Ravendawn, Stormtide Naval Base
A few hundred kilometers from Raven City, the town of Stormtide—once nothing more than a quiet fishing village—had changed dramatically over the past year.
Thanks to Ravendawn–Murica cooperation, the small harbor had transformed into a massive port. Minerals and cattle now flowed constantly toward Murica, while Murican goods arrived in return by the shipload. Warehouses, cranes, dry docks, and barracks had spread across the coastline like a steel forest.
Stormtide was no longer just a trading hub.
It was now also Ravendawn's full-fledged naval base.
But today, cargo ships and merchant convoys were not the center of attention.
Instead, the entire Ravendawn navy prepared to greet the approaching Dwargonian fleet.
The townspeople had gathered along the port in massive numbers, leaning over railings, rooftops, and dock cranes. Everyone wanted a clear view of what was about to happen.
Dozens of Ravendawn sailing warships were already departing the harbor—upgraded 64-gun and 124-gun ships moving proudly toward the open sea.
But those ships weren't what had the crowd excited.
"LOOK!"
"HERE THEY COME!"
From the coastline, nine steel warships surged forward.
Thick columns of smoke rose from their funnels as the engines roared to life.
Five Chester-class cruisers.
Three Wickes-class destroyers.
And leading them all—
One proud New York-class battleship.
The newest pride of Ravendawn.
The townspeople reacted instantly.
Smartphones appeared from beneath cloaks, robes, and layered 17th-century clothing. Fingers scrambled for the best angles as people leaned dangerously over the docks.
Photos.
Videos.
Livestreams.
The harbor was suddenly filled with excited shouting and the familiar sounds of recording notifications.
The fleet had been purchased from Murica.
Which meant Ravendawn had also purchased another impressive mountain of debt—one their grandchildren would likely still be paying off.
The ships themselves were relics of Murica's old unification war. World War I vessels that had once been scheduled for the scrapyard.
But Stan believed Ravendawn needed stronger naval forces to serve as an efficient buffer against external threats.
And Monny believed selling them was simply more profitable than melting them down.
After nearly a year of rebuilding, maintenance, and sailor training, the old warships were finally operational again.
Today would be their maiden voyage.
Directly into the Dwargonian conflict.
---
Inside the battleship, Admiral Lorenzo stood quietly near the observation deck, watching the coastline slowly fade behind the fleet.
The massive steel vessel beneath his feet hummed steadily as it cut through the water.
"Sir, we will be joining our sails fleet in thirty minutes," the ship captain reported.
"Very well…"
Lorenzo exhaled slowly.
Even after months of training aboard the vessel, the experience still felt surreal.
"Even though I've ridden this ship so many times during training," the admiral admitted, "I'm still amazed how fast they are."
Lorenzo was, after all, an admiral whose entire naval education belonged firmly to the 18th century.
Now he was forcefully updated to a new version. Commanding a 20th-century warship.
It had been… an adjustment.
"Indeed, sir," the captain replied. "I still can't believe now I'm commanding the ship that once haunted my nightmares."
"Technically, it's a vastly different ship from the one we faced last year," the admiral said. "I trust it won't affect your performance."
"No sir, it won't," the captain replied immediately. "As long as no jazz music is played, I will deliver my best performance."
His expression remained completely serious.
"I understand completely."
The admiral responded with equal seriousness.
Within the Ravendawn navy, an unwritten rule had quietly been established by the admiralty.
A rule that everyone followed without question thanks to a certain siren.
Never play jazz onboard.
Ever.
---
Balevar, Forest Orphanage
Meanwhile, another kind of "battle preparation" was underway at the orphanage.
Less geopolitical.
Far more sinister.
Captain Irving stood at the front of the room, arms behind his back ready to deliver a operational briefing. Sitting in front of him were his "troops"—children aged six to fourteen—watching him with wide eyes and absolute attention.
Pinned to the chalkboard behind Irving were four adorable building sketches.
All drawn in colorful crayons.
The reconnaissance work of their scouts.
"Alright, listen up," Irving began.
He tapped the chalkboard.
"Team Alpha, led by Specialist Kovalski. Your target is the tavern in Fairview Town. Begin the infiltration after the alcohol delivery arrives."
His finger pointed directly at a cute crayon drawing of a tavern, complete with smiling stick figures and an extremely enthusiastic chimney.
"Yes, sir!" Kovalski and his child operatives replied in perfect unison.
"Team Bravo, led by Private First Class Bella."
Irving moved to the next drawing.
This one showed a butcher shop. The animals outside looked very cheerful for a meat supply business.
"Your target is the butcher shop in Brightfield Town. He just got new supplies, so it should be full of bounty."
Bella and her squad nodded with determination.
"Team Charlie, led by Ivy."
Irving tapped the final drawing.
A jewelry store. The windows sparkled with large crayon diamonds that probably outscaled the building itself.
"Your target is the jewelry shop in Rockdale Town."
Ivy, Robert, and Sister Catherine all nodded seriously.
"And I will set up a command center to monitor all teams."
"Got it!" everyone replied together.
Irving scanned the room.
"Any questions?"
Robert slowly raised his hand.
"U-uh, Captain…" he began nervously. "Why do we have to hit different towns on the same day? This is our first mission. Isn't it better to go one at a time?"
Irving folded his arms.
"The problem is we know how efficient communication between these towns can be."
He paced slowly across the room.
"One incident, and the others will hear about it the next day. Or even the same day. The moment that happens, every shopkeeper will be on high alert."
The children listened with serious faces.
"So we aim for the biggest shop in each town," Irving continued. "We only get one opportunity."
He clenched his fist and grinned.
"And we will maximize the donations we obtain during that opportunity."
He raised his voice.
"Hooah?"
"HOOOAAAH!" the children shouted with excitement.
"Mission codename is 'Charity'," Irving declared proudly. "We begin tomorrow at 0900 hours. Dismissed."
"Yaaaaay!"
The kids ran out of the room cheering. More like a recess instead of participating in a coordinated tri-town crime operation.
---
That night, the orphanage buzzed with preparations.
Robert carefully used his crossdressing skills to make the children look extra sweet, innocent, and harmless. Hair ribbons, neat clothes, and adorable accessories were distributed with alarming efficiency.
Meanwhile, the Misfit Party prepared their equipment.
Earcomms.
Portable antennas.
Small reconnaissance drones.
Various tactical tools that were originally designed for military operations, now repurposed for something significantly less noble.
"I'm done preparing the children," Robert said, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Great! Thanks for your work," Ivy replied.
"Big sis, what's that?" one of the children asked, pointing toward Bella's subspace bag.
Bella lifted it proudly.
"Oh, this? It's a subspace bag. A magical bag where you can store waaay more than it looks."
"Wow…" Robert leaned closer, fascinated. "Isn't that expensive? This is my first time seeing a real one."
"Yeah, it's pretty pricey," Kovalski admitted. "That's why we can only afford two."
He pointed toward their equipment pile.
"One for equipment."
Then he tapped the second bag.
"One for valuables."
"Even magic has limits."
Robert and the child nodded in impressed silence.
"Well then," Robert said, standing up. "The children and I will join Sister Catherine in the chapel to pray for tomorrow's success."
He gathered the kids and left the room.
The Misfit Party watched them go with warm, gentle smiles.
Then the hallway door closed.
The Misfit Party watched them leave with wicked grins.
"Kukuku… why didn't we think of this earlier?" Irving muttered. "Having children do the wetwork… kukuku."
"Yeah, they're actually very talented," Bella added. "I'm impressed."
"And the best part," Ivy said with a grin, "if they fail, we bail. No need to expose ourselves."
"That's right," Kovalski snickered. "We should do this in every town."
"Agreed," the others said together.
They laughed quietly—careful not to be heard by anyone outside the room.
What had started as a simple food-stealing mission had somehow escalated into a coordinated multi-town heist.
Fueled entirely by greed.
And stupidity.
---
Fairview Town
A father and his three children walked through the gates of Fairview Town.
It was another picturesque RPG-style starting town—cobblestone roads, cheerful wooden houses, flower boxes under every window. The kind of place where beginners bought their first sword, accepted their first slime-hunting quest, and learned the important life lesson that wolves outside the village walls were apparently level ten.
The man held the hands of his three children as they walked. The kids laughed and pointed at shops while the father smiled tiredly.
To anyone watching, they looked like a completely normal family enjoying a morning stroll.
A wholesome image.
A loving father.
Three adorable children.
Absolutely nothing suspicious.
The "father" quietly spoke into his earcomm.
"Command, this is Kovalski. Team Alpha entering the town."
"Copy that, Alpha," Captain Irving's voice replied calmly.
Using his incubus ability, Kovalski had transformed himself into a very specific kind of human father.
Tired.
Skinny.
The look of a man working three different jobs just to feed his three adorable children.
The performance was flawless.
Even the dark circles under his eyes were included.
---
Brightfield Town
"This is Bravo. My team is in position," Bella whispered while watching four children through binoculars.
"Copy that, Bravo," Irving responded.
Using her vampire abilities, Bella had infiltrated the town hours earlier at dawn. She now occupied a quiet attic overlooking the town square.
Directly across from her vantage point stood the butcher shop.
From her window she could see everything clearly.
The door.
The windows.
The delivery carts.
And the two children casually lingering nearby, pretending to play ball.
---
Rockdale Town
Far from the streets, Ivy crouched quietly in the forest outside town.
In front of her, a small drone controller with a monitor.
The camera feed from the drone streamed directly into her monitor.
On the screen, a young noblewoman walked through Rockdale Town's main street with her maid beside her. The maid carried several neatly wrapped boxes—the classic image of a noble shopping trip.
Completely normal.
The "young noblewoman" nervously whispered into his earcomm.
"W-we're in," Robert said quietly. "Me and Sister Catherine have entered the town."
He glanced sideways.
Beside him walked Sister Catherine, dressed perfectly as a maid. Her posture was elegant, calm, and completely convincing.
She noticed Robert's anxious look and gave him a reassuring nod.
Robert swallowed.
"Calm down, Robert," Ivy said through the comm. "You've been trained for this."
Robert slowly exhaled.
Ahead of them stood their target.
The jewelry store.
"This is Team Charlie," Ivy said while adjusting the drone's camera angle.
"We are good to go."
---
Command Post
"Copy that, Charlie," Irving replied.
From the top of a hill overlooking the region, Captain Irving observed everything through a spotting scope.
The hill had been turned into a compact command post.
Portable antenna.
Communication array.
Several small monitors laid out across a folding table.
Each screen displayed live feeds from the teams' hidden bodycams.
Another wonderful miracle made possible by the subspace bag.
Irving leaned back slightly as he watched the operation unfold across three towns at once.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"All teams," he said calmly into the comms.
"'Charity' is a go."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"I repeat. 'Charity' is a go."
Across the region, the Misfit Party quietly activated every elite skill they had ever learned—skills trained through years of experience.
And funded generously by Murican taxpayers.
"Roger that," the team leaders replied in unison.