’With the Sea Sparrow’s current strength, taking down those three Pirate Ships in a frontal assault would be no problem at all.’
’But if we get into a boarding action and it turns into a lee, casualties will be inevitable... It’s better to formulate a detailed battle plan and keep losses to a minimum.’
Having made up his mind, Roland focused his will. The Extra Benefit, Observing the Sea—triggered by the resonance between his Fisherman and Student Professions—silently activated.
As a barely perceptible silver glint flickered in his eyes, the world around him snapped into focus. Details sharpened in his Perception, reassembling themselves in a peculiar way.
The breeze on his cheeks was no longer gentle. It carried the muffled wail of distant, high-altitude air currents.
The seemingly scattered cirrus clouds on the horizon were stripped of their superficial form, slowly converging and descending in his vision.
Several seabirds, flying low past the sails, suddenly folded their wings and plunged toward the sea as if fleeing an unseen threat.
Farther out, an indistinct silver glint flashed once in the deep water and was gone.
It was a school of fish, sensing a subtle disturbance deep below, performing its instinctual evasive maneuvers.
All these subtle changes—
the whisper of the wind, the cipher of the clouds, the panic of the birds and fish—converged into a silent torrent that flooded Roland’s consciousness.
It was like reading a nautical log etched by the wind, waves, and wildlife. A weather forecast for the next few days rapidly took shape in his mind.
But it ca with a heavy toll on his Spirit, a pressure like invisible seawater crushing his temples.
Still, he clearly "read" the signs.
Today would be clear with few clouds and a steady, weak wind—nothing more than a perfectly ordinary day.
Starting tomorrow afternoon, the wind will gradually pick up, bringing light mist and scattered showers from the northwest. Visibility will drop slightly, but not enough to be a major hindrance.
At dawn on the third day...
A massive bank of water vapor, having gathered in the northwestern sea, will co surging in.
A dense fog will blanket the outskirts of Wailing Gorge and the surrounding waters, and it is expected to last for at least half a day.
As he "saw" the weather he had observed, a sharp glint flashed in Roland’s eyes, followed by a jolt of excitent that coursed through him like an electric current.
’In these seas, infamous for their unpredictability, dense fog is like a lingering Ghost—one of the sailors’ most familiar, and most frustrating, "partners."’
’Sotis it leads to deadly navigation errors and collisions; other tis, it can be the perfect natural screen.’
But right now, this common, even irritating, mariti phenonon had just transford into a golden opportunity for a perfect attack.
’Using this natural curtain, he could reduce losses from a boarding action to an absolute minimum.’
The silver glint faded, and Roland’s eyes regained their usual sharpness. But the heavy drain on his Spirit still throbbed with a dull ache.
Yet he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning up in a smile.
It was the surprise and certainty of a master chess player who had just spotted the perfect, ga-winning move.
"Hobbit."
He quickly suppressed his excitent. His voice was steady again, filled with unshakable resolve.
"Relay my orders."
The Half-Elf imdiately straightened his back, his attention absolute.
"First, order the scout ship to maintain concealed surveillance. Have them rotate on a fixed schedule and keep track of the pirate fleet’s every move. If they spot anything unusual, they are to report back imdiately."
"Second, the Sea Sparrow will lower her sails and find a suitable, concealed anchorage downwind. We will drop anchor and wait. All non-essential personnel are to rest in shifts to build up their strength. Combat personnel will conduct final equipnt checks and pre-battle drills as planned. I want everyone ready to fight at a mont’s notice."
"Finally..."
Roland took a deep breath before continuing.
"At dawn the day after tomorrow, a dense fog will roll into this area. We will use it as cover for our operation. I will finalize the specific battle plan after I’ve reviewed the final reconnaissance reports."
"Tell the crew to get plenty of rest. In two days, I want those Pirates to feel the Sea Sparrow’s talons in the fog!"
Hobbit’s eyes lit up instantly.
He had seen Roland’s ability to predict the weather before, back when he was training in seamanship.
Though he didn’t know where Roland had acquired such a skill, his forecasts were always unfailingly accurate.
So upon hearing this, the Half-Elf replied without the slightest hesitation.
"As you command, Mr. Roland!"
The small figure shot off like a loosed Crossbow Arrow, and his loud commands imdiately echoed across the deck.
......
......
......
A fog as thick as milk had silently devoured the waters outside Wailing Gorge, tightly enshrouding three dilapidated but towering Pirate Ships.
Visibility was pitifully low. The lookout in the crow’s nest could only just make out the blurred outlines of the adjacent ships. Farther off, the jagged rocks at the gorge’s entrance cast shadows like the fangs of a colossal Sea Beast.
On the sterncastle deck of the Blood Claw, two Pirates in thick, oilskin cloaks leaned against the damp rail, trying to dispel the chilling, suffocating gloom of the fog.
"This damn fog!"
Scar-faced Carl’s voice was thick and nasal, full of irritation.
"It’s wet, it’s cold, and you can’t see a damn thing! Feels like mold’s growin’ in my bones. Wailing Gorge... hah! It’s so miserable even the Ghosts can’t be bothered to wail!"
His partner, Tom, a man as wiry as an iron rod, hunched his shoulders and pulled his cloak tighter.
"Count your blessings, Carl. At least we’re out here at the mouth of the gorge on watch, not rotting away in that gloomy damn cave inside. That place... tsk! You stay there too long, and your blood runs cold. Makes miss the old days..."
His tone grew wistful as he spoke.
"Now *that* was the life, back in the Pearl Sea! Sunshine, beaches, fine wine, and more Gold Coins and won than you could count... Carefree. We robbed whoever we pleased..."
"That’s the truth..."
A brief silence fell between them. After a mont, a flicker of awe crossed Scar-faced Carl’s eyes, and he spoke with so confusion.
"Tell ... why’d the boss give up the good life to co pledge himself to that Wolf King in the Land of Mist? And why’d he make us put down roots in this godforsaken shithole, Wailing Gorge?"
He rubbed his hands, which were red and numb from the cold.
"The Wolf King’s tough, sure, but what’s in it for us here? Nothin’ but fog and wind!"
Hearing this complaint, Tom glanced around nervously.
Even though he couldn’t see a thing in the dense fog, he instinctively lowered his voice.
"Who knows? How could grunts like us ever guess what the boss is thinking? Maybe... maybe the Wolf King promised him the world? Or maybe..."
He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully.
"Maybe the boss is looking for sothing? Or hiding from soone? Whatever the case, lately..."
Tom’s voice dropped even lower, almost to a whisper.
"I feel like sothing’s... off about the boss."
"He was always a vicious bastard, but at least he used to walk the decks, curse us out, divide the loot... we knew where we stood. But now? He’s like a ghost, appearing and disappearing, holed up in that cave all alone. Even First Mate Barton barely sees him. And his orders... well, you can’t make heads or tails of them."
Scar-faced Carl nodded, feeling the sa way.
"Tell about it! Take this whole situation. The boss gives this bizarre, strict order for us to stay deep inside the gorge and not go out looking for trouble."
"If First Mate Barton hadn’t snuck us out for a breather and we hadn’t nabbed that beat-up little rchant ship, the boys would’ve been howling by now! It wasn’t much of a haul, but it was enough to scratch the itch."
A look of satisfaction crossed his face as he spoke.
Tom cracked a grin, but it was quickly replaced by a worried frown.
"We got a little sothing, yeah... but if the boss finds out..."
"What’s there to be afraid of!"
Scar-faced Carl said, putting on a brave front.
"In this damned weather? The boss won’t set foot outside!"
"Besides, we’re just near the mouth of the gorge. We’re not going far. If sothing happens, we can turn tail and be back inside in a flash. This fog is the best cover we could ask for!"
He sounded as if he were trying to convince Tom, but even more so, himself.
Just then, an extrely faint, strange sound seed to drift from the depths of the fog, nearly masked by the noise of the waves and wind.
It sounded like the creak of rubbing wood, or perhaps sothing being dropped into the water.
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