Chapter 38: Devil's Intuition

Embassy Study Room

The last of the Mara wine was already gone.

RATATATATA!

MSGs at the study’s shattered windows kept up suppressive fire, muzzle flashes strobing the room—while Mara and Levi remained sprawled comfortably on the sofa, glasses empty, posture relaxed.

“So,” Mara said, brushing dust from his sleeve, “what do you think our best course is, sir?”

Levi tapped his chin, eyes unfocused. “Hmm…”

“The MSGs are prepared to punch us through their blockade,” Mara continued evenly. “It’ll be a bloody route, but they’re confident we can reach one of Hearthguard Cairn’s vertical elevators. Once we’re outside, we use the satellite phone and request extraction from the fleet.”

“I see…” Levi murmured. “Hmm…”

He stared at the ceiling as another explosion rattled the walls.

“…I wonder if there’s another way.”

Before Mara could reply—

“THEY BROUGHT SPIDERS!” an MSG shouted from down the hall.

Levi blinked. “Spiders?”

“The Dwargonian urban-combat tank,” Mara replied without missing a beat. “Mechanical spider chassis. Cannon on top. Extremely effective in cities.”

---

Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.

Outside, Three massive mechanical spider tanks advanced toward the embassy.

Each machine was the size of a bus, supported by eight jointed steel legs that dug into the street with every step. A heavy cannon sat atop each chassis, swiveling smoothly as if searching for something to ruin.

Two spiders split off, moving down opposite sides of the building.

The last one stopped directly in front of the reinforced main door.

Its cannon angled downward.

BOOOOM!

---

200 Nautical Miles East of Ravendawn

“FIRE!”

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

The Ravendawn 64-gun ship unleashed a full broadside. Cannon fire tore across the waves and slammed into the Dwargonian destroyer. The enemy vessel was already burning, its hull riddled with holes. Sailors leapt overboard in desperation, disappearing into the sea as flames consumed the deck.

The destroyer let out a long, grinding groan.

Then began to sink.

“WE WON!!!”

Cheers exploded across the Ravendawn ship. Against all expectations, they had defeated a Dwargonian destroyer—an incredible feat for a 64-gun vessel.

Men laughed. Some cried. Others embraced.

Everyone celebrated.

Everyone except the captain.

He stared at the wreckage in silence, jaw tight.

“…I really have a bad feeling about this.”

Above them, even the lookout was cheering—until something glinted high in the sky.

He froze.

Slowly, he raised his Murican binoculars.

“A—AIRSHIP!” he screamed. “DWARGONIAN AIRSHIP APPROACHING!”

The celebration died instantly.

---

In the darkness below deck, the ship’s mage continued her chant.

She was in terrible condition. Blood streamed from her nose and ears, dripping onto the floor as mana exhaustion tore through her body.

“Mu… gi… mengsah… mengah…” she whispered weakly.
“K-kula terus ningali… ingkang boten leres— COUGH!”

She collapsed mid-chant.

The magic circle sputtered.

Then vanished.

“Wheeze… wheeze…”

She tried to draw breath—but her lungs refused to cooperate. Her organs had already ruptured.

In the dark, she died gasping.

---

As the mage’s life faded, a wave of dizziness swept through the ship.

Several officers staggered, hands bracing against railings and bulkheads—but this time, the sensation passed quickly.

The captain shook his head hard. “C-comm!”

“Aye, captain?”

“Request backup! Tell base the enemy is too much—we need Murican assistance!”

---

Dwargonian Patrol Airship

Onboard the Dwargonian armored gunship, the mood was no better.

The crew watched through scopes and lenses as dwarves struggled in the water below. The merchant vessel continued to sink, its hull slipping beneath the waves with agonizing slowness.

Only a week since the Atlas.

Now another.

“How many passengers in that ship manifest?” the captain asked again, voice low.

“Forty-six crew, sir.”

“And what’s the base reply?”

“Our permission to engage has been granted.”

The captain didn’t hesitate this time.

“Gunner! Aim at the Ravendawn ship!”

---

Ravendawn Patrol Ship

“THEY’RE AIMING THEIR CANNON AT US!” the lookout screamed.

“RAISE THE SHIELD!”

But before any orders could cascade—

“Sir…” the comm officer said quietly. “Reply from base.”

The captain turned. “Speak.”

“They can’t send assistance. Neither can the Muricans.”

The words landed heavier than any shell.

“W-what?” the captain demanded. “Why?”

“They advise us to surrender, sir…”

Silence swallowed the bridge.

Their only anti-air defense was an M45 Quadmount—an Earth-era relic from Murican stockpiles. Every Ravendawn officer had been trained by Murican advisors. They knew calibers. They knew penetration values.

They knew the truth.

Against a Dwargonian armored gunship, it was worthless.

The captain closed his eyes.

“…Raise the white flag,” he said at last.

“…Aye, sir.”

---

Dwargonian Patrol Airship

“Sir,” a Dwargonian officer reported, “they’re surrendering.”

The Dwargonian captain sneered.

“Cowards,” he spat. “Let’s see how you like helplessness.”

He didn’t look away.

“No mercy. FIRE!”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The armored gunship opened fire. Shells tore into the Ravendawn vessel, ripping steel and flesh apart with mechanical precision.

One shell punched straight into the ammunition hold.

KABOOOOOOM!

The ship split in half in a roaring fireball.

Eighty-nine souls vanished in an instant.

---

Hearthguard Cairn, Murica Embassy

KABOOOOOM!

The spider tank blew the embassy’s reinforced front door inward in a cloud of smoke, stone, and violently redistributed hinges.

Two Dwargonian steam armors rushed towards the breach.

Instantly, every window lit up.

RATATATATATATATA—

Heavy fire poured in from all directions. One steam armor was knocked off its feet almost immediately, collapsing in a heap of metal and steam. The second forced its way inside anyway, boots grinding over debris as it pushed forward.

Its head pivoted left.

Right.

No demons.

Just two corpses—MSGs killed instantly by the spider’s opening blast.

Then its sensors locked onto the stairwell.

It dashed upward—

BANG!

A heavy slug slammed into its side, staggering it mid-step. The shooter stepped into view: a demon MSG gripping a Benelli M4, calm and advancing.

Ch-ch—BANG!
Ch-ch—BANG!

AP rounds hammered into the armor’s joints. Sparks erupted. Servos screamed. The machine shuddered violently, limbs locking in place as its systems failed one by one.

The armor froze.

The MSG walked up to the cockpit, raised the shotgun.

Ch-ch—BANG.

Inside, the pilot slumped forward, dead.

---

KABOOOOM!

Another explosion ripped through a nearby room as the spider tank fired again, obliterating the MSG squad inside without ceremony.

“GET CARL AND GUSTAF!” the commander barked.

Two MSGs sprinted in carrying a long black case. They dropped to one knee, snapping the latches open and assembling the 84mm recoilless rifle with practiced speed.

The commander pointed. “Blow that spider.”

“BACK BLAST CLEAR!”

WHOOSH—BOOOOOM!

The spider tank shuddered, then collapsed in a cloud of fire and twisted metal.

“Spider down!”

“Good,” the commander said flatly. “Hunt the others.”

He turned toward Levi and Ambassador Mara.

“Sirs! The embassy’s compromised. It’s time to move.”

“Well,” Mara said, adjusting her posture, “you heard him.”

Levi followed, hands clasped behind his back, muttering as they walked.

“What to do… what to do…”

---

At the rear exit, the MSG commander cracked the door open just enough to peek outside.

Another spider tank sat squarely in their escape route, its cannon already swiveling.

WHOOSH—BOOOOOM!

A rocket streaked down from above and blew it apart in a violent flash.

“Second spider down,” an MSG reported over comms.

“Bring the car to the back,” the commander ordered.

Then—

Levi snapped his fingers.

“Ah! I know what I want to do!”

Everyone froze and stared at him.

“…Sir?” Mara asked carefully.

“I want to surrender,” Levi announced.

“W-WHAT!?” the commander sputtered. “We’re about to escape!”

“Yes, yes,” Levi said, clapping his hands cheerfully. “And I believe they know our capabilities to escape as well. So—doing the unexpected will annoy whoever planned this.”

He nodded, satisfied with his own logic.

“Call it a devil’s intuition.”

Mara sighed. “Just follow his orders.”

The commander groaned. “You could’ve told us sooner, sir…”

“Hahaha, sorry,” Levi said lightly.

The commander raised his comm. “All units, lower weapons. We’re surrendering.”

And just like that, the embassy’s epic battle ended anticlimactically—

Because Levi said so.

---

Dawn New Port

At Dawn New Port, the salvaged front half of the Dwargonian ship rested on land like a beached carcass. BICH investigators moved through the wreckage methodically, boots crunching over twisted steel and salt-stained debris.

Megan had brought Archmage Gregor along.

“No gunpowder residue,” Megan said, studying the damaged hull. “So not a normal explosive. Which is odd, considering the Dwargonians use gunpowder like we do.”

Gregor hummed thoughtfully. “So you want me to check for mana signatures?”

“Yes. Only noble demons or higher still have strong mana perception these days.”

Gregor chuckled. “Ah yes. Your demon vaccines. Quite thorough.”

“Better that than becoming mindless ferals.”

They stopped at the hull breach. The steel plating was bent outward, peeled back by force from within.

“It’s fascinating to see this up close,” Gregor said, raising both palms as they began to glow faintly. “This may take some time.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Megan replied.

She had barely turned away when a BICH agent rolled up in a small golf car.

“Ma’am, necro team needs you. They found something.”

Megan sighed once. “Alright. Take me to them.”

She climbed into the car.

---

Inside a large storage hall, rows of recovered bodies lay neatly arranged. Necromancers moved from corpse to corpse, working in silence as they extracted final memories from the dead.

The agent led Megan to a newly recovered body.

“Male dwarf. Already bloated,” the agent said, pulling down the zipper of a body bag. “Identified as the Dwargonian ambassador. We were waiting for you before starting extraction.”

Megan nodded. “Let’s proceed.”

A necromancer placed a hand on the ambassador’s head. Darkness pulsed outward from his palm.

“…Brain’s degraded. Memories are blurry… too long underwater.” The necromancer muttered as he entered trance state.

Megan grimaced. Someday, someone really needed to invent a memory-to-TV converter. Listening to necromancers always sounded like sitting through an outdated séance.

“…Ah. Here we go,” the necromancer muttered. “I see his final moments.”

“What happened?” Megan asked.

“He’s in his cabin. Doing paperwork. A knock… It’s the ship’s cook… bringing dinner. Papers again… then—pain. Neck pain. Can’t breathe. The cook is… strangling him… then darkness.”

The necromancer pulled his hand back with a shudder.

Megan immediately lifted the ambassador’s beard.

A faint string mark circled his neck.

“Damn,” she said quietly. “He was strangled.”

“But why?” the necromancer asked.

“Where was his cabin?” Megan asked an agent nearby.

The agent checked his tablet. “Aft section. Back of the ship.”

“That’s far from the explosion.”

Megan stared down at the corpse, her expression hardening.

“Someone wanted to make absolutely sure the Dwargonian ambassador died,” she said, voice low, “and sank with the ship.”