Chapter 168: Bidding Farewell, Into The Mist

High above the chaotic docks, on a private stone balcony carved into the palace lounge outer wall, Warlord Gorak stood in silence. He held his young son effortlessly in one massive arm, watching the ships break the surface of the moat.

A few seconds later, heavy, armored footsteps echoed from the corridor behind him, and Gulag stepped onto the balcony.

She was fully clad in the dark, dense bone-armor of a Troglodyte General, a massive spiked club strapped to her broad back. She looked utterly terrifying, like a true avatar of subterranean war.

However, as she approached her mate, her brutal aura completely softened. She reached out, gently running her thick, calloused fingers over the small, grey ridges just beginning to form on her son’s head.

“Little Krag,” Gulag rumbled softly.

The toddler cooed, revealing a row of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. He reached out with surprisingly strong hands and grabbed one of the bone spikes on his mother’s chest plate, tugging at it aggressively.

Gulag let out a chuckle, making no move to pull away. Then, she looked up at Gorak. The explosive anger of the previous night had settled into a solemn, heavy understanding of their respective duties.

“You guard the deep-core, and you guard our blood, Warlord,” Gulag commanded quietly, tapping her gauntlet against Gorak’s chest plate. “Do not let him grow soft in this comfortable capital. Feed him marrow. Let him spar with Commander Zolog heavy infantry the moment he is large enough to lift a club.”

“He is the son of two apex predators,” Gorak replied, a fierce pride swelling in his massive chest. He rested his free hand gently against Gulag’s shoulder. “He will break stone before his fifth year. I will forge him into a weapon worthy of the Spiral.”

Gulag leaned forward and pressed her heavy, armored forehead against Gorak’s. She then leaned down and gently touched her brow to little Krag’s head. It was the deepest, most intimate display of affection their brutal species possessed.

“I will bring back a mountain of skulls from the Fourth Continent for him to play with,” Gulag promised.

She pulled away. The motherly warmth vanished instantly, replaced once again by the terrifying presence of the Vanguard’s new General. She gave Gorak one last nod, turned on her heel, and marched down the stone steps toward the docks to lead her kin to slaughter.

Gorak stood in the morning light, bouncing Krag slightly as the massive ironclad fleet faded into the eastern horizon.

He had been forcefully denied his war, but as he looked down at his son and the towering, impenetrable walls of the capital, he realized the Sovereign had entrusted him with something equally vital to protect.

The Vanguard fleet carved a brutal path across the uncharted ocean.

For two weeks, the massive ironclad vessels churned through violent waters. Their alchemical engines burned day and night to push the heavy hulls through the crushing waves.

The voyage was far from peaceful. On the fourth day, a massive swarm of armored trench-sharks attempted to tear into the lower hulls of the flanking ships.

Old-Shell simply waded into the water from his specialized transport and crushed dozens of them beneath his massive weight before the artillery cannons turned the rest into floating chum.

On the ninth day, a localized mana-hurricane threatened to scatter the armada, but the flawless discipline of the crew held the formation together.

Through it all, Syra remained a fixture at the flagship’s bow. She stood for hours against the freezing ocean spray with her glass slate glowing brightly in her hands. She utilized the amphibious scouts and her own deep-water resonance to map every hidden current and submerged reef.

She systematically expanded the Sovereign’s Omni-Web network across the ocean with every mile they crossed.

Gulag frequently joined her at the railing. The Vanguard army was a hyper-aggressive war machine consisting of fifty thousand roaring, battle-hungry males. Finding another female at the very top of the command structure provided Gulag with a surprising sense of comfort.

Although they rarely spoke, they just stood in a comfortable silence, mutually respecting the absolute authority they both wielded over the fleet.

Deep below the main deck, Iron-Scale isolated himself entirely from the naval logistics. He converted the flagship’s darkest cargo hold into a lethal training ground. He spent his days hanging upside down from the heavy iron rafters to relentlessly drill his elite assassins in zero-light combat. He was perfectly content to let Syra steer the ship while he honed their killing edge.

By the fifteenth day, the fleet entered a dense sea mist. The heavy fog clung to the water like a wet shroud. It drastically reduced visibility and muffled the roar of the engines.

Syra stared at her glass slate as the alchemical sensors were suddenly spiking erratically.

“Kill the primary engines,” Syra ordered sharply.

Gulag stepped up beside her and rested a heavy hand on her spiked club. “What is it? A reef?”

“No,” Syra whispered. Her eyes narrowed as she peered into the grey mist. “The water displacement is entirely wrong. Something massive is disrupting the current dead ahead.”

Below deck, Iron-Scale felt the sudden deceleration of the ship. He dropped silently from the ceiling rafters and drew his sword. He instantly sensed the shift in the atmosphere.

A colossal silhouette began to bleed through the fog.

It was a ship, but its scale defied all standard naval architecture. It easily dwarfed the Vanguard’s ironclads. It rose from the water like a floating fortress of dark metal and glowing crimson runes. The massive vessel did not bear the banners of the Second or Fourth Continents.

It sat completely motionless in the water and intentionally cut across their established trajectory.

The Vanguard fleet had been intercepted.

“Are we crossing a foreign territory?” Gulag asked Syra, who was checking the map the envoy of the second continent had given them.

“Well, we are travelling through the path and passage given to us by the envoys of the second continent. And according to them, there is no continent nearby,” Syra responded as she once again confirmed the location.

“So, what is this ship?”

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