The defeat of the Marquis's Juggernaut sent a shockwave through the continent that even the Oakhaven telegraph couldn't outrun. But while the local Lords scrambled to understand "Magnetic Earth-Magic," a much older and more disciplined power was watching from across the Jade Sea.
The Empire of Solis, a massive thalassocracy that had ruled the waves for four centuries, did not care for "honor" or "titles." They cared for the Monopoly of Trade. And Oakhaven's new "Steel-Silk" and "Liquid Fire" were a threat to their global balance.
"The horizon is crowded, Arthur," Elena said, her voice tight as she adjusted the brass telescope on the University's highest balcony. "I counted forty ships. Heavy frigates. They aren't flying the Marquis's black-and-gold. They're flying the Sun-and-Anchor."
Alaric took the glass. The ships were massive, three-masted leviathans, but it was the way they moved that chilled his 21st-century bones. They weren't just sailing, they were trailing a faint, rhythmic pulse of white steam from their hulls.
"They have Side-Wheelers," Alaric whispered. "They've had steam for years, Elena. They just kept it hidden in their naval yards."
---
The Solis Armada didn't attack. They did something far more effective, they sat five miles out, just beyond the range of Oakhaven's shore-mounted "Thunder-Tubes," and dropped anchor.
Within twenty-four hours, the Port of Oakhaven was a ghost town. No grain could leave. No copper could arrive. The "Oakhaven Wage" was suddenly backed by a currency that couldn't buy bread.
"They're going to starve us out," Kaelen said, slamming his fist into the stone battlements. "We can't hit them from here, and if we send our little fishing fleet out there, they'll turn them into toothpicks."
"We don't send a fleet on the water, Kaelen," Alaric said, his mind already diving into the physics of buoyancy and displacement. "We send a fleet Under it."
---
Alaric summoned Harl and the newly formed Engineers' Union. This wasn't a task for soldiers, it was a task for the men who understood pressure-seams and oxygen-scrubbing.
"We need a submersible," Alaric told the gathered workers, sketching a cigar-shaped hull on a massive sheet of vellum. "A Turtle-Ship made of reinforced iron. It needs to be hand-cranked for stealth, but it carries a single, devastating payload, the Static Torpedo."
The workers didn't hesitate. They saw the Imperial ships as the ultimate "Bosses", a power that wanted to take their new-found rights away.
The Hull, they used the high-tensile steel meant for the Duke's bridge, cold-riveted with leather gaskets soaked in tallow to ensure a watertight seal.
The Ballast, a series of internal tanks that could be flooded or cleared using the same vacuum-pump technology Alaric had used on the oil spill.
The Weapon, not a cannon, but a "Spar Torpedo", a long pole tipped with a concentrated charge of "Devil's Dust" designed to explode against a ship's hull below the water line.
---
Three nights later, as a thick fog rolled in from the sea, a small, dark shape slipped beneath the surface of Oakhaven Bay. Inside the Oakhaven-1, Alaric, Kaelen, and Harl were cramped in a space that smelled of sweat and lamp-oil.
"Depth, Ten feet," Alaric whispered, watching a primitive glass manometer. "Keep the rhythm, Harl. We need to stay below their sonar... if they even have it."
The silent, hand-cranked propeller pushed them through the dark water. Above them, the massive wooden hull of the Imperial Flagship, the Invictus, loomed like a drowned mountain. They could hear the muffled sound of sailors laughing and the rhythmic thump of the ship's internal steam-pump.
"Steady," Kaelen breathed, his hand on the trigger-lever of the spar. "Just a little closer..."
---
The Oakhaven-1 bumped gently against the Invictus. Alaric felt the vibration of the Imperial ship's massive engine through the iron hull.
"Now!"
BOOM.
The explosion was muffled by the weight of the sea, but the effect was catastrophic. The water acted as an incompressible force, directing the entire blast into the Imperial ship's hull. A hole the size of a carriage opened up in the Invictus's magazine.
As the Oakhaven-1 backed away, venting its ballast to surface, the Imperial Armada descended into chaos. They saw no enemy. They saw no fire. Their greatest ship was simply... sinking.
"The Sea-God!" an Imperial sailor screamed as the iron "Nautilus" broke the surface, its hatch swinging open to reveal Alaric Vance, illuminated by the fires of the dying flagship.
"No," Alaric shouted across the water, his voice amplified by the fog. "Just an Architect who doesn't like his horizon crowded."
---
The Imperial Admiral, standing on a secondary frigate, watched as his flagship vanished into the depths in less than ten minutes. He didn't order a counter-attack. He ordered a Retreat.
Oakhaven had survived the blockade, but Alaric knew the "Wow Factor" had just gone global. He had revealed the submarine. He had challenged an Empire.
"They'll be back, won't they?" Harl asked as they rowed back to the cheering docks.
"Yes," Alaric said, looking at the sinking wreckage. "And next time, they won't bring sails. They'll bring Dreadnoughts. We need to start the Telegraph Cable under the sea, Elena. We need to find allies before the whole world decides we're too dangerous to exist."