Translator: CinderTL
"With the Seabird's current strength, taking down those three pirate ships in a direct assault would be no problem at all."
"But once boarding combat descends into chaos, casualties are inevitable... We should devise a meticulous battle plan to minimize losses."
Having made up his mind, Roland activated the additional buff Observing the Sea, triggered by the resonance between his Fisherman and Adept classes.
As a faint silver glow flickered in his eyes, the details of the surrounding world suddenly sharpened in his perception, reorganizing themselves in a peculiar manner.
The gentle breeze brushing his cheek no longer felt soft; it carried the muffled wail of distant high-altitude currents.
The seemingly aimless cirrus clouds in the sky shed their superficial appearance, slowly coalescing and descending.
Several seabirds skimming low over the sails abruptly folded their wings and plunged toward the sea surface, as if evading an invisible threat.
Farther out, a fleeting silver glimmer flashed deep beneath the water's surface.
It was a school of fish sensing subtle disturbances in the depths and executing their habitual evasive maneuvers.
These minute anomalies—
The wind's whispers, the clouds' cryptic formations, the animals' frantic behavior—converged into a silent torrent, surging into Roland's consciousness.
It was like flipping through a nautical log etched by the wind, waves, and living creatures themselves. The weather patterns for the next few days rapidly coalesced in his mind.
Yet a spiritual heaviness descended upon him, as if invisible seawater were pressing against his temples.
Still, he clearly "read" it all.
Today would be sunny with scattered clouds, the wind steady and mild—an utterly ordinary good day.
Tomorrow afternoon, the wind would gradually strengthen, bringing a thin fog and sporadic light rain from the northwest. Visibility would decrease slightly, but not enough to cause significant trouble.
At dawn on the third day, the massive accumulation of moisture over the northwestern sea would surge forth.
A dense fog would envelop the outer reaches of Howling Gorge and the adjacent waters, expected to persist for at least half a day.
As Roland "observed" the weather he had discerned, a glint of sharp calculation flashed in his eyes, followed by a surge of intense excitement that coursed through him like an electric current.
In these notoriously unpredictable waters, dense fog was like a persistent phantom—one of the sailors' most familiar yet most vexing "companions."
At times, it led to fatal navigational errors and collisions; at others, it served as an ideal natural barrier.
Now, this common, even tiresome maritime phenomenon transformed in his eyes into a once-in-a-millennium perfect opportunity for battle.
By exploiting this natural veil, he could minimize the losses from boarding combat.
The silver glow faded, and Roland's eyes regained their usual sharp focus, though the lingering mental exhaustion still throbbed faintly.
Yet his lips couldn't help but curve upward.
It was the same thrill a chess player feels upon discovering a brilliant checkmate move—a blend of exhilaration and unwavering confidence.
"Hoby."
He swiftly suppressed his surging emotions, his voice returning to its steady, commanding tone.
"Issue the orders."
The halfling straightened his back, his attention sharpening.
"First, instruct the scout ships to maintain covert surveillance, rotating shifts at fixed intervals. They must track the pirate fleet's movements and report any anomalies immediately."
"Second, order the Seabird to lower its sails and find a suitable sheltered anchorage downwind. All non-essential personnel will rotate shifts to rest and conserve energy. Combat personnel will conduct final inspections and pre-battle drills as planned, ensuring they're ready for immediate engagement."
"Finally..."
Roland took a deep breath.
"At dawn the day after tomorrow, a dense fog will blanket this sea. We'll use this fog as cover for our operation. The specific battle plan will be finalized based on the latest reconnaissance reports."
"Tell the crew to rest well. In two days, I'll make the pirates taste the Seabird's claws in the fog!"
Hoby's eyes lit up instantly.
He had witnessed Roland's weather prediction abilities firsthand during their naval training.
Though he didn't know how Roland had acquired this skill, his predictions were always unerringly accurate.
Hearing these words, the halfling responded without hesitation.
"As you command, Mr. Roland!"
The diminutive figure darted off like an arrow released from a crossbow, his booming orders immediately echoing across the deck.
A fog as thick as milk silently engulfed the sea surrounding Howling Gorge, firmly enveloping the three dilapidated but towering pirate ships.
Visibility was pitifully low. The lookouts at the mastheads could barely make out the hazy outlines of neighboring vessels and the shadows cast by the jagged rocks at the gorge's entrance—shadows that resembled the fangs of colossal sea beasts.
On the quarterdeck of the Bloodclaw, two pirates wrapped in thick oilcloth cloaks leaned against the damp railing, struggling to ward off the chill and suffocating gloom brought by the dense fog.
"This damned fog!" Scarface Carl's voice, thick with nasal congestion, was full of irritation.
"It's wet, it's cold, and you can't see a damn thing! My bones are rotting from the damp. Howling Gorge, Howling Gorge—hell, even the ghosts are too lazy to howl anymore!"
Tom, his companion, a wiry man as lean as an iron rod, hunched his shoulders and tightened his cloak around himself.
"Be grateful, Carl. At least we're keeping watch at the gorge entrance, not rotting in that gloomy ghost hole inside. That place... ugh! Stay there too long and your blood turns cold. Those were the days..."
His voice drifted off with a hint of nostalgia.
"Back in the Pearl Sea, that was living! Sunshine, beaches, fine wine, and endless gold coins and women... carefree days, robbing whoever we pleased."
"True enough."
A brief silence settled between them. After a moment, a flicker of awe crossed Scarface Carl's eyes as he asked, puzzled, "Why would the boss give up such a good life to pledge allegiance to that Wolf King of Mistland? And why settle in this godforsaken place like Howling Gorge?"
He rubbed his frostbitten, reddened hands.
"The Wolf King might be powerful, but what can we gain here? Nothing but fog and wind!"
Hearing this complaint, Tom warily glanced around.
Though the thick fog obscured everything, he instinctively lowered his voice.
"Who knows? We're just grunts—how could we presume to guess the boss's motives? Maybe... the Wolf King promised him some incredible reward? Or maybe..."
He paused, as if carefully choosing his words.
"Maybe the boss is searching for something? Or hiding from someone? Lately..."
Tom's voice dropped to a near whisper.
"I've got a bad feeling about the boss."
"He used to be fierce, but at least he'd walk the deck, yell at us, and divide the spoils. We knew where we stood. Now? He's like a ghost, holed up in his cave, barely even seeing First Mate Barton. And his orders... well, they're just baffling."
Scarface Carl nodded in deep agreement.
"Exactly! Take this mission, for example. The boss suddenly ordered us to stay deep in the canyon, forbidding us from causing any trouble outside."
"If First Mate Barton hadn't secretly led us out for some fresh air and we hadn't caught that rickety merchant ship, the lads would have been howling with hunger by now! It wasn't much, but at least it satisfied our cravings."
As he spoke, a hint of satisfaction flickered across his face.
Tom grinned briefly, but the smile quickly faded, replaced by worry.
"We did get some loot... but what if the boss finds out?"
"What's there to fear?" Scarface Carl forced a brave front. "In this cursed weather, the boss wouldn't dare come out!"
"Besides, we're just near the canyon mouth, not venturing far. If trouble comes, we can turn back and dive into the canyon in a flash. This fog is the perfect cover!"
He seemed to be convincing Tom, but even more so, he was trying to convince himself.
Just then, a faint, almost imperceptible sound drifted from the depths of the fog, nearly drowned out by the crashing waves and howling wind.
It sounded like the creaking of wood rubbing against wood, or perhaps something being thrown into the water.
(End of the Chapter)
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