The three Dutch warships formed a line on the open sea, gun ports open, looking ready for war.
Raphael's ship stopped two hundred meters away.
"Tell their commander to come see me," he said to the signalman.
Flags were raised.
The other side stayed silent for a moment, then lowered a small boat. A man in a Dutch officer's uniform rowed over.
He climbed aboard — mid-forties, neatly trimmed mustache, arrogant eyes.
He looked Raphael up and down, then glanced at the sailors on deck, his lip curling in clear disdain.
"So you're the pirate who's been squatting on the Singapore River?"
He spoke in broken Spanish. "I am Captain Van Hoof of the Dutch East India Company. I'm here to inform you that your activities in this area seriously harm the Company's interests. From this moment on, you and your men must leave immediately, or else—"
He never finished.
Raphael drew his steel sword in one smooth motion and sliced off the man's head.
The body collapsed onto the deck. The head rolled twice and stopped against the railing.
Those arrogant eyes were still open, staring blankly at the sky.
The Dutch sailors in the small boat screamed and rowed frantically back.
Raphael stood at the bow, looking at the three warships two hundred meters away.
"Close in."
The flagship raised full sails and charged toward the nearest Dutch ship.
Cannonballs screamed through the air, exploding in tall columns of water around the hull.
Raphael didn't move. His Force perception was fully open — every cannonball's trajectory appeared crystal clear in his mind.
"Port ten degrees!" he shouted.
The helmsman spun the wheel hard. The ship heeled sharply. A cannonball whistled past the railing.
"Starboard five degrees."
Another cannonball plunged into the sea, spraying the deck with water.
Two hundred meters vanished in moments.
The second the flagship rammed alongside the Dutch warship, the fight was already over.
Raphael leaped onto the enemy deck, steel sword in hand, becoming a black whirlwind tearing through the crew.
Dutch sailors fought desperately — firing guns, swinging cutlasses, thrusting bayonets — but bullets stopped mid-air as if hitting an invisible wall and fell harmlessly. Blades that struck him couldn't even cut his clothes.
Every swing of Raphael's sword dropped another man.
He didn't kill — he crippled. Sliced wrists, hamstrung ankles, slashed shoulders.
In this era, being wounded was a hundred times more terrifying than death.
But it was more than enough to break the Dutch.
Ten minutes later, the warship's deck was covered in wounded men. The rest knelt, trembling, no longer daring to resist.
Raphael stood at the bow and looked at the other two Dutch ships. They were turning their guns, exchanging fire with the two escort ships he had brought.
He took a deep breath.
The Force surged through him. He pushed off the deck and leaped like a giant bird across the gap to the second warship.
The Dutch sailors on board watched in horror as a man dropped from the sky into their midst.
Raphael gave them no time to react.
Another ten minutes and the second ship was taken.
He stood at the railing and looked at the third warship.
It was already turning, trying to flee.
With the Force boosting him, Raphael leaped again and landed on the third ship's deck.
This fight ended even faster.
The Dutch crew here had already been broken by fear. When they saw Raphael land among them, many simply dropped their weapons and fell to their knees.
With that, all three Dutch warships were captured.
Raphael stood at the bow of the first ship, looking at the trembling Dutch prisoners kneeling on the deck.
"Bring me their captain."
Several Spanish sailors dragged forward a fat, round-faced Dutch man.
The man was shaking violently, face deathly pale, pants visibly wet.
"M-mercy, my lord! Mercy!"
Raphael looked at him.
"How many men does the East India Company have in the South Seas?"
"V-very… many…"
The captain stammered, "Batavia alone has over two thousand troops and more than a hundred warships…"
Raphael nodded.
"Go back and tell your governor: I'm keeping these three ships. If he wants them back, bring five thousand taels of gold per ship. The men will cost extra."
The captain's eyes widened.
"B-but… that's…"
Raphael raised his sword.
"Refuse and die right now."
The captain nodded desperately.
"I'll go! I'll go!"
Raphael ordered a small boat lowered and shoved the captain and a few Dutch sailors into it.
The little boat bobbed away, heading south.
Elizabeth stood beside Raphael, watching the small boat grow smaller in the distance.
"They won't let this go."
Raphael turned.
"I know."
He looked at the three brand-new Dutch warships.
"But the next time they come, it won't be just three ships."
---
In the following month, Raphael prepared for war with everything he had.
All ten sailing warships — the seven Spanish galleons brought from Trinidad and the three captured Dutch vessels — were moved twenty sea miles south to a hidden island with a natural deep-water harbor surrounded by reefs. Anyone unfamiliar with the channels would never find it.
Raphael ordered the fleet hidden there, leaving only a few small patrol boats outside.
The population of the Singapore River settlement also began evacuating.
Over two thousand Chinese settlers — old and young, carrying whatever they could — moved inland along the river.
Raphael set up three defensive lines on the road leading inland: trenches, barricades, and hidden musketeers.
Elizabeth followed the evacuating crowd inland. As the person closest to Raphael, she was responsible for keeping morale up.
Before leaving, she turned back to look at him.
Raphael stood on the newly built watchtower, staring out at the southern sea.
---
One month later, the Dutch arrived.
The horizon turned black as thirty-seven warships formed a line, gun ports gleaming coldly in the sunlight.
Raphael stood on the watchtower and counted.
Thirty-seven.
The largest flagship in the center flew the Dutch East India Company flag, snapping in the wind.
"My lord, they're here," a Spanish captain ran up, face pale.
Raphael nodded.
"Follow the plan."
When night fell, the Dutch fleet dropped anchor outside the Singapore River harbor.
They didn't open fire immediately — the harbor was empty, not a single ship in sight. What was there to shoot?
Raphael stood behind the first defensive line, Force perception fully extended.
He could "see" everything the Dutch were doing: small boats being lowered from the warships, packed with soldiers, rowing toward shore.
The first wave to land was about a thousand men — all musketeers.
They formed up on the beach, waited half an hour to confirm there was no ambush, then began advancing inland.
Raphael didn't move.
He let the thousand musketeers march up the road toward the settlement.
They moved slowly, every step cautious, eyes scanning the jungle on both sides.
Once they had gone far enough, Raphael rose from his hiding place and slipped toward the beach.
Dozens of Dutch soldiers were still on the sand — several officers stood giving orders for the next wave.
A small boat had just beached, carrying a middle-aged man in an ornate uniform, gold epaulets shining in the moonlight.
Raphael didn't know who he was, but he knew the man was at least a commodore.
He moved.
The Force exploded. He became a black lightning bolt across the beach.
A few Dutch soldiers turned — and collapsed silently, throats locked by the Force.
The commodore hadn't even reacted when Raphael was suddenly in front of him, steel sword pressed to his neck.
"Order your men to stop," Raphael said.
The commodore's face turned white. His lips trembled, but he still tried to sound brave.
"Do you know who I am? I am Commodore—"
Raphael flicked his wrist. The blade drew a thin line of blood across the man's throat.
"Talk again and you die."
The commodore shut up.
Raphael marched him forward, chasing after the thousand musketeers who had already entered the jungle.
His speed was terrifying. By the time the commodore's escorts realized what happened, the two of them had already vanished into the night.
An hour later, the thousand musketeers were trapped in front of the second defensive line.
Raphael appeared behind them with the commodore in tow.
"Tell your men to surrender," Raphael ordered.
The commodore looked at the black gun barrels aimed at them, then at the hundreds of Spanish musketeers behind the trenches, and finally lowered his head.
"S-surrender."
A thousand muskets hit the ground. Two thousand hands went up.
At dawn, Raphael stood on the beach looking at the long line of Dutch prisoners squatting in rows.
The commodore and a dozen senior officers were held separately in a tent — at least they had shade.
Raphael walked up to the commodore.
"Have your soldiers unload every scrap of supplies from the ships. Gunpowder, cannonballs, food, fresh water — leave nothing behind."
The commodore stared.
"B-but… that's…"
Raphael said nothing. He just looked at him.
The commodore lowered his head.
"I… I'll give the order."
The command went out. The prisoners began working.
Small boats shuttled back and forth between the warships and the beach, unloading barrels of gunpowder, crates of cannonballs, sacks of bread and dried meat.
Raphael had everything counted and moved to the settlement's warehouses.
It took the entire day to strip all thirty-six warships clean.
The next morning, Raphael ordered the smallest warship prepared with a little fresh water and food.
"Pick a few prisoners," he told the Spanish captain, pointing at the ship. "One junior officer, three sailors, two musketeers. Send them back with the message."
The commodore's face turned deathly pale.
"My lord! You said you'd let me go!"
Raphael looked at him.
"I said one man would go back with the message. I never said it would be you."
The commodore's legs gave out. He nearly collapsed.
"My lord! My lord! I'll speak for you when I return! I swear I'll—"
Raphael waved his hand. Two Spanish sailors dragged the commodore away.
When the junior officer was brought forward, he was shaking uncontrollably.
Raphael looked at him.
"Go back and tell your governor: five thousand taels of gold and one hundred thousand taels of silver to ransom everyone. That includes the commodore, the dozen officers, and the thousand musketeers."
The junior officer nodded desperately.
"Yes! Yes! I'll deliver it!"
---