After giving it some thought, I realized that yes—I did need it. I needed maps showing patrol routes, fleet bases, and forward positions. The kind of material that falls under the category of "eat before reading." If things went completely sideways, I needed to know exactly where to run to maximize my chances of staying alive.
The bureaucrat was clearly less than thrilled with my request, but he did let me into the archive's inner sanctum. No copies, though. Instead, he handed me a blank map, apparently oil-treated, and told me to transfer whatever I needed onto it myself. Then he slid over a slip of paper stating that I had been briefed, informed, and agreed to destroy the material at any cost should anything happen—even if that meant taking the ship down with it… or myself.
Yeah… harsh. But I got it. If even part of that information fell into enemy hands, our losses would start being counted in dozens of ships. After all, what could be better than intercepting a frigate returning from patrol—low on ammunition, with casualties among the crew, and generally worn down?
Once I was done with the clerks, I moved on to the next item: designing my personal crest. You couldn't just slap together the first thing that came to mind. Well, theoretically, you could—but… people wouldn't understand.
A crest is supposed to reflect history, aspirations, and character—both of the individual and of the family they belong to.
That meant some kind of naval theme—and not just naval, but a martial one. I would've liked a dragon frolicking in the waves, but that might've been a bit much. The Fire Nation held dragons in deep reverence.
The usual classics—cannons, anchors, silhouettes of warships—were out as well, since the former didn't even exist here yet, and I didn't particularly care for the rest. The traditional option—slapping some kind of predatory beast on there—appealed to me even less.
In the end, having failed to come up with anything suitably grand or artistically brilliant, I settled for something merely acceptable: a sword, point down, set against the Fire Nation crest.
After all, I'm a swordsman? A swordsman. And brevity is the soul of wit.
I spent the remaining week I'd been given to prepare on "inspections," selecting from the soldiers and benders my father had sent my way. Surprisingly, there was no shortage of volunteers. Practically every warrior stationed in the capital during Admiral Chan's visit wanted in. There were even candidates from the Western and Central Fleets, but I chose to stick with proven specialists recommended and vetted by my father's people rather than gamble on unknowns.
From a political standpoint, it might not have been the smartest move—building ties with other fleets and all that—but I wasn't about to sacrifice effectiveness for politics. Not when my very carefully preserved hide was on the line.
At last, preparations were complete, and it was time to set out—to justify the "great trust placed in me." The admiral had left a couple of days earlier—duty had called him back—so there wasn't really anyone to say goodbye to. Not the waitress I'd run into a couple more times, surely? I couldn't even remember her name, to be honest… ahem. Right. Never mind.
"Cast off," I ordered.
From that moment on, our departure was official. The pennant bearing a jian over a tongue of flame snapped in the wind. Above my personal flag flew the standard crimson banner of the Fire Nation. The capital slowly slipped over the horizon, bringing ever closer the moment we would pass through the Great Gates—and later, the Fire Navy Blockade.
And then the hunt would begin.
Mine… and theirs for me.
Well then… let's see who comes out on top!
***
A month later.
Let the enemy's blade pass overhead, cut his leg out from under him, and blasted a jet of fire into the face of the Earth Kingdom warrior trying to flank me—and, using the smoke from his burning, screaming body as cover, I flicked a knife from my harness.
Perfect. The enemy bender never saw it coming—and now, with a flat "fish" lodged in his eye socket, he never would.
No time to dwell. Another group was rushing me—
Actually, no. Not rushing anymore. One of the overeager idiots slipped in a pool of blood and dragged the others down with him. Good thing I'd cut that idiot's artery instead of just stabbing him.
Before they could get back up, I simply finished them off where they lay.
"Pathetic, Earth Kingdom warriors. Truly pathetic. Is that all you can do?"
Oh. That got a reaction. Five earthbenders lined up, ready to "shoot" me with accelerated gravel.
Fine then—let's have a little contest in throwing things that can kill!
Pebbles came buzzing toward me in a familiar deadly hum. I answered by hurling a clay flask from my belt—followed immediately by a jet of fire.
I had plenty of charcoal aboard my ship. Saltpeter wasn't an issue either. Sulfur was harder to come by—but still manageable.
The result? Small powder charges sealed inside airtight clay shells.
Not much in terms of raw killing power—but the concussive effect was excellent. And if one went off at point-blank range… it could still cause some serious problems.