Chapter 738

Unlike the other workers, Plassi and Moody had known each other for over a decade. There was no formality or deference between them—only familiarity. Plassi casually walked over to Moody’s side and leaned against the railing beside him.

“What’s on your mind?”

They both glanced toward the ruins of the Titan. Something was off.
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Moody took a long drag from his pipe, exhaling slowly as he stared at the western horizon. Behind him stood the Braavosi Arsenal—the city’s pride, second only to the Iron Bank.

Plassi, coming off a long night shift, had just left the scorching heat of the foundry, gulping down fresh air as he followed the flow of workers toward the docks. He had no desire to squeeze into the waiting crowd or join the others in voicing their grievances, so he took a few steps in another direction, seeking a quiet spot.

To his surprise, he found Moody already there, standing by the railing, brooding in silence.

“What am I thinking about?” Moody finally replied, not turning his head. He tapped the filter end of his pipe against his palm before pointing it toward the northwest. “I’m thinking about how many more days we’ve got left.”

Plassi followed his gesture. The view beyond the reef was obscured, but he didn’t need to see to know what lay beyond.

“The Queen’s fleet.”

Moody sighed, finally removing the pipe from his mouth. “That’s right. The Queen’s fleet—over a hundred deep-sea warships, armed with hundreds of cannons. And each of them is bigger, stronger, and fires farther than anything we’ve built here in the Arsenal.”

Plassi’s throat went dry. He swallowed. “They won’t be able to hit the Arsenal. The reef wall is in the way—too tall for direct fire, and they can’t even see us for indirect shots.” He forced a chuckle. “Besides, even if the sky is falling, isn’t that for the Sealords to deal with? What’s it got to do with a factory foreman like you?”

Moody shot him a look before flicking the ashes from his pipe. “You know where they’re sending those new cannons we’ve been making?”

Plassi shrugged. “Not my concern.”

Moody tapped the railing with his pipe. “Everywhere.”

“Everywhere?”

“Yes. Every island. Every ship big enough to hold one, whether warship or merchant vessel. The plan is to abandon the outer waters entirely, pull the fight inside the city, and turn it into a defensive battle among the canals—using the islands as cover to negate the enemy’s range and accuracy.” He paused, then let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Sounds clever, doesn’t it? Only problem is… where the hell are they planning to find enough trained gunners? This isn’t a defense. It’s a desperate attempt to drag the enemy down by throwing civilians into the meat grinder. You, me, our families—we’re all going to be part of the ‘defense’ whether we like it or not.”

Plassi fell silent.

“…Shit.”
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From the western waters, a small boat approached at high speed. Two Braavosi scouts, drenched in sweat, rowed frantically toward the city, shouting as they neared the docks.

Plassi and Moody both turned to look.

Then, as if sensing something, they glanced back toward the ruins of the Titan.

A massive, round white sphere was slowly rising above the reef.

It floated upward at a steady, deliberate pace—until it came to a stop, hanging in the sky at a height even greater than the fallen Titan had once stood.

Beneath it, a basket dangled, barely visible from this distance.

There was someone inside.

“…What the fuck?” Plassi muttered.

Moody’s pipe nearly slipped from his fingers.

It looked harmless enough.

But a chill ran down his spine.

A moment later, realization struck him like a hammer to the chest.

It’s an artillery observation post.
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The sun had fully risen now, its golden light cutting through the morning mist and burning away the last wisps of vapor above the lagoon.

And then, as if to confirm Moody’s worst fears, a distant rumble rolled in from beyond the reef—deep, thunderous, and unmistakable.

Moments later, the sea erupted.

Plumes of water shot into the air as cannonballs rained down upon the waters east of the Titan’s ruins—right outside the Arsenal’s perimeter.

No direct hits—yet.

But Moody understood immediately.

They weren’t shooting blindly anymore.

The Queen’s fleet had found its mark.

The bombardment had begun.

And Braavos’s glory was about to be reduced to nothing more than dust beneath the weight of history’s march.

He turned to Plassi, grabbed his arm, and without looking back, ran.

“MOVE! NOW!”