Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 368 The Strategies of Both Sides

The firelight flickered on the deck, dividing the room into light and shadow.

A sheepskin bag soaked in salt water sat on the table, its corners still emitting a fishy smell.

Cavill opened the rough sealing rope and read in a rough voice: "The first batch of merchant ships from Red Tide Territory will set sail in two days. There will be ten ships, organized and dispersed, with their destination in the Southeast Province."

Cavill grinned and said, "You've finally arrived."

"Ten frigates..." He kept those words in mind.

His eyes held neither joy nor fear, only the chilling realization that every gain and loss had been calculated.

Although there were many guards, they were all drag chains.

What could truly be exchanged for silver were the cargo holds filled with precious minerals.

The sheepskin map was spread out on the table, and the candlelight flickered on it.

Cavill took a rusty nail, pressed it onto a shipping route, and then traced the three words on the map with his finger—"Tidal Rift Zone."

“A natural graveyard.” Cavill chuckled, his laughter low and cold.

The rift valley was the only route for caravans, and also the graveyard that Cavill had chosen for them.

The small islands on both sides are hidden and the water conditions are complex. He has already dispatched ten iron claw fire-throwing boats to be stationed there.

Each boat operates in pairs, carrying fuel canisters and grappling hooks. When the tide changes, they will strike from the shadows, lock the keel of enemy ships, and capsize them in the undercurrent.

Cavill calculated the time; these past few days, the afternoon tides had risen, and the breath of the tides had coincided with the red tide fleet's route.

That thirty-minute period of tidal change is an excellent window.

When the tide rises a foot, the current reverses, allowing one's fleet to sail swiftly from the northern front, avoiding the patrol lights and quietly infiltrating behind enemy lines.

Cavill traced the route on the map with the tip of his knife. When he reached the end, the blade stopped on a lone reef, and he murmured, "This is where we'll pull in the net."

He then marked several small dots on the side of the map, indicating the locations where fuel drums had been buried beforehand.

Once the escort ships approach, he will set the sea ablaze, letting the billowing smoke obscure the enemy's vision and cover the main force's advance.

Cavill's hand stopped on the diagram; he looked at the symbols, but his expression remained unchanged.

Everything seemed like a calculation.

Even betrayal, failure, and escape were precisely incorporated into the plan.

Cavill had measured the tides, calculated the time, and measured the spread of the flames. He knew the burning time of each fuel canister and the load capacity and evacuation radius of each fireboat.

Cavill's meticulousness permeated every detail: spare winches, folding planks, wax-sealed tokens, and even which man should carry how many rations.

Every route has a fallback plan, and every point has an alternative.

Even the guards at Dawn Lighthouse have accepted money to delay the alarm by one minute whenever he lights a specific beacon.

That one minute was enough for him to finish the harvest.

Moreover, if the operation fails, he will abandon ship at the mouth of the reef and set it on fire, letting the enemy see the burned wreckage. Then, he will lead his trusted men to sneak into the small town of Raven's Nest, which he had already set up, change his name, and live a different life.

Inside the cabin, the firelight reflected the cold gleam of his metal prosthetic jaw. He looked less like a pirate and more like an accountant writing a death ledger at sea.

For him, so-called brotherhood was just a tool to make money.

The shouts and laughter of pirates echoed from the deck. In the firelight, they pounded barrel lids, clanged blades, cursed loudly, and sang savage songs.

They bumped and shoved each other, spilling strong liquor on the wooden planks, the smell of liquor mixed with blood.

It was a kind of arrogant clamor, like wild beasts roaring at each other before a storm.

The cabin door was ajar, and Cavill stood at the helm, his gaze peering through the window at the revelers.

The moonlight cast a cold beam of light on his metal prosthetic jaw, and his calmness seemed more terrifying than the commotion on the deck.

Cavill silently folded up all the arrangements, like wrapping up a sharp weapon, without the slightest hesitation or pity in his heart.

The shouts and laughter outside became noise, and only the wind and waves responded to his thoughts.

Cavill took a quiet drag and murmured, "Let them laugh their fill. They don't have much time left."

Then, he composed himself and pushed the hatch open.

The sea breeze, carrying the smell of alcohol, rushed towards him. He paused briefly at the door, his lips twitching slowly before he put on that maniacal smile again.

The gloomy schemes of moments before were masked by laughter, as if he had become a different person.

When the pirates saw him appear, they shouted in unison, "Mad King! Mad King!"

Cavill raised his glass and shouted, "Brothers! Let everyone remember the Mad King's name! Slaughter them all, burn their ships!"

"Kill! Kill! Kill!" Cheers roared as drummers banged on barrel lids and blades struck masts.

The firelight illuminated half of his metallic face, and his smile distorted in the flickering light, appearing both fervent and cold-blooded.

"Weigh anchor!" Cavill gave the order, and the bugle sounded immediately.

Thirty-seven black sails slowly turned, anchors left the water, and ripples rose from the sea.

The fleet set sail through the night fog, heading towards the graveyard he had personally chosen—the Tidal Rift.

…………

The sea was as black as ink at night, and the wind from the North Sea carried the chill of broken ice.

Thirty-seven black sails had already reached the outer edge of the rift zone, with seventeen of them hidden in the shadows of two deserted islands.

This was an ambush point personally chosen by Cavill.

There are undercurrents on the seabed, and the angle of the island can obscure the ship's silhouette.

To find this location, he sent people to scout it out three times, and even the height of the reef and the water depth at low tide were precisely recorded.

Only dim lights were lit on the island, their glow shrouding the canvas. The sailors lowered their voices, as if silently awaiting some kind of ceremony.

Some people were sharpening knives on the deck, while others were hanging fish bones in front of the mast to pray to the sea god, but there was no noise.

They were used to fooling around and getting drunk, and they could even fight over a piece of bread, but at this moment, everyone knew what they should do.

The blade flashed in the flames, and no one laughed anymore.

That was the moment they prepared for life and death; all their indulgence and rudeness were put away at that moment.

They believed in this mad king unconditionally.

After all, his intelligence had always been accurate through countless raids, and each gamble with his life had yielded a full cargo hold of spoils.

Even though the sea was empty and there was no sign of the enemy, no one suspected anything.

Thirty-seven black sails stood silent in the fog, with only the low murmur of waves crashing against the rocks.

Cavill stood at the helm of the Wave Eater, his metal prosthetic jaw reflecting a faint light.

He could hear suppressed whispers and short breaths coming from the lower deck, the panting of a wild beast.

The map unfolded in Cavill's mind, with the tides, wind direction, and ship spacing all within his calculations.

The plan, which has been in the works for two months, will be reaped tonight.

Before dawn, the three escort ships of the Red Tide finally appeared at the entrance of the Rift Tide Zone.

Their sails appeared and disappeared in the mist, and their masts were adorned with banners of azure and crimson waves.

Further behind them, seven escort ships patrolled in a dispersed formation, forming a thin but ever-changing defensive line.

Cavill squinted, watching the rhythm of that flight path, a slight smile playing on his lips.

He wasn't afraid of the escort ships. The thirty-seven black-sailed ships lying in ambush were enough to suppress the firepower of the ten enemy ships. Moreover, his numerous previous successful attacks had convinced him that he had never made a mistake.

As soon as the order is given, the prey will be caught.

At the rear of the escort fleet, a cargo ship slowly entered; that was the real target, the ship carrying the precious prey.

The sound of horns echoed from the Wave Eater, deep and rhythmic.

Almost simultaneously, signal flags were raised atop the masts of each ship, and messengers waved in all directions to confirm that the orders had been delivered.

This was the order to attack, and the seventeen black-sailed ships lying in ambush in the distance simultaneously awoke.

The entire fleet, like a wild beast pulled by a string, began to move slowly, and a dense ripple of light appeared on the sea surface.

The three fire-launching boats were the first to emerge from the shadows, rushing toward their target like arrows.

According to Cavill's plan, the vanguard's three fire-launching boats were not to engage the enemy head-on.

Instead, they first circled around from the flanks and, while the escort ships were distracted by the fire, rushed straight at the cargo ships, overturned their course, and then set them on fire to create chaos.

That was the Mad King's specialty: disrupting formations and using burning fear to devour the enemy's order.

The pirates' eyes gleamed in the firelight; they couldn't contain their excitement, muttering curses and licking their lips as if they could smell money and blood.

"It's finally here," a sailor chuckled softly, gripping his sword hilt tightly.

Everyone knew that once the deal went off, it would provide them with enough to eat and drink for a whole year.

The allure of the spoils ignited the hearts of those who risked their lives.

Cavill stood before the railing, a slow smile playing on his lips, like a hunter waiting for the trap to close.

As the fire-launching boat rapidly approached, shark fuel was dumped into the sea.

The next instant, the sea surface lit up with orange-red flames.

Flames soared, tongues of fire licking the walls of the fog, like a giant burning serpent.

The Red Tide escort ship was trapped inside, the deafening explosions of cannons ripped through the night sky.

The three frigates were hit in succession, their side armor was blasted open, and the ships began to list.

The pirates launched a barrage of magic bombs to follow up, and the explosions sent sparks flying across the sea.

In just a few breaths, the three frigates were smashed to pieces.

Of course, Cavill did not order the bombardment to continue. The magic explosive bombs were too precious, and he would never waste them without absolute certainty.

A tidal wave of cheers surged into the sky: "Long live the Mad King!"

They roared as if victory was within their grasp.

Cavill's laughter swept across the waves, cold and manic. On this burning night sea, he believed that this time it would be his rebirth.

However, the calm sea suddenly changed.

Suddenly, the buoys in the fog lit up with a red light, one after another, drawing regular arcs on the sea surface.

Then came a series of explosions, which cracked the wooden planks and caused the sails to rattle wildly.

The ambushing ships immediately lost their balance: ten were directly blown over in the first wave of attack, turning into upside-down hulls, with black oil quickly spreading on the water's surface.

The shockwave from the explosion sent waves crashing into the sea, accompanied by heart-wrenching screams.

Some people were thrown off the deck and landed on the burning oil in the sea, immediately letting out short screams that were swallowed by the flames. Others were caught on the hem of their clothes by broken iron hooks and were pulled into the burning water.

Painful thumping and cries for help came from the bottom of the hold; someone kept banging on the wooden planks and shouting, "Let me out!"

But all they received in response were the echoes of waves and explosions.

And the flames spread along the waves, illuminating their terrified faces.

Meanwhile, aboard the Dawn in the distance, Louis was observing the chaotic sea through his binoculars.

The light from the explosion shone on his face, but his expression remained as calm as ever. He tapped his fingers lightly on the lens barrel, as if counting.

The sea breeze ruffled the edges of his cloak, and the firelight cast a clear outline in his eyes.

"The hit rate is ideal," he said casually.

This is Hilko's design, the "Thunder Array," a system of alchemical floating mines deployed according to the direction of the current.

Each node can resonate in a chain reaction, and once triggered, it forms an explosive chain.

The Mad King's fleet was too densely packed, and he personally sent the ships into the minefield.

Of course, these deployments were not temporary.

Half a month ago, Louis had foreseen from the daily intelligence system that Cavill would launch an attack in the rift zone, so he ordered his men to secretly lay this trap on the seabed.

All those floating mines, hidden markers, and fuses were buried beneath the tide, silently waiting for this night.

The three escort ships were also specially built as decoys; there wasn't even anyone on board.

Louis nodded, put away his binoculars, his gaze still fixed on the distant sea of ​​fire: "Not bad."

In less than ten minutes, all ten ships were destroyed.

Survivors threw ropes down from nearby boats; some caught them, while others were swept away by the fire before they could even touch them.

More pirates stood on the edge of the ship, not daring to approach, and could only watch helplessly as their comrades on the sea were swallowed up.

The air was filled with the smells of tar, blood, and burning; even breathing smelled fishy.

All of this happened very quickly, as if some unseen hand had pressed the fast-forward button.

The wreckage and corpses floating on the sea shattered the previously confident atmosphere into silence.

"Damn it! It's a trap!" the adjutant screamed.

Cavill gripped the railing tightly, his eyes turning icy for a moment.

He knew it was a trap, but he couldn't believe that this was a plan he had orchestrated himself, and that no one knew the details except for him.

How could we possibly have been ambushed beforehand?!

Cavill's chest churned with anger and unease, as if it were about to tear his chest apart.

The Dawn frigate suddenly turned around, its armor plating flipped open, revealing its gun emplacements.

The next second, the shell was recoiled by the coastal wind.

The concealed spinning cannons fired upwards, raining down cannon fire and sinking another half-destroyed black sailboat.

Cavill gritted his teeth, suppressing his shock and anger, and muttered a curse under his breath: "Calm down...it's not over yet."

The panic was forcibly suppressed, and he turned sharply and roared, "Keep releasing the shark oil! Deploy smoke screens! Adjust formation, flank from both sides! Begin the second charge!"

The secondary ship immediately dumped oil, a fire curtain rose, and orange-red smoke billowed and spread.

Even with eleven ships lost, Cavill still relied on his experience to assess the situation and prepared to force a breakthrough.

The seawall collapsed with a roar, seawater flooded into the harbor, and the firelight illuminated his profile.

Cavill still believed that he could win the battle using his methods.

Immediately, all the black sailboats raised their sails and charged toward the old cargo ships.

These weren't rookies; they were all veteran pirates. Although they had lost nearly a third of their fighting force, this scene was not enough to make them weak in the knees.

The pirates nimbly hooked on the winch to stabilize the ship, and used short ropes to hook the sides of the cargo ship onto the railings. Some even prepared ramps in advance, ready to rush onto the deck wave after wave.

(End of this chapter)