Shewa had a problem. A big one. She was sure she was in love, but her crush didn’t see that. He was a dwarf, and that was probably her worst choice ever. She probably will need to risk everything and ask him instead of waiting.

  “Priestess, please concentrate on your task.” Commander admonished her again.

  “It’s no use, Commander. Young lass is in love!” Captain Esmee laughed.

  “My apologies, sir. I indeed cannot concentrate properly.” Shewa admitted.

  “You should kick his ass and tell him. He is a dwarf.” Halfling captain advises.

  “Ships ahead!” A sailor from the top of the mast interrupts them.

  “What ships!” The captain shouted back.

  “Oh, gods! They are cultist ships!” A sailor cries in shock after a moment. All people on the deck stopped for the moment.

  “Everyone back to work!” Esme commanded running to climb to the top of the mast to see the ships ahead of them.

  “Straight ahead, Captain.” A sailor pointed at the horizon.

  “Yes. I see them.” She nodded and takes spyglass to asses them properly. There was no mistake, they belonged to cultists. The ships were so ugly and crude that you didn’t need to see the banners to know that.

  The Archlich had many problems with winning the war. His usual method was to send hordes of zombies and other monstrosities to overwhelm defenders. It was a simple solution and, for him, the best one. If he wanted to create a proper army, he would need to build a real civilization. And his goal was to destroy everything, not to create. While he trains necromancers and the undead numbers grow, he realizes he doesn’t have a way to invade another continent. There were pirates, but their ships were small and just a few. The first idea was to steal ships from the enemy. The plan ended in disaster. Breaking into the harbour goes as planned, but operating a sailship is no easy task. You need a numerous and experienced crew. Slaves and zombies cannot substitute them. Then Gregor, another dungeon core and self-titled Arch warlock, proposed building modern Earth ships.

  “If sails are a problem, then get rid of them.” He wrote in the letter.

  Trials with ships moved by screws failed. Because of a lack of proper craftsmen, hulls were leaking, and the screw was made poorly. Adding to that the fact that they need to be moved by a crank powered by muscles, reduces the size of the ship. Then Archlich remembered about steamships moved by paddlewheels. The shaft was above the water, the paddle wheels were watermill wheels. He only doesn’t have a steam engine. However, he replaced it with a crane wheel and ordered several necromancers to use zombies to move it. The final ship was crude and ugly, but it floats and moves, and doesn't need an experienced crew.

  When one of these ships was captured by the fleet of one of the coastal kingdoms, the shipyard workers were astonished and terrified. But not because of its lethality, but because of how poorly it was built. In a year, they built their own, smaller version of it. Its performance was at least three times better. But they immediately found a lot of problems with the design. A wider hull increases the risk of capsizing. It wasn’t faster than existing sailships, and depending on people or animals to move wasn’t good either. They need to rest. Dungeon cores explained later that they need steam engine to move them, also screws were better. Regretfully, only screws were built and tested, but they only eliminate problem with stability. In the end, they become a curiosity. Owners of barges and river ships weren’t interested because they would lose cargo space and gain nothing. Paddlewheeleres weren’t able to fight against strong currents on some rivers. Wheels on the sides interfere with loading goods.

  “What you saw, Captain?” Asked the commander of the holy knights.

  “It's an invasion fleet.” She answered with a grim expression. Gathered officers stiffened.

  “What is your order?” Given the captain's reputation, it was unlikely he would have to relieve her of command. But he needs to know.

  Esmee looked at the sails and concentrated on the wind in her hair.

  “We have a strong, astern wind, pushing us dead ahead. It should last a few hours. All warships will push ahead and engage in battle. Merchants should scatter and harass them from the outside. We need to transfer our cargo to one of them. His captain will be responsible for delivering it and warning people. We have one hour for preparations.”

  “We will do that.” Commander agrees.

  The cultist flotilla doesn’t sail in any orderly fashion. If it weren't for the help of a hired pirate captain, they most likely would have been lost long ago. After his shift ended, one of the necromancers went to the afterdeck to breathe fresh air. It was dinner time, so all officers were enjoying a lavish dinner. He was just an ordinary crew member, so he wasn't invited. In those kinds of moments, he has doubts about his choices. He believed he would become free and wealthy. Instead, nothing changed. He still needs to obey the orders of the others. He sighted and went to admire the waves left by the ship. What he saw makes his blood run cold. A dozen sailing ships were fast approaching them.

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  “There are ships behind us!” He ran to the helmsman.

  “Of course they are.” He said, bored.

  “No! They are sailing ships!”

  The helmsman turns his head.

  “Oh, fuck.” He said.

  “We need to raise an alarm.”

  “Are you mad? Only the captain can do that.”

  “Then we need to tell him.”

  “I can’t go anywhere. I need to hold the steering wheel.”

  “Right,” Necromancer said and ran. In the corridor, he was stopped by two guardsmen.

  “Only officers.” One barked.

  “I know. But we are under attack! Captain needs to know!”

  “Captain cannot be disturbed.”

  “But he needs to know!”

  The guard was interrupted.

  “What is happening here! It’s so hard to ask for a few moments of peace!” An obese man covered in expensive clothes with golden embroidery, shouted. He also wears a lot of golden jewelry.

  “Captain, we are under attack!” Necromancer shouted.

  “Nonsens. Everything is…” Explosion and screams of dying interrupted him. Behind him, his lavish quarter now was gone.

  “Captain!”

  “Fucking traitor.” The captain responded and killed the necromancer. “Sound the alarm!” He screams.

  “Nice shot.” Said the captain of one of the warships. “Tell my best regards to the balista crew. And that I will buy them ale after return.” He added.

  “I hope that there were at least a few officers there.” The officer responsible for commanding the ballista crews responded.

  “It’s almost certain. Honest people work, and that requires staying on the deck. Cultists aren't honest people.” Answered captain.

  “How those monstrosities even float?” Another officer asked.

  “Barely.” Laughed captain. “But that led to an interesting question. Master Olli, could you instruct your crews to test how sturdy they are? Especially around the waterline.”

  “With pleasure, Captain.” The officer grinned and ran to instruct sailors. They immediately redoubled their efforts to aim their ballistae properly.

  The captain looked at the enemy's ships. They were primitive, and it is hard to imagine how they could have sailed so far. The fleet was also disorganized. However, there were a lot of ships there, at least twenty of them, all full of orcs, undead, and other monsters. Their chances to win were slim, however, the captain stood firm and confident. He needs to be, for his crew.

  The crew of The Gods Might was preparing to be boarded. It was their third ship they would engage. The first two were immobilized after one wheel was destroyed with ballistae. The cultist ship without its propulsion was harmless and cultist good as dead. Unlike sailing ships, which carry spare sails in their holds, the cultists had no spare parts. A sail ship has a team of carpenters who can repair this type of damage. Cultists may have some slaves for that. But those whose spirit was still unbroken, they will see opportunity for revenge and do nothing. Slaves who lost their will to fight won’t be able to do anything.

  The Gods Might, however, was damaged too. Sails were burned, and some sailors died from spells and curses. They also use all spears for balistae.

  “Everyone, get ready!” Esme shouted, preparing her small but deadly crossbow.

  It's hard to tell whether the cultist helmsman was clumsy or unlucky, but he hit the ship at a sharp angle. Therefore, it bounced off, catching the wheel on the bow of The Gods Might and damaging it.

  “Gods are on our side! Kill them all!” Esmee screamed, and sailors and adventurers responded, shouting. Spells and arrows began flying, and people fell to the deck, dead or mortally wounded. Orcs immediately started jumping to kill defenders. The defenders didn’t stand idly, and orcs were dying too. Despite overall higher levels and better coordination, defenders were losing. However, luck was on their side. Cultist ships were purely built, and ramming cracked a few planks. Slowly but steadily, water was pouring in. Cultists were too engaged with the boarding to notice it, until it was too late. The capsizing ship stopped the attack, and the defenders repelled the orc attacks.

  Amid chaos were Thuldir and Shewa. Both were fighting and not backing down. Their armor was damaged and dirty from the blood and soot.

  “We won.” Gasped Thuldir. There were one or two places where some flights did not end, but cultists on the sinking ship were too busy finding a way not to drown to try to attack them.

  “What I tell you about celebrating before the end.” Shewa turns to admonish him.

  “Bah. We kill them all so…” He begins, but then he sees some stray spell flying in their direction. “Watch out!” He shouted and pushed the priestess.

  “No!” Shewa screams, seeing him being hit. She scrambled to check if he was alive. He was, but the spell was some nasty curse. She used the last mana to stop it from spreading throughout the dwarf's body.

  “Don’t you dare die. I still don’t say that I love you.” She said through clenched teeth. When she almost ran out of mana, the course started to recede.

  “Ugh. What was that?” Thuldir groan, waikng up.

  “Some nasty curse. I managed only to stop it, but not remove it. We need to see if there is someone who could do that.” Shewa explained.

  “Give me some good ale and I will be up and running.” He tries joking, but his weak voice shows how hard he was hit.

  “Most likely I will do that anyway, to keep you from troubles.”