The Heir Who Wouldn’t Drown
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 14: Five Seconds to Freedom
Creak. Creak...
The wooden sailing ship rolled in the heavy wind and seas, her timbers groaning with a sound that set teeth on edge. The higher one climbed, the more violent the swaying became.
The naval lieutenant struggling up the mainmast’s shrouds wore his uniform with four pistols tucked into a leather cross belt across his chest. Unlike a warrant officer, who was merely a candidate for a commission, a lieutenant was a fully qualified officer aboard a warship, with at least two years of service and an Admiralty examination behind him.
Like Julian, he had also undergone spiritual awakening but had yet to perform an initiation rite. He was only halfway to becoming a supernatural practitioner.
Only a tiny handful of geniuses achieved spiritual sublimation unaided before adulthood. Most supernatural practitioners awakened gradually with the help of potions and aromatic resin, after growing older, taking on responsibilities in society, and gaining experience. Those twenty and older were the norm.
“Made it!”
While everyone else was caught up in the melee, the lieutenant entrusted with Baron Valentin’s flag-planting mission finally reached the mainmast’s topgallant yard. Delight crossed his face.
Only the bravest sailors dared climb so high in a Force 6 wind. Dozens of meters beneath his feet, waves were already throwing up spray. One slip meant certain death.
But high risk meant high reward.
The merit he earned from this mission would be enough to secure the knowledge he needed for an advancement rite. His goal was to become a [Gunnery Specialist] of the Lighthouse Sequence, earn further distinction, and rise to field-grade officer. Then he could serve aboard a fourth-rate or higher ship of the line, put his career on the fast track, and become a “gentleman” recognized by high society!
True, when he first enlisted, he had sworn allegiance to Alaric VI of House Ravenshaw.
But he was no pigheaded [Knight of Retribution].
What was loyalty compared with his own future?
Never mind hunting the [Hellborn], a suspected remnant of the Ravenshaw faction. He would have been perfectly willing to put a blade into the old king himself.
The Ravenshaw Dynasty had fallen. The Ashcombe Dynasty had taken its place. With the White Rose in control of the [Iron Law of Kingship], no consequences for breaking his oath could reach him, so long as he could live with himself.
The lieutenant tore down the shark-riding skull flag and nailed the Hastings blood-cross ensign securely in its place.
Raising it was the signal. He was in no hurry to leave. He intended to stay and ensure the [Edict] took effect, then enjoy his moment of glory.
Aboard [Severe], Baron Valentin raised a hand toward [Maneater Shark], now within his jurisdiction. He aimed his gold ring of legal authority at the pirate vessel and proclaimed:
“Edict: All pirates without a letter of marque issued by this country, and all acts of piracy committed without one...”
Just then, as the lieutenant thought the matter all but settled, the noble baron’s expression changed sharply. He pointed behind him.
The lieutenant turned to see a figure launch itself at him like a leopard from the shrouds on the other side of the mainmast.
A warning from his [spirituality] made him twist aside and retreat a step at the last possible instant. The sword stroke that should have severed his neck scraped across his chest instead. His mail armor stopped it, leaving little damage.
Julian’s expression did not change. He shifted his attack at once, pulling on the safety rope tied around his body to leap to the other side of the yard. As they passed, a close-range slice sheared a piece of flesh from the lieutenant’s thigh.
The aspiring [Gunnery Specialist] was plainly no accomplished swordsman. The sudden pain nearly sent him tumbling from the topgallant yard. He hurriedly reached for a flintlock pistol in his cross belt.
At a distance, a gun was faster than a sword. Up close, it was faster and accurate, too!
Even supernatural practitioners of the lower ranks were regularly shot dead by the concentrated fire of ordinary soldiers.
Unfortunately, in the confusion of the ambush, the lieutenant had failed to notice something.
As they exchanged positions, Julian had moved upwind. The lieutenant was now downwind.
Julian flicked out a packet of red powder. The sea wind, blowing at fourteen meters per second, plastered it straight across the lieutenant’s face.
“Aaah!”
An even more agonized scream rang out above the battlefield. The searing pain in his eyes left him unable to reach for his firearm.
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