Kingdom of High Tarxan, A Tarxan Port, Portville, On The Ocean Of The Kingdom Of High Tarxan.

First Year Of God, First Day, First Five Days, First Month.

"Goddamn wankers, hurry! Move faster! Bring in the magicore inside those ships as soon as possible!" a burly elven male barked.

Many Elven sailors were hurrying back and forth as they tried to move several gigantic magicores each towards the inside of the ironclad ships.

But what was surprising was that these magicores were so large that it was the size of a car, yet each was carried by five elven men as they managed to hold it with little effort.

"Heave, ho! Heave, ho! Heave, ho!"

As they chanted along the way, they maneuvered the magicores all around to each ship, to which soon enough, the sailors had filled nearly all the spatial storage aboard the ship with magicores, preparing the vessel for departure.

An elven sailor with a vastly different attire compared to the other sailors sauntered confidently toward the control panels along with the entire crew of the ironclad ship. The crew of the ironclad ship moved efficiently as they walked back and forth, preparing to move out of the dry dock of Portville and meet up with the rest of the forces of the queen.

"Ready up the magi-engines!" the elven male commanded.

The magi-engines roared to life with enough fervor to propel the ironclad ship forward. Thick black smoke was being released from the smokestack, trailing behind the vessel.

"Magicians! Purify the magicores and invoke the blessings of the goddess of the wind!" the elven male ordered, setting the ship on its course.

A group of magicians began chanting some ancient unspeakable incantations, causing the magicores in the magi-engines to light up and glow as they purified the magicores into pure energy. This purification was followed by another incantation, which made the magicores glow even brighter, but this time, it casted a hue of green energy that enhanced the ship's surroundings.

The ironclad ship picked up speed noticeably, its progress through the waves becoming increasingly rapid at a visible rate. Soon, it sliced through the water like an arrow that was released from a bow, moving with remarkable speed that might even surpass the total speed of a regular ironclad ship on earth.

Soon enough, the iron-clad ship that was slicing across the tidal waves of the ocean arrived at its designated meeting point. There, the crew witnessed a vast armada of ironclad ships, numbering over a hundred, already assembled. Looking to both the left and right, they could see even more ironclad ships converging from all directions.

"Communicator! Send a message to the advance ship using the magical transmission device and inform her majesty that we have arrived!" the elven sailor commanded.

"Right away, captain!" another sailor responded as he picked up some sort of small cylinder object with a small crystal in the tip on his hand. He chanted his mana into it and whispered, using its magic to transmit the message and quickly receiving a response in return.

From an outside perspective, the hundred ships stationed in the ocean look like an invasion force. In truth, it was indeed an invasive force, a massive force ready for battle.

After traveling nearly a hundred kilometers for hours, they found themselves facing what seemed like a massive storm ahead. What puzzled them was the fact that the storm was completely still, as it had not moved an inch. The mana-sensitives aboard the ships were able to sense numerous creatures beyond the storm, including sea monsters. However, they also sensed something else beyond there, something they couldn't explain yet.

Nonetheless, the allure of potential treasures within the storm was too enticing to ignore. If they really could be there, the only thing they need to do is vanquish any sea monsters they encountered, relying on the might of their nation's powerful ships and their hundreds of skilled warriors, who were capable of taking on even the largest of beasts.

And once they eliminated them, all the riches hidden within the storm would be theirs for the taking.

If her majesty could possibly succeed in obtaining these treasures, not only could it improve the economy and the power status of their nation greatly enough to be at the level with the first-world regions, it could strengthen her social standing and potentially earn her the respect of her people a bit more than they were in the past. Maybe, just maybe, they would now treat her as their queen, as rightfully is.

Even if the color of the orb was red, which could either mean rebirth or chaos, she was determined to force it to become a symbol of rebirth: the rebirth of a nation under the guidance of a single mother, which is her. Even if almost all the citizens and the aristocrats don't see her as such, she still believed this path would help her win the favor of the masses by being the people's queen, a queen where she prioritizes the people's interest above all.

Fortunately for her, depending on her convictions, beliefs and actions, she hoped to see these dreams come to fruition in the near future.

Panning back to the sidelines, beside her majesty was her brother, Acheron. His presence is a constant reminder of the complex dynamics within the royal family.



For the past few minutes, Acheron had been casting an indecent gaze upon his sister. He was practically thinking about something with dark intentions. Unfortunately even if he tried to do something with his sinister musings, he couldn't lay a finger at all.

Because there was an ancient curse that protected the elven monarchy. Once the successor is chosen, the rest of the Elven people with an heir to the throne are forbidden from taking any direct action against the chosen monarch. Any attempt to oppose or revolt against the successor would incur the wrath of the Elven goddess, who would punish the secessionists.

This ancient law allowed Acheron's sister, Floria Melian Shelberry, to quickly ascend to the throne all because his damn reformist father, who wanted to reform society, placed his hopes on his sister, who had the same mindset and shared the same ideals.

Acheron Shelberry scowled inwardly as he pondered the state of affairs. His sister, Floria Melian Shelberry, had grand ambitions of reforming society and advocating for equality with those rats who lacked magical affinity. 'Utterly preposterous!' he sneered to himself at the thought. 'Melian's plans for equal treatment at these monkaighs are pure foolishness! If not for our fat father's cult-like supporters, who stand by her side, I would have been able to take the throne for myself!'

Thinkin about his late father more, Acheron's anger flared. He clenched his fist so tightly that he nearly accidentally unleashed his magic in a destructive burst, which would have damaged a part of the ship. However, he managed to regain his composure in time.

'By the Gods, will this be a millennium of humiliation? Just you wait, sister. If you fail to recover that treasure, we are sure that you'll be backstabbed by those so-called supporters or cultists of yours. Heh! They will be like eager lap dogs, waiting for their chance to jump on the bandwagon of ravaging you at the first opportunity that arises,' he thought darkly, a grim satisfaction creeping into his mind at the idea.

Thinking about it more, Acheron laughed in his thoughts, 'If only you had settled down and given birth to some bastard sons from an old customer of a cheap brothel, you would never have found yourself in this position, little sister.'

As the fleet of ironclad ships approached the massive storm, an ominous scene unfolded. Countless creatures began emerging from the storm, ranging from sky-dwelling demons to enormous sea beasts from the ocean's depths. The sight of these monsters was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

The fleet braced itself for battle, anticipating the coming conflict with these monstrous foes. The sailors and warriors prepared to battle the creatures, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead as they ventured further into the storm's shadow.