Loser System and Berserker Me

Chapter 12: I Have the Advantage

A cargo ship charging into a massive naval fleet was no different from throwing an egg on a rock. Yet it advanced as easily as a heated knife slicing through a slab of butter.

Despite having the numerical advantage, the Ottomains were a bumbling mess. In their panic, they crashed into one another while attempting to maneuver in this narrow strait. They might be many, but they were still powerless.

It was as if the ship bearing the white base black cross flag was a vile wolf eyeing a flock of lambs. If they willed so, they could swiftly capture any one of the Ottomains’ lambs, slit their throats, and trample them.

Momoana stared at the sea in disbelief. Her officials held their breaths, not daring to make any noise.

It was too embarrassing.

They had at least thirty times the fleets of their enemy, yet it felt like they had been slammed to the ground and punched in the face over and over again.

In a matter of moments, they had already lost eight ships, whereas the enemy’s casualties remained negligible.

“Tell Pasha Baltoghlu,” Moamoana coldly said, “that he doesn’t have to return if he can’t take down those ships.”

…

In contrast to the Ottomains’ plummeting morale, the Romains looked like they were having a festival.

They had noticed Shu Yichao’s ships from the moment they appeared in the Bosphorus Strait, and his attack on the Ottomains’ fleet drew the entire city’s attention. Thunderous cheers broke out when he made quick work of the Ottomains’ fleet as if they were just toy ships.

Even Constantin XI rushed to the city walls to watch this exciting sight.

“Mother Maria,” he drew a cross in front of his chest as warm tears streamed from his eyes, “is this the Lord protecting us?”

Having spent half of his life fighting on the battlefield, he felt a rush of adrenaline when he saw the Ottomains’ fleet being torn apart. He wished that he had been on those ships with a sword in his hand to claim the lives of the Ottomains.

…

Meanwhile, Madam Marti and the others felt like they had gone mad.

When did those lofty barbarian warriors become such pushovers?

They were extremely shocked when the first ship sank. The second ship left them in disbelief. By the time it reached the third and fourth ship, their minds had already stopped processing. Nothing made sense to them anymore.

“Kill them!” Madam Marti roared as her people charged toward the Ottomains’ ships alongside the Grassland Horse Archers.

They were valiant warriors who didn’t even flinch after taking three arrows.

The only thought they had was to charge to their dying breath, as if they could pave a path of blood all the way to Constantinope as long as they continued swinging the blade in their hands.

And the truth was that the Ottomains were helpless against them, crumbling at a touch.

Just as Shu Yichao’s fleet was about to slaughter its way out of the massive Ottomains’ fleet…

Hu!

The puffed up sails suddenly fell flat, causing the speeding ship to rapidly slow until it stopped altogether.

“Is there no more wind?” Shu Yichao flicked off the blood from his Superior Scimitar as he looked at the slumped sail with curious eyes.

While the ship did have oars for rowing, it still primarily relied on its sail for propulsion. His Grassland Horse Archers were proactive when it came to murder and looting, but if he tried to make them do hard labor like rowing, they would cry murder.

He relied heavily on the sailors provided by Madam Marti to steer the ship, but this bit of manpower wouldn’t be enough to row the ship at a decent speed. As soon as the wind died down, the ship would stop moving too.

“God bless!” Pasha Baltoghlu, who had started thinking about where he should be buried, was overjoyed to see Shi Yichao’s ship slowing to a halt. “All ships, charge! Massacre them! Don’t even let a single one of them live!”

“Why now?!” Madam Marti howled in despair. “My Lord, have you decided to doom us?”

Who could have thought that there was only a thin line of difference between heaven and hell?

“Why are they shouting?”

Unlike the panicking Romains, Shu Yichao was unfazed at all.

The wind stopped? That means I have more time to slaughter more enemies!

“How fucking noisy! Relax, there’s plenty of kills and experience points to go around! There’s no need to squabble among yourselves.” Shu Yichao rolled his eyes.

Tok!

The Ottomains’ ships crashed into Shu Yichao’s ship, and the Ottomain soldiers rushed over like a rising tide.

“Hu!”

Seeing that the little ship had been completely encircled, Pasha Baltoghlu heaved a sigh of relief and began tidying himself up. Should I report my victory to the sultana, or should I apologize for my lapse? Should my voice be quivering, or should I sound excited?

“They should be able to clean up in an hour’s time,” Pasha Baltoghlu confidently murmured.

He had to concede that the Ottomains were horrendous at naval battles, but it was not a naval battle anymore. They could drown their enemies just by piling bodies at them now.

20,000 soldiers against 500; I have the advantage here!

He expectantly watched as Shu Yichao and his Grassland Horse Archers swiftly slaughtered everyone on the first ship that bumped into them, like a hurricane.

“…”

The same happened to the second ship.

“…”

Then the third ship.

Pasha Baltoghlu watched speechlessly as the remaining ships fell still. They looked at one another, but no one dared to lead the charge.

“T-this…” His eyes became glazed, and he didn’t realize that he was tearing his opulent clothes into shreds.

“Who in the world are they?!” Sultana Momoana, who had settled down and was prepared to receive Pasha Baltoghlu’s declaration of victory, was shocked. “How can there be such a valiant general? How can there be such a ferocious army?”

“Newbies.” That was Shu Yichao’s evaluation of his enemy. “Low-quality cannon fodder.”

As a game veteran, he knew that he only needed his troops’ stats to be 25% higher than his opponents, and he would be able to trample all over them. The stats of the Grassland Horse Archers, despite being so-so in his eyes, were two times higher than the Ottomains’ soldiers.

It didn’t help that the Ottomains suffered from seasickness, which hindered them from maintaining their combat formations and fighting with their full strength.

As a result, the Ottomains had already suffered over a thousand casualties, but Shu Yichao’s troops, excluding the Romains, had only a death toll of 15.

If not for their inability to maneuver their ships in this narrow strait, the Ottomains would have long fled after realizing the drastic gap in their fighting prowess.

“Ey, a bug?” Shu Yichao, who hadn’t gotten enough of chopping down enemies, stretched his shoulders while looking at the Ottomain fleet. He clicked his tongue. “Must be a latency issue. The game is bound to lag when there are so many models. This sucks.”

He grabbed an arrow flying toward him, nocked it onto his bow, and shot it back. It pierced through the other party’s head. For some reason, the Ottomains looked more dazed after that.

Soon, they stopped even firing arrows.

An awkward silence loomed over the Bosphorus Strait.

“Fine. If you won’t come, I’ll go there instead.” Shu Yichao pointed out a few people. “You, you, you, you, and you—go and row the ship.”

…

“Fuck, this is weird. Why isn’t the gap narrowing?”

They hadn’t caught a single Ottomain ship despite having rowed for quite a while. This bewildered Shu Yichao.

“Is it yet another bug?”

“Load the cannons!” Pasha Baltoghlu finally snapped out of his daze and roared. “Sink their ships! Let’s see what those bastards can do after losing their ships!”

His order came late. The wind had started roaring once more.

When the white base black cross sail puffed up, all of the Ottomain ships, whether by accident or intentional, moved aside, opening up a straight path to Constantinope.

“Go!” Knowing this was a golden opportunity, Madam Marti and the others ordered the sailors to steer the ships toward the Golden Horn.

Half a minute passed after Pasha Baltoghlu’s orders and the Ottomain ships began ‘chasing’ after them, but the gap only grew bigger and bigger.

“Haaaa!”

Relieved exhalations could be heard from the Ottomain ships as Shu Yichao’s ships got further away from them. The Ottomain soldiers exchanged looks with their peers, and they could see the fear in one another’s eyes.

“It’s over…”

Watching as Shu Yichao’s ships steer into the Golden Horn unchallenged, welcomed by the cheering Romains, Pasha Baltoghlu’s eyes rolled upward, and he fell on the deck on his bum.

Sultana Moamoana is going to murder me and my clan.