Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 414

Chapter 414: Sea Lions(2) Chapter 414: Sea Lions(2) The clash came like a hurricane-violent, inescapable, and utterly consuming.

The first rows of ships collided with a force that sent tremors through the decks, their hulls slamming into each other with a deafening crack.

Wood splintered and snapped like brittle bones of a child beneath the pressure, jagged shards exploding into the air as vessels shuddered from the sheer impact.

It was as if the gods themselves had seized them, shaking them like playthings before casting them into the storm of battle once they grew bored .

Some ships lurched backward from the collision, thrown off course as though struck by an unseen giant, their prows rearing down only to crash back into the waves with a mighty splash.

Others locked together in a deadly embrace, their timbers groaning in protest as they became one tangled mass of destruction.

The unfortunate souls who failed to brace themselves were hurled into the merciless sea, their screams swallowed by the howling wind and the roar of the battle around them.

For those who plunged into the dark abyss, the ocean’s maw was not a forgiving one.

The lucky ones were pulled under in an instant, the weight of their armor and weapons dragging them into the cold depths, where the light of the sun faded into a shadowy grave.

The others were left to float amidst the wreckage, their fates far crueler.

The saltwater would wasted no time in working its torment, seeping in their wound.

Some clung to shattered planks and broken oars, their fingers white with desperation as the waves battered them from all sides.

But the sea was an unfeeling beast, and those who lingered upon its surface were granted no mercy.

Hours would pass, then days, their skin blistering under the relentless sun, swelling and cracking until it peeled away in strips, leaving their bodies raw and red like the inside of a gutted fish.

Their lips would split, their tongues swell, and madness would take them long before death did.

Yet the battle had no time for those already lost.

Above the waves, the chaos was only beginning.

The two fleets were now fully entwined, ships ramming into one another as warriors bellowed their war cries, steel gleaming in the morning light.

Arrows filled the air like a swarm of stinging wasps, striking down those who dared to move too slowly.

Grappling hooks were cast, thick ropes tightening as enemy vessels were drawn together, bringing the true horror of the battle into full force.

And in the midst of it all, the sea ran red.

Blake groaned , his vision blurred from the violent impact.

He had managed to stay aboard, but the force of the collision had thrown him , his head smashing hard onto the unforgiving wood.

A dull, throbbing pain spread through his skull, pulsing with each frantic beat of his heart.

He sucked in a sharp breath, shaking off the dizziness as he pushed himself upright, his hands slick with sweat and seawater.

The acrid scent of splintered timber filled his nostrils as he steadied himself.

The world around him swayed, though whether it was the rocking of the ship or the fog still gripping his mind, he wasn’t sure.

He blinked rapidly, clearing his sight, and turned his gaze toward the enemy vessel they had struck.

It was shattered.

The prow of the enemy ship was little more than a jagged ruin, torn open as if by the jaws of a sea beast.

The impact had driven it backward, the weight of his flagship, The Roaring Axe, proving overwhelming.

Already, its deck was in disarray-men stumbling, some missing entirely, having been thrown overboard from the force.

Water gushed through the massive wound in its hull, the ship beginning its slow, inevitable descent into the hungry sea.

The Roaring Axe was no ordinary warship-it was a galeass afterall, a beast of a vessel, larger and heavier than the standard galleys around it.

With its reinforced hull and high deck bristling with soldiers it was a battering ram upon the sea.

The sheer mass of it, coupled with the wind at their backs, had made their ramming strike all but unstoppable.

Against smaller ships, they held every advantage; the kinetic force alone ensured that most enemy vessels would buckle under their charge.

The only way to bring down a galeass was through precise, coordinated efforts.

To punch through its defenses, an enemy would have to ram its sides with enough force to cripple its structure-or else swarm its deck, overwhelming its defenders and setting its flag ablaze to signal its fall.

But that was no easy feat, not with Blake’s hardened warriors standing ready, their weapons eager to spill blood.

The first strike had been theirs.

Now came the true test-the boarding, the butchery, and the fight to claim the waves.

 The sea was a cacophony of screams, splintering wood, and the clash of steel as men leaped from ship to ship, turning decks into battlefields.  Gritting his teeth, he steadied himself and barked out the order.

“Tell the rowers to go back!Pull the sail down!

We change course to the next ship!” His voice carried over the chaos, sharp as a blade, and the crew sprang into motion.

The rowers, shackled and sweating below deck, dug their paddles into the sea, straining against the currents as the massive vessel lurched into its new course.  The ship finally changed course , putting the sail up again as they surged forward, Ahead Blake caught sight of another ship, moving around waiting just to be rammed “Row, you bastards!

Faster!” The men below the deck shouted slashing with their whips at the back of the slaves The ship’s speed increased, the bow cutting through the waves like a spear.

The enemy vessel was moments from impact, its deck bristling with defenders scrambling to brace for the inevitable.

Blake gripped the hilt of his sword.

“Again!” he roared.

“Break them!” -‘Uzzah’- was the answer of the crew ————- For the most part, the battle had devolved into a brutal and chaotic melee.

The initial ramming had yielded no decisive breakthroughs-after all, nearly every galley in the battle had its hull reinforced with bronze, making it nearly impossible to breach them head-on.

To shatter an enemy ship outright, one had to strike at the sides with precision and force, a feat easier said than done in the ever-shifting chaos of naval warfare.

Thus, after the first furious collisions, the battle turned into a boarding action.

Crews from both sides scrambled over the rails, swords and axes in hand, clashing in the narrow spaces of their decks.

The air was filled with the clash of steel, the screams of the wounded, and the crash of waves against shattered hulls.

The boarding was a savage, frantic affair.

Crews hurled ropes tipped with iron hooks across the gaps between ships, latching onto enemy rails and hauling their vessels together with brute force.

The groaning of wood and the snap of taut ropes filled the air as decks were forcefully drawn side by side, locking the ships into inescapable combat.

As soon as the hulls were close enough, thick wooden planks were slammed down, bridging the gap between the ships.

Their ends were lined with jagged iron spikes, sinking deep into the enemy deck to anchor them in place.

Then, with a roar, warriors surged forward, charging across the makeshift paths with axes, swords, and maces in hand, eager to bring death to the enemy.

On the other side, defenders braced for the assault, forming tight ranks where they could, their shields raised against the coming storm.

A few archers stood behind them, loosing arrows into the onrushing boarders, their shafts finding gaps in armor and striking down men mid-stride.

The first to cross often met a brutal fate-some cut down before even setting foot on the enemy deck, others struck and thrown overboard, swallowed by the merciless sea.

But hesitation meant death, and as the first wave of men fell, the second and third crashed into the defenders like a relentless tide.

Soon, the battle was no longer one of ships but of men, locked in a deadly struggle atop blood-slicked decks, where steel and fury determined who would rule the sea.

Each ship locked in combat became its own desperate battlefield, men hacking and stabbing at one another in a deadly contest of strength and skill.

Yet, every warrior knew the greatest danger wasn’t just the enemy’s blade-it was the lurking threat of another ship taking advantage of their entanglement, driving its bronze-tipped prow into an exposed flank, sending both vessels and their fighters to the depths.

It was a battle not just of might, but of timing, as every helmsman and captain tried to deal with the enemy’s ships as soon as they could so that they could turn their attention elsewhere and become that threat they had feared, ramming the enemy as they were locked into a fight, effectively meaning that unless they were to conquer the ship they were boarding , they were effectively dead.