formal salute and turned toward the deck.

"Cast off the mooring lines!" Daniel shouted, his voice cutting through the evening harbor air. "Mages to your stations! Unfurl the sails!"

The heavy ropes splashed into the water, and the dark hulls pulled away from the stone pier. The mages finished their chant, causing the sails to billow under a sudden blast of forced wind as the two corvettes picked up speed, heading out past the harbor breakwater.

High above the bustling docks, on the stone terrace of an old lighthouse tower, two figures stood watching the departure.

Ayanokoji rested both hands on the cool stone railing, his eyes calmly tracking the ships below. Next to him was Miyuki, who was adjusting the travel pack slung over her shoulder, her fingers gripping her wooden staff as she watched the crimson sails billow in the evening wind.

"We should head down," Miyuki said quietly, glancing at him. "The crew is finishing the final checks, and Captain Daniel won’t wait long once the wind runes are primed."

Ayanokoji didn’t move immediately. He kept his eyes on the two corvettes cutting smoothly through the dark water below.

"They’re treating this like a routine reconnaissance mission," he noted, his voice flat. "The empire is convinced Wallachia is playing games in the shadows, so they’re relying on stealth and speed to spot an armada and run back to report. But the premise is flawed."

Miyuki frowned, stepping closer to the railing. "Flawed how?"

"Belis confirmed that not a single messenger wyvern or emergency missive escaped Valerius’s fleet," Ayanokoji said, finally pushing off the stone parapet and slipping his hands into his pockets. "A conventional navy—even Wallachian ironclads—cannot enforce a total information blackout over hundreds of miles of open ocean. If the enemy had the means to silently erase an entire vanguard and its communication lines seven months ago, two light corvettes won’t slip past their perimeter unnoticed."

A chill ran down Miyuki’s spine, the sea breeze whipping her white robes against her legs. "You think we’re sailing straight into whatever took them out?"

"Most likely," Ayanokoji replied calmly, heading toward the stone stairwell that led directly to the docks. "The High Council sent us to investigate, but in reality, these ships are bait to draw out the unknown variable. The only difference is that we are on board to handle whatever takes the hook."

Miyuki tightened her grip on her staff and hurried down the winding stairs beside him. "And Sato? If an entire fleet was wiped out without a trace, what chance does he have?"

"Sato is a Shadow Assassin. His survival rate is higher than a frontline paladin’s, but assuming he’s alive is just wishful thinking until we see the shore," Ayanokoji said without breaking stride. "Don’t let sentiment cloud your judgment out there, Miyuki. Once we clear that breakwater, we’re entering a blind zone."

Reaching the pier, the two stepped past the rigid imperial guards and boarded the lead corvette just as the sailors hauled in the final gangway. The dark wooden deck vibrated beneath their boots as the wind mages channeled mana into the glowing deck runes, launching both ships west into the encroaching night.

Meanwhile, 30,000 feet in the sky, an RQ-4 Global Hawk cut silently through the thin twilight air, its high-resolution optical and infrared sensors locked onto the harbor below.

Thousands of miles to the west, inside a heavily fortified command bunker humming with computer terminals, an Air Force sensor operator watched the crystal-clear thermal feed.

"Eagle Actual, this is Watchtower," the operator spoke smoothly into his headset. "Sensors confirm movement at the imperial docks. Two surface vessels have slipped moorings and cleared the breakwater on a direct heading due west. Infrared is picking up localized atmospheric pressure anomalies and anomalous thermal blooms across their decks—consistent with whatever propulsion method they use to artificially accelerate their hulls."

He tapped a key, zooming in on the lead vessel’s quarterdeck.

Standing behind the bank of glowing monitors, John folded his arms, a cold, knowing smirk playing across his lips. The goddess had finally sent her precious heroes to investigate the graveyard he had made of Valerius’s vanguard.

"Track their vector," John commanded calmly. "I want the nearest submarine in the area to trail them."