On the day of the Sandship Race, the flat beach of Leke Bay was packed with a sea of people.
Nearly thirty competing Sandships were lined up in rows, awaiting the starting signal.
Several times as many Sandships, belonging to locals and tourists, were scattered around, ready to set off together when the race began.
They were only here for the spectacle; they were not actually qualified to compete. The vast majority would be left behind within a few kilometers, unable to even see the trailing dust of the racing ships, and would sheepishly turn back.
But if, among the crowd, someone truly could outshine the experts, beat the dozens of "professional racers" carefully selected by the organizers, and reach the finish line first,
the organizers would not be stingy about handing out an extra share of prize money and medals.
"Asa! If you don't bring back a ranking for me, you can forget about coming home!" From the spectator crowd, a pregnant Resha shouted at the top of her lungs.
A burst of laughter erupted from the lineup of competing vessels.
"Asa! Why are you even racing? Hurry back and comfort your wife!"
"To make sure Asa has no home to return to! Everyone! Crush him!"
"Hahahahaha!!"
Asa's face darkened as he buried his head in sorting the rigging, muttering under his breath, "I'll settle this with her when we get back..."
Wearing a sun-and-wind-proof cloak, a dust-proof scarf covering his face, Altaïr looked every bit the standard sand-sea fisherman as he chuckled softly.
He and Sajji had taken great pains to talk him out of the idea of an "accidental withdrawal." Settle this with her? He was just talking tough.
From the deck of a massive Sandship, which looked more like a pirate vessel than a support ship, adorned with bones, iron chains, and unidentifiable scrap metal, its sail painted with a shrieking Diablos skull in scarlet pigment,
came the boom of a cannon blast.
The cannon's roar drowned out the crowd. The bizarre howl that followed plunged the beach into a brief silence.
"Wryyyyyy!!!"
"Clang! Clang!!" Amid two ear-piercing, brain-drilling strums of a string, a high-pitched bellow filled the entire venue.
"You worthless trash who wouldn't even catch fire in a crematorium! Are you ready?!"
"Oooooh!"
"Good grief, I never knew that little girl had such a huge voice," Asa said, picking at his ear. "Feels like she could scare off a skittish Monster with just that shout."
Altaïr's eyes and mouth twitched, but he offered no comment.
This time, it wasn't just fake lashes and dark circles around her eyes. Lambert was now genuinely wearing smudged smoky-eye makeup, carrying a Hunting Horn with one foot propped on the bow railing of the Sandship.
"That's too quiet!! Are you ready!!"
"Ooooh!!"
"Are!! You!! Ready!!!"
"OOOOOOH!!!"
After three shouts, the howling wave erupted from the crowd with enough force to nearly flip the beach over. Even Asa, who had been picking his ear moments before, joined in with a wolf-like howl.
Dressed in bone armor perfectly suited to the desert environment, Lambert finally nodded in satisfaction. She strummed and blew madly on the Iron Horn a few times, then swung the Hunting Horn forward with all her might.
"HROOOOOM!"
The woven melody released instantly, the massive sound wave almost drowning out the crowd's howls. Refusing to be outdone, the crowd responded with even louder, more frenzied shouts.
The atmosphere had been whipped to a fever pitch.
Altaïr's cheek twitched. Ordinary people couldn't see it, but he could. That loud bang the Iron Horn had just produced was Echo Wave. Technically, Echo Wave was ultrasonic and shouldn't be that loud for humans, but Lambert had somehow lowered its frequency, converting all its destructive power into a deafening sound.
Compared to this, the earlier cannon fire seemed almost muted.
At the sharply upturned bow of the supply ship, Lambert spread her arms and closed her eyes, as if listening to and savoring the crowd's howls of liberated instinct.
Just then, two figures stepped forward.
One was Isis, not wearing her helmet, her Basarios armor and face messily smeared with crimson war paint, sporting an exaggerated afro. The other was dressed in the distinctive shrine maiden garb of Kamura Village, but her face was covered with talisman paper inscribed with eerie runes, Kagero's style. That had to be Nymera. The two hoisted Lambert up by her armpits from behind, then bound her firmly to the figurehead with several iron chains.
That way, even if the high-speed Sandship jolted, she could free her hands and play to her heart's content.
Altaïr was speechless.
So you weren't just spouting nonsense back on the Airship after all?!
"FWEE!"
A sharp whistle pierced the air. The competitors, whose attention had been entirely on "watching the show," snapped back to their senses. This was the signal that the ship was about to launch.
Asa wound a cable around his left hand and gripped the helm tightly with his right. His voice was urgent as he reminded them, "Don't forget, there are four launch signals.
"The first three are to prepare to lower the sails. The fourth disconnects the anchor cable and we go. The wind is strong now, the sails will fill instantly, and the ship will pick up speed very fast.
"At the moment the anchor cable disconnects and the ship surges forward, you have to hold the bow down. If you hold it too early, the ship won't pick up speed and will fall behind; too late, and the ship will flip!"
"Okay."
As Altaïr responded, he, along with all the other competitors, looked up toward the bow of the most extravagantly styled supply ship.
According to the schedule, the launch signals would sound from there.
Then he saw the afro-sporting Isis swing her Glavenus Gunlance and perform a crisp Quick Reload.
You're giving the signal?! Wait! Three to prepare, the fourth to launch?
A Glavenus Gunlance only holds three Shells. Where's the fourth shot coming from?!
"Damn it!"
Altaïr whipped his head back and quickly said to Asa, in a voice only the two of them could hear, "The fourth signal is three and a half seconds after the third!"
"How do you know?" Asa asked reflexively.
"Boom!"
Isis raised her Gunlance diagonally. Amid the flash of explosive flames, the deafening roar of the shot echoed in every direction.
Asa hurriedly steadied his focus, pulling the cable to drop the sails.
No time for detailed questions. Their own people were giving the signals; what was there to argue about? Still, using a Gunlance for the start commands... was this really okay?!
"Boom!" The second cannon blast sounded.
All the racing vessels had dropped their sails. A great wind from the sea howled across them, and the canvas, painted with every kind of emblem, instantly billowed full. The force sent the Sandships, already straining in place, rocking violently; every vessel fought to break free of its anchor lines and rocket across the sand sea.
"Boom!" The third cannon blast sounded.
Every contestant sharpened their focus to the limit, waiting for the imminent start command.
Altaïr and Asa began counting down directly.
Over a race course lasting several hours, starting half a second earlier or later might seem trivial. But the first one to start could break free of the surrounding vessels and seize the initiative!
The first second passed. Isis absorbed the recoil from the previous shell blast, stabilized her center of gravity, and shifted into an anti-impact stance. At the same time, she squeezed the trigger hard.
Terrifying energy converged and compressed within the muzzle.
Wyvern's Fire took two and a half seconds to charge. Added to the one second spent neutralizing the shot's recoil, it was exactly three and a half seconds!
"BRRROOOOOOOM!"
At the instant Wyvern's Fire erupted, Asa released the anchor line. Simultaneously, Altaïr lunged forward a huge step, throwing his full weight down to pin the bow that was about to rear up.
Their small crimson Sandship rocketed out first.
Five or six small Sandships were less than half a second behind Altaïr's crew, charging past the starting line one after another to form the leading group.
The timing of the pilot releasing the anchor and the co-pilot holding down the bow had to be perfectly synchronized for a small Sandship to achieve maximum starting speed. But to play it safe, most contestants chose to have their co-pilot pin the bow a bit earlier.
It was true that this made their initial speed slightly slower, but at least they wouldn't capsize.
Most vessels opted for this steady start, forming the second group.
That left the unlucky ones who gambled on a high-speed start, failed their coordination, and capsized.
Fortunately, this was only the very beginning. Over a race course stretching more than three hundred kilometers, they had ample chance to rally and overtake.
After the contestants launched, the lead ship carrying Isis and the others, along with several large Sandships responsible for ensuring the race went smoothly, also unfurled their sails in succession, accelerating constantly to chase forward.
Standing on the bow, Isis swung her Gunlance to complete a Quick Reload. She howled excitedly, just about to fire off a few more shots to liven up the mood.
The relentlessly accelerating Sandship plowed over a dune, and its bow suddenly heaved upward. The jolt nearly threw Isis flat onto the deck.
Isis hurriedly grabbed the gunwale railing to steady her center of gravity. "Gods, is it always this bumpy?!"
Nymera had also peeled off the eerily patterned rune paper from her face. Her complexion had gone faintly green.
The violent jolting of the large ship had brought back some rather unpleasant memories... was it still possible to disembark right now?
Wait. The two of them, standing on the foredeck, were getting jolted to oblivion. What about the one who was tied to the figurehead?
"Are you okay?!" Nymera leaned over the bow railing and shouted.
"KLANG-WHONG-HUUUM... CHANG-CHANG!"
"GAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!"
Amid the chaos of the howling gale and the blare of the Hunting Horn, a burst of maniacal laughter mixed in. "I've NEVER been better in my entire life! AH! Don't talk to me! I'll bite my tongue!"
(Translated by yourtl.app)