Chapter 62: The Balevarian Job (Part 3)

Bella, completely unfazed, kept reading.

“Please do not worry about us or try to look for us. We have already left the orphanage locations at each of our ‘donor’ today. So please don’t stay there for too long.”

The trio shuddered violently.

Bella continued softly.

“P.S. Apparently you are all very famous. Yesterday, we also told your whereabouts to the people in Merryhall Town, and we received a handsome reward. I know you will be proud of us for following your teachings to the letter—teehee. Be safe for the rest of your journey. With love, Robert and the others.”

Bella smiled warmly.

“Aw… they’re growing up so fast.”

She dabbed her eye with her sleeve, clearly touched by the heartfelt message.

Then she turned around.

The other three were in full panic mode.

Stuff was flying everywhere.

Bags were being stuffed with violent urgency. Weapons, tools, food—anything within reach was getting shoved into packs desperately.

“Uhh… guys?” Bella blinked. “What’s happening?”

No one answered.

Because outside—

The shadows were multiplying.

Torches.

Hundreds of them.

Moving fast through the trees.

And beneath those torches were shapes carrying pitchforks, swords, nets, and faces twisted into very, very angry expressions.

Bella turned her head toward the window.

“W–WHAT THE—!?”

“THERE THEY ARE!!” someone from the mob roared.

“RRAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

The crowd surged forward like a tidal wave.

Kovalski didn’t hesitate for even half a second. He grabbed Ivy under one arm like luggage.

“YOU IDIOT! DON’T YOU GET IT!? THE KIDS SOLD US OUT!”

“EEEHHH!?” Ivy squealed, dangling helplessly.

“HURRY! RUN!” Irving barked, already kicking the back door open.

“THE FESTIVAL FUNDS WERE IN THAT SUBSPACE BAG TOO!” Ivy wailed, tears streaming dramatically down her face.

Outside, the mob closed in.

“DON’T LET THEM ESCAPE!”

“GET THE THIEVES!”

The Misfit Party burst out of the orphanage and sprinted straight into the forest.

Behind them, hundreds of furious townsfolk gave chase, roaring with the outrage usually reserved for a full-scale witch hunt.

And so, on that night—

With their newly acquired skills from Murica’s elite training—

The Balevar Thieves Guild was born.

Robert—their sweet, innocent crossdresser—would later rise to become the infamous “Hundred Faces Thief.”

Meanwhile, the Misfit Party ran screaming deeper into the forest as the mob thundered after them.

“I SWEAR I WILL BE CHILD-FREE FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!!” Ivy’s scream echoed dramatically into the night.

And so began another chapter of the Misfit Party’s grand adventure—

The pursuit of the mythical treasure known only as

“Single Piece.”

---

Tri-Border Ocean

Hundreds of kilometers from Ravendawn’s coast, the Dwargonian fleet stretched across the horizon in an awe-inspiring display of naval power.

Warships carved through the dark waters like steel titans, their hulls cutting steady paths through the waves. Above them, airships hovered in disciplined formation, drifting forward with slow, deliberate confidence.

Seventy kilometers away, the Ravendawn Fleet held its line.

Twelve 124-gun ships.
Twenty-five 64-gun ships.
Twenty frigates.
Nine modernized vessels.

Compared to the Dwargonian armada, their numbers looked… modest.

Inside the flagship HMS Luxtor, Admiral Lorenzo raised a pair of Murican binoculars and surveyed the distant sea.

The horizon was filled with silhouettes.

Too many silhouettes.

A comm-officer approached with a notebook tucked under his arm.

“Sir, Murica has sent updated enemy counts.”

Captain Rhines gestured lazily. “Read it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The officer flipped open the notebook and cleared his throat.

“Murica estimates: sixty-five cruisers, forty-one destroyers, fifteen dreadnoughts… and four vessels classified by the Muricans as ‘super-dreadnoughts.’”

The deck fell silent.

A few officers visibly paled.

Only Admiral Lorenzo and Captain Rhines remained composed.

Rhines crossed his arms and stared through the binoculars again.

“I recall,” Rhines muttered slowly, “that by Murican standard, a battleship has an effective gun range of forty-three kilometers.”

He lowered the binoculars slightly.

“I wonder if Dwargonia’s super-dreadnoughts can shoot farther.”

“Range means nothing if they cannot see their target,” Lorenzo replied calmly.

He turned slightly toward the comm-officer.

“What about their air forces?”

“Sixty-seven airships,” the officer answered promptly. “However, the Muricans cannot determine their specific roles.”

Another officer on the deck suddenly shouted.

“Sir!”

Several heads turned.

The lookout pointed toward the distant sky.

“Small Dwargonian airship approaching! Likely a scout!”

Captain Rhines didn’t even flinch.

“Let them,” he said flatly. “We stick to the plan.”

“Aye, sir!”

The lookout nodded and returned to his post.

Lorenzo lowered his binoculars. “Are the Muricans in position?”

“Yes, sir,” the comm-officer confirmed.

“Good…” Lorenzo said quietly.

He gazed across the dark sea where the massive Dwargonian fleet continued advancing.

“Let the Dwargonians watch us,” he said.

A faint smile appeared on his face. “…while we see through Murica’s eyes.”

---

Five thousand meters above them, an enormous divine condor glided silently across the sky.

Its wings stretched wide against the high winds, its eyes glowing like polished amber.

From that impossible height, the creature observed both fleets with perfect divine clarity.

Nothing escaped its sight.

And forty kilometers away from the Ravendawn fleet, an 18th-century merchant ship drifted quietly across the water.

From a distance, it looked harmless.

Slow. Ordinary. Forgettable.

Its passengers, however, were anything but.

On the deck stood an elf deep in trance, one hand resting upon a large crystal mana-comm mounted on a wooden stand.

His breathing was slow, controlled, and focused.

“Father Idril,” a priest asked quietly beside him, “is the connection established?”

“Yes, Father Cedric,” Idril said softly without breaking his trance.

“Relaying now.”

The crystal ball shimmered. Light swirled across its surface—

And an image appeared.

It showed the same battlefield the divine condor saw from the skies.

Two fleets slowly closing distance across the ocean.

“Excellent.” Father Cedric stepped forward. “Begin the relay.”

The surrounding clerics placed their hands upon the crystal stand, channeling mana into the device.

The image brightened then stabilized. Then began transmitting outward through the Church’s hidden communication network.

One young guard nearby stared with wide eyes.

“What are they sending?”

The older guard beside him smirked.

“I forgot you’re new.” He nodded toward the crystal. “They’re transmitting Father Idril’s vision to our other listening posts.”

The young guard blinked. “He can see a battlefield from that far away…?”

“Distance means nothing to him,” the older guard chuckled. “Weeks ago, he even located the demons’ flying vehicles at fifteen thousand meters.”

“T–that high!?”

The older guard leaned back against the railing with smug satisfaction.

“Heheheh… our church is unmatched in reconnaissance now.”

Unmatched.

And very intrusive.

The ship was merely one node in a vast surveillance web stretching across oceans and nations.

All eyes of the church watched eagerly to witness the coming clash between Dwarves and Demons.

From their hidden member inside Hearthguard Cairn…

…to the whispering clergy embedded deep within the courts of Meridinia.

The entire network was listening.

Watching.

Waiting.

---

Goddess Realm

Not only the Church.

A divine spectator was also waiting eagerly.

“Goddess, the battle is about to begin,” Seraph reported, standing beside her with wings neatly folded and posture perfectly straight.

“Fufufu… finally,” Goddess Celes said, lounging comfortably on her throne.

In her hand was a glass of celestial wine, which she swirled lazily while gazing into a magical mirror floating before her. The mirror reflected what her devout believers saw through their eyes—an extremely convenient feature for a deity.

“It has been quite annoying lately,” she continued, taking a delicate sip. “My followers have started to decline ever since those demon influences spread around Talvaris.”

Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

“But today… today shall be a glorious harvest prepared by my devoted church.” She raised her glass slightly. “Hahaha!”

“Yes, Goddess,” Seraph replied respectfully. “The Seven Virtues have worked tirelessly—”

“Well, they must,” Celes interrupted with smug confidence. “I granted each of them archangel-level power. Obviously, they must work hard for me.”

Seraph bowed slightly. “Your generosity is unmatched.”

Celes leaned forward, eyes sparkling as she focused on the mirror.

Until—

“Hmmm…” Celes tilted her head slightly. “…wait.”

Her eyes narrowed.

The mirror showed the Dwargonian fleet.

It showed the Ravendawn fleet.

Armadas preparing to clash.

Perfect.

But something important was missing.

Celes leaned forward even further, her expression slowly shifting from smug amusement to mild confusion.

“…Where are the demons?”

---

Dwargonian Fleet, Super-Dreadnought Wavecrusher

Admiral Durnick Axebreaker stood on the massive steel deck of his flagship, staring toward the distant horizon.

“Have our scouts spotted Murican forces?” he asked.

“No, sir,” an officer replied. “Only the Ravendawn fleet.”

The ship captain standing beside him frowned. “Are the demons planning to let Ravendawn wear us down before engaging us?”

“With sixty-one ships?” Durnick scoffed. “And fifty-two of them wooden?”

The admiral snorted.

“No. Something else is happening.”

The captain crossed his arms. “Then what are they planning?”

Durnick stared at the distant enemy formation for a long moment.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Before anyone could speculate further, a comm-officer rushed toward them.

“Sir! Incoming mana-comm from Ravendawn!”

Durnick raised an eyebrow.

“Hm. Connect it.”

The crystal communicator flickered to life.

Light shimmered across its surface—

Then a man’s face appeared within the projection.

“Greetings, Admiral Durnick,” the man said calmly. “I am Admiral Lorenzo of the Ravendawn Navy.”

Durnick studied the projection for a moment.

“I didn’t expect you to know my name.”

Lorenzo gave a small polite nod. “Let’s just say my ally provided sufficient information.”

“I assume you didn’t contact me to brag,” Durnick replied bluntly. “Speak.”

Lorenzo nodded solemnly.

“It is unfortunate that we must face each other with cannons loaded. But I must attempt diplomacy before blood is spilled.”

The officers around Durnick listened quietly.

“Keep your fleet within your borders,” Lorenzo continued, “and we shall remain where we stand. My nation—and Murica—are still investigating the true mastermind behind the incidents among our three nations.”

Durnick’s expression hardened immediately.

“Unfortunately, I am no diplomat.” His voice grew colder. “And diplomacy has long passed.”

Silence lingered between them for a moment.

Then Durnick spoke again.

“But… for whatever reason drives you, I respect you for trying.”

Lorenzo gave a quiet sigh. “It is unfortunate indeed.”

His expression returned to calm resolve.

“Then we shall meet on the battlefield.”

“Yes,” Durnick replied simply. “We shall.”

The connection faded as the crystal dimmed.

Durnick inhaled slowly, steadying his breath as he stared back toward the waiting Ravendawn fleet.

Then he turned to his officers.

“Let us begin,” he ordered.

His voice carried clearly across the deck.

“Send the vanguard.”

Ten Dwargonian warships immediately broke formation. Their engines roared to life as they surged forward across the sea—

Advancing toward Ravendawn like a pack of iron wolves.

---

Ravendawn Fleet, HMS Luxtor

“Sir!” an officer reported. “Dwargonian ships are advancing—seven cruisers, three destroyers!”

Admiral Lorenzo exhaled, closing his eyes momentarily.

“…And so,” he murmured, “it begins.”