The Technological Boats

The cave along the slope of the Wolfmoon Heights opened deep into the rock. Its black stone walls still dripped with traces of drizzle, and rows of dried-fish torches burned yellow along the sides. The smell of salted fish and dried spices filled the air, but tonight the atmosphere felt heavier—thick with anger. The great captains of the Red Eclipse gathered there, sitting on empty fish crates. Each owned dozens of sailing vessels, wealth accumulated from years of harvest at sea, and their eyes now burned like embers.

Captain Lycaneque spoke first. His wolf-like eyes glimmered even though the eclipse had not yet begun.

“To be frank,” he said, his raspy voice echoing, “the Baho Citadel may have ordered their soldiers to poison the Red Sea.” He stared at Lykanor, unblinking.

Akhmud, a thin human with rope scars all over his hands, nodded.

“I suspected as much when Vaelthir left our lands after your rejection of their alliance, Captain Lykanor. They’re more suspicious than Aurathrax, whose whereabouts we don’t even know.”

Captain Lysaiba, a slender woman with a shrill voice like a seagull’s cry, slapped the crate in front of her.

“Then let us confront the blue-moon vampires! Don’t stay silent—especially you, Captain Lykanor. Where is your resolve to protect our shores?”

The cave door swung open, letting in night wind that carried the scent of salt and rain. Lycues and Lyba rushed inside, their faces wet, breaths ragged. Lycues spoke first; her usually arrogant voice had turned taut.

“Captain Ly—you won’t believe this. Fishermen spotted four Keling wooden boats in the middle of the Red Sea. They were dumping black water into the ocean.”

Lyba stepped forward, his hands still trembling.

“Crew members said it smelled like sulfur mixed with rot. Definitely poison.”

Lykanor looked at them, then at the pile of rotten fish in the corner of the cave.

“Are the fishermen unharmed? Were they attacked after seeing the boats?”

“The fishing boat withdrew immediately,” Lyba replied. “They didn’t dare intervene. They went ashore and reported it. They asked me to complete the report to you.”

A large captain named Ghoram surged to his feet, his belly shaking, his face red with fury.

“What uncivilized beasts dare poison our sea! Let’s burn their boats to ashes!”

No one objected.

They marched out of the cave, boots firm on the slick ground. Below the hill waited the colossal ship Southern Wolf—built by all the captains together to defend the waters of the Red Eclipse. It was three times the length of an ordinary vessel, with a black hull carved from Sanguara wood and aged white sails that were weathered but unbreakable. The anchor was pulled with a grinding roar. A black flag bearing a red abyss fluttered atop the main mast.

Lykanor climbed to the highest post, gripping the massive wheel.

“Set course for the location Lycues and Lyba reported,” he ordered, voice calm but eyes blazing.

The great ship surged forward, the waves crashing against its hull like war drums. From afar, five enemy boats appeared tiny—black dots scattered across the red surface. But as the Southern Wolf approached, the boats suddenly turned away, their sails swelling to full shape even though the wind had not changed.

The captains of the Red Eclipse roared in frustration. Some leapt into rowboats, oars clawing the sea in pursuit. But the enemy boats vanished into a sudden fog—unnatural, dense, and smelling of metal and sulfur.

The Southern Wolf’s speed could not compare. The enemy vessels moved as though pulled by an invisible rope, far too fast for ordinary wood and canvas. Lykanor stood at the bow, his red hair whipping in the wind, eyes narrowed toward the fog.

“Not ordinary vessels,” he murmured. “These are technological boats. From Baho Citadel.”

Behind him, the other captains growled in anger.

The Red Sea now carried the stench of poison.

And war—once only a rumor—rested bitter and metallic on the tongue, inescapable.

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