Chapter 430: True Deep-Sea Warfare

The tiflings harbored a bone-deep hatred for all things Lyon. The banishment of the Unholy Kingdom was, in their eyes, the doing of those insufferable humans, a crime no different from the destruction of their homeland.

By the time Allen and Cade materialized, iron hammers were already falling toward their heads.

Allen's reflexes were quick enough. He instinctively threw himself sideways, his legendary blessing carrying him in a flash to the top of a nearby coral formation.

But Cade wasn't fast enough. The hammer connected squarely, driving him straight to the seafloor with his head ringing like a bell.

Fortunately, this was a dream. In the real world, that blow would have caved his skull in.

The two tiflings moved to press the attack, but Allen had already recovered. He reappeared in a flash with his longsword leveled at one tifling's throat. The last member of the Lyon party, a tall paladin, responded by planting a kick squarely into the other attacker's midsection.

Its force was enough to drive the tifling into the seafloor, up to his waist.

Ambrose was no military strategist, but several centuries of adventuring had given him a discerning eye. That one kick told him everything he needed to know: this paladin was surely an elite, one would have been formally knighted in the imperial capital of Lyon.

Seeing that both sides were primed for another exchange, Ambrose snapped his fingers. Transparent walls of ice rose between the groups, separating them cleanly. ree

He floated above the crowd. "You've each landed one hit. Call it even. Anyone who starts something again will get ejected from the dream."

The tiflings sheathed their weapons immediately and retreated to one side.

As for the three Lyon men, Allen helped his brother off the seafloor without complaint. Only the tall paladin kept his gaze fixed on Ambrose with undisguised contempt.

Ambrose rubbed his jaw. What was James Watson thinking, sending someone like this? Did the old man genuinely not fear him setting the orcs on Lyon?

Allen sensed the growing hostility and stepped in quickly. "It's been a while, Master Megaman. You've already met my second brother, Cade. This is my eldest brother, Angus Watson."

"Your eldest brother?" Ambrose said. "How many of you are there?"

"Just the three of us brothers, and two sisters, though they've both married out," Allen replied.

"The old man kept himself busy," Ambrose remarked.

Outside the imperial family, Lyon observed strict monogamy. Five children from James Watson was more than Ambrose had expected. The old man didn't strike him as particularly prolific by inclination.

He looked at Angus Watson. The paladin appeared to be just under forty, which, given James Watson's age, likely made him the eldest by some margin. Coldly, he began, "Your reputation precedes you, Master Megaman. My father and brothers have mentioned your name quite frequently."

The eldest son Angus was considerably more composed than Allen, who had come out swinging the first time they met.

Something was off, though. Hadn't Angus and Allen had a falling-out? From the moment Allen was branded a traitor, he had supposedly broken with the family entirely.

"I heard there was some friction between you brothers," Ambrose said. "What brings all three of you here together today?"

"A misunderstanding, nothing more," Allen said quickly. "What family doesn't argue? Angus understands my true position now and has decided to back us. What you might not know, Master Megaman, is that Angus has taken first place in Lyon's military exercises several times over. He just hasn't accumulated the seniority required for a general's rank yet."

Ambrose was forced to reassess Angus Watson. Lyon's military exercises were taken seriously—the entire empire practically lived for war, and winning those exercises repeatedly meant Angus had serious skill.

Still, it was plain that Allen's side was running thin on talent if the three brothers had to show up themselves for something like this. Allen likely had few usable commanders on his side.

Family affairs weren't Ambrose's business. He let it go and told everyone to settle in and wait.

The tiflings were still itching for another round, and kept glancing at the three brothers with barely contained aggression. But with Ambrose there to enforce order, they were forced to hold themselves in check.

The elven and merfolk delegations arrived in short order, filling the remaining positions.

Alderien came with a male and female elf in attendance; the high priestess arrived with two subordinates in coral armor.

Ambrose wasted no time. "The reason I've gathered you all in this shared dream is simple: the battle plans you submitted are far removed from the realities of ocean warfare. I know you're all experts at fighting on land. Not understanding the ocean is entirely reasonable.

"That's why we're going to run a live exercise today."

He swept a hand outward. The brilliant coral landscape dissolved into a dimly lit, jagged submarine trench. The shoals of fish vanished. In their place, massive sea creatures lurked in the shadows.

When a shark glided past, with eyes larger than human heads, even the tiflings went pale. The elven king's expression changed. The Watson brothers' faces went taut.

Words and numbers couldn't convey what that single glimpse had. Facing a monster of that size, everyone gained an immediate and visceral appreciation for the realities of the deep ocean.

They were all accomplished fighters or commanders, and they kept themselves composed. No one disgraced themselves.

Ambrose gave them a few seconds to absorb the sight, then continued, "This is a location every single one of your battle plans identified as strategically significant. A trench capable of supporting creatures this size clearly holds abundant resources, which makes it contested territory. At least you all reached the same conclusion independently, so that much is encouraging.

"However, the specific tactics you proposed are entirely disconnected from how ocean warfare actually works. According to the assessment of our merfolk advisors, none of them have any practical value."

Angus Watson was the first to object.

I may lack experience in deep-sea combat, and my tactics may contain errors, but to say they have no practical value whatsoever is something I cannot accept."

Ambrose smiled. "Then let's run the exercise and see."

He turned to the high priestess. "I'll leave it to you."

The high priestess raised her trident. At the tip of its tines, an army of shagin materialized, dense, menacing, and utterly convincing. They had all the savagery of the real thing.

"Three thousand shagin," the high priestess said. "That is my force. Gentlemen from the mainland, assume you've already taken the trench. Set up your defensive line according to the plans you submitted."

The novelty of the method clearly engaged everyone.

Every person in the room had some experience with command, and they immediately recognized what they were being offered. This was a perfect training environment, more immediate and stimulating than any sand table exercise or strategic simulation they had ever encountered.

Angus didn't hesitate. As he concentrated, a force of merfolk and roca began to take shape around him. The intelligence Ambrose had distributed included basic combat profiles for both species, giving them a foundation to work from.

The high priestess allowed Angus two hours to set his defenses, and generously permitted him to modify the trench's terrain.

When Angus Watson was satisfied that his line was impregnable, the high priestess raised her hand and sent the shagin forward.

There was no contest at all.

Angus Watson's defensive line was breached in under three minutes. In fifteen, it had completely collapsed. Equal numbers of merfolk and roca had been consumed entirely, while the shagin had suffered losses of perhaps a thousand.

Three to one casualties in the attacker's favor, with the trench lost, its defensive lines broken, and control completely ceded to the shagin.

Angus Watson stood in silence, unable to speak.

The high priestess said calmly, "Your tactics are designed for armies. Building a defensive line behind coral formations and crevices in the rock walls is discreet, but the ocean doesn't work that way. What you actually need to hold this position is command of the water above you."

She pointed her trident toward the light-filtered surface far above. The shagin had attacked from that direction, first releasing a dense group of squid to produce curtains of ink, waiting until the trench was thoroughly obscured in darkness, and finally closing in for a direct melee engagement.

Merfolk were at their best at range, deploying spells to wear down opponents. Cut off their vision, and their effectiveness dropped by more than half.

Shagin, on the other hand, tracked by scent and fought best in darkness. At close quarters, merfolk simply weren't their equal.

Both sides had been configured with locked morale for the exercise, so the merfolk held their ground to the last fighter rather than breaking. In a real engagement, the shagin's losses would likely have been even smaller.

"This isn't fair!" Angus Watson cried out. "I had no way of knowing any of that!"

The briefing had mentioned that marine creatures could be used as weapons of war, but asking a man who had spent his life on land to extrapolate every tactical application of every ocean organism in a matter of hours was unreasonable.

Who would think to use squid as a smoke screen?

Who would think to drop ink down from above? And who would have expected that the ink couldn't simply be dispelled by magic?

"Has any war you've ever fought been fair?" Ambrose laughed. "Angus Watson, that complaint is beneath the likes of you."

Angus Watson unclenched his fists. "If possible," he said evenly, "I'd like to go again."

"Of course. You'll have plenty of chances. But first, who else would like a turn?"

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