Restart:Untalented Man

After hours of arduous marching under the moonlit sky, Wilmot and his weary army finally came to a halt, seeking respite in the cover of darkness. The location they settled on for their nighttime campout was nestled in a dense forest, offering some semblance of shelter and concealment from prying eyes.

Under the shimmering moonlight, soldiers swiftly set to work. Tents of various sizes and shapes emerged amidst the trees. Each tent was meticulously positioned to form a defensive perimeter around the main command centre.

As the soldiers settled into their assigned tents, exhaustion etched across their faces. Bedrolls were unfurled, creating makeshift beds on the forest floor and campfires were kindled.

Slowly, the voices in the camp died out as the soldiers gradually fell asleep leaving only sentinels to keep watch and ensure the safety of their comrades.

Their vigilant eyes scanned the surrounding darkness for any signs of danger. Nonetheless, the only sounds that punctuated the stillness of the midnight camp are the distant hoot of an owl and the rustling of leaves.

Far to the west of their camp, Admiral Wagner and General Braun reached the conclusion of their strategic meeting. Both of them had a clear idea of their next move. The plan was set.

....

In the light of the following morning, General Braun led his army of seventeen thousand men on the arduous march towards Napuna. The soldiers trudged forward with the weight of their armour and weapons burdened their bodies. At the very least, they're not burning under the scorching sun.

Instead, a damp and chilly breeze swept through the ranks. The soldiers shiver beneath their armour. The air this morning was heavy with moisture, and the distant rumble of thunder could be heard echoing in the distance.

Some of them look up to the grey sky above. Dark clouds gathered, obscuring the sun and casting a gloomy atmosphere over the march. The impending rain seemed imminent.

General Braun ordered the army to press on, taking advantage of this cold weather to accelerate their marching speed.

The raindrops soon began to fall sporadically. At first, it came down gently but as time passed, the intensity grow. The soldiers can feel the ground beneath their boots turns muddy, making each step more challenging than the last. 

"General!! Should we stop for a while?" asked the soldier behind him.

"No," Braun's reply was short and firm. "They're always complaining about marching under the hotness of the sun, right? Now, I will let them enjoy the downpour."

Inwardly, the soldier couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration and resentment towards the general's response. While the majority of them walks on their feet, their commander rode on horseback.

Nevertheless, the soldiers didn't give up. "Sir, can we at least take off our armour during this downpour? I don't think there is an enemy out here, soaking in the rain."

The armour and equipment grew heavier as the rainwater collected on their surfaces. The burden on their bodies increases significantly. Sooner or later, they will be forced to halt their movement whether the general like it or not.

The soldier's question hung in the air for a moment before his reply echoed through the rank, "Sure."

The soldiers' spirits lifted at the unexpected response. They slowly unfastened buckles, loosened straps and took off various parts of their armour. Pieces of metal and leather clinked and clanked as they were set aside. The soldiers were temporarily freed from the weight that had been burdened them for so long. 

After a brief interval, the soldiers began to prepare themselves to resume the march.

They still have days of distance to cover.

...

Admiral Wagner, on the other hand, lead his contingent of five thousand sailors to Betbury where the fleet of ships under their command lay anchored.

The first ordered issue by Admiral Wagner is to assess and inspect the ships. 

Each vessel was carefully examined, from the hull to the rigging, ensuring they were seaworthy and ready for combat. The sailors climbed aboard, inspecting the masts, sails, and decks with practised eyes, looking for any indications of wear and addressing necessary maintenance or repairs.

As the sailors diligently worked on their assigned tasks, the rain began to descend. Their clothing was soaked and the deck surface glistened with rainwater. Gradually, the sound of the rain intensified, drowning out other noises and creating a serene yet invigorating atmosphere.

One by one, the sailors approached Admiral Wagner to report on the condition of their assigned vessels. The majority of the reports were positive. They detailed the thorough checks they had conducted, highlighting the sturdy hulls, secure rigging, and well-maintained equipment.

Admiral Wagner listened attentively, nodding in acknowledgement of their reports. Bolstered by the positive ship condition reports, he gives his order. "Good work, everyone. It appears that we're ready to set sail."

The sailors swiftly responded, hoisting the sails and preparing the ships for departure. The fleet set out on its journey while the rain continued to pour down, slicing through the rough seas towards their next destination. 

As they sailed, a palpable sense of unease settled upon the admiral. The ocean, shrouded in a thick mist, seemed to mirror his growing apprehension.

Through the misty veil, he caught glimpses of movement on the horizon. Soon, multiple silhouettes appeared in the distance and approached them.

He reached for his spyglass and peered through it. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the waving flag atop the lead ship.

It was a flag adorned with a deep crimson red, a symbol he recognized all too well, belonged to none other than Ryntum. The last thing he wish to see in this campaign was that flag.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Wagner turned to his officers and issued the order, "Prepare to outrun the Ryntum fleet! Signal the ships to increase speed and manoeuvre into the dense fog ahead. We will use it to our advantage and lose them in its shroud."

The sailors sprang into action, adjusting the rigging and trimming the sails. As the sails filled with wind, the fleet surged forward while swiftly altering its course, veering towards the dense fog bank that loomed ahead. 

Admiral Wagner stood at the helm of his flagship, his gaze piercing through the foggy veil. His experienced eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for any sign of the pursuing Ryntum fleet. The admiral knew the Ryntum was unlikely to give up so easily.

Minutes turned into an agonizing stretch of time. The silence caused them to be restless. 

A sudden shout rang out from the crow's nest. "Admiral! The Ryntum fleet is closing in on our position!"

"Tsk," Wagner clicked this tongue. Wasting no time, orders were issued. "Prepare for evasive manoeuvres! Signal the fleet to change course, break formation, and scatter amidst the fog. We must make it harder for the Ryntum fleet to target us."

Each of Blande's vessels begins to alter its course, dispersing in calculated chaos. 

The rain continued to intensify, reducing their visibility to mere meters. The tension among the sailors grew as it became harder to discern friend from foe. They had no other choice aside from relying on their training, experience and instincts.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the distant thunder of cannons. Fortunately, none of Blande's ships were hit by it. A wave of relief washed over Wagner. 

It seems the far distance between them is what kept Blande fleet safe. 

Admiral Wagner wasted no time in issuing orders. "All ships continue changing your course! Don't clump into one spot. Put as much distance as possible."

It became clear that the Ryntum fleet was relentlessly tailing them from behind. Occasionally, the cannons were shot but none of them hit their target.

Thanks to the dense fog and dark atmosphere engulfing them, Wagner could see a flicker of light each time the cannons were shot. It allowed him to give appropriate commands and prepare for the impact.

Seeing that the performance of the Ryntum navy is not up to his expectation, fear in Wagner's heart slowly disappears and were replaced by confidence.

His mind begins to cook up some plan to turn the situation around.

The moments ticked by, the plan was formed piece by piece. However, a sudden voice from his sailor disrupts it all. "Admiral!"

Startled and slightly annoyed, Wagner turned to the source of the interruption. "What is it?" 

The sailor's face paled as he pointed in a specific direction. "There's a ship directly ahead of us." 

Wagner's eyes widened in disbelief. "That can't be," he muttered. He swiftly moved to the ship's bow with his spyglass, peering through the rain and mist to get a clearer view.

Sure enough, there it was a massive ship emerging from the haze, seemingly materializing out of thin air. Its presence loomed ominously, blocking their intended path and leaving little room for manoeuvring.

Wagner's eyes frantically scanned the ship, searching for any distinguishing symbol to identify its affiliation. His gaze darted across its towering masts and rain-soaked sails and caught sight of a crimson red flag, defiantly fluttering in the torrential wind.

His breath caught in his throat, "Impossible! How?" His mind races, searching for clues to figure out how they communicate with each other. 

As if the light bulb suddenly lit atop his head, the admiral got the answer. "The cannons! They communicate with each other using cannon fire! Damnit!" He exclaimed.

"Admiral, what should—" Before the sailor finished his question, the cannons were fired.

Boom!—

The ship near Wagner's flagship was blasted into smithereens.