The sun gradually rose, its golden rays piercing the morning mist like countless sharp swords and quickly dispersing the white vapor covering the saltwater lagoon.
Placy, who had just finished an entire night shift, finally saw the day-shift workers arriving. He removed his filthy work clothes and walked out of the sweltering foundry, taking deep breaths of fresh air as he followed the crowd surging toward the docks.
Behind him stood Braavos's second-greatest source of pride after the Iron Bank: the arsenal.
This vast complex of shipyards and factories, a testament to Braavosi wisdom, initiative, and organizational skill, stood on a fist-shaped reef in the lagoon behind the Titan. It served as the construction, docking, and maintenance center for the city-state's fleet. It was the first institution in the known world to adopt a rudimentary form of assembly-line production, more than a century before the Industrial Park jointly established by Aegor and Tyrion outside King's Landing.
Countless rumors and assessments surrounded it. The most famous and exaggerated was the boast that Braavosi repeated with pride:
"A warship can be built here in a single day!"
As a veteran employee of the arsenal, Placy naturally knew how exaggerated this claim was. No shipyard in the world could build an entire vessel in one day. The truth was that, at its peak, the arsenal operated more than ten production lines simultaneously. Provided that all preparations had been completed and materials remained plentiful, it could finish two production cycles each month and launch thirty small oared warships.
Averaged out, this became "building one warship a day."
Now, however, the production of warships had stopped.
Several months earlier, after news arrived of the Anti-Dragon Mother Alliance's crushing defeat during its attack on Dragonstone, analysts in the Braavosi think tank predicted that the age of traditional oared warships was coming to an end. When the shocking news of Volantis's fall followed, the city-state's ruling class, in addition to being greatly alarmed, finally realized that Braavos might be the next target.
Consequently, the House of Keyholders declared a state of emergency throughout the city-state, approved emergency funding, and released strategic reserves. Every worker and production line in the arsenal was reassigned to the round-the-clock production of improved cannons.
Using the same wordplay as before, the arsenal now produced far more than one cannon each day.
In terms of the sheer number of firearms, Braavos was no longer at a disadvantage.
...
The docks were crowded and chaotic. The workers coming off duty were disappointed to receive bad news. Normally, the boats carrying the day shift to the arsenal would take the night shift home on their return journey. Today, however, the first group of boats had to transport the cannons produced overnight to various positions throughout the city-state. The night-shift workers would therefore have to wait for another trip before they could board the commuter boats home.
Placy had no desire to squeeze into the crowd or join the protests, so he walked in another direction and stopped in a shaded area west of the workshop.
To his surprise, he found Moody, the workshop supervisor, leaning against the waterside railing and gloomily smoking his pipe.
No wonder no one else was there. Everyone was avoiding the man in charge.
Unlike the other workers, Placy had known Moody for more than a decade and felt neither distance nor awe because of the difference in rank. He casually walked over and leaned against the railing beside him.
"What are you thinking about?"
"I'm wondering how many days we have left." Moody answered without turning his head. He removed the pipe from his mouth, held it by the bowl, and pointed the stem toward the northwest. "Do you know what lies over there, beyond the sea outside the reef?"
"Daenerys's fleet."
Although the reef blocked his view, Placy immediately gave the correct answer. The arsenal stood only a few hundred feet from the Titan, and he had not forgotten the terrifying sight of the giant crashing into the sea and sending water everywhere.
"That's right. Daenerys's fleet. Hundreds of powerful ocean-going warships and hundreds of cannons ready to fire. Every one of them is larger, thicker, and capable of shooting farther than those we're producing in the arsenal!"
"They can't hit the arsenal anyway," Placy comforted him.
That was true. Although the wall-like reef averaged only a little over ten meters in height, it was enough to block direct observation from either side. Cannon fire traveling in a straight line would strike the reef, while arcing shots could hardly be aimed accurately without a clear view of the target.
"Besides, if the sky falls, the House of Keyholders will be there to hold it up. What does it have to do with you, a mere workshop supervisor?"
"But this time, it happens to have everything to do with me." Moody placed the pipe back in his mouth and puffed several times. "Do you know what kind of battle plan those damned bastards in the House of Keyholders have devised?"
"No. I don't concern myself with such things."
Moody rolled his eyes, but ultimately decided to tell him. Although the battle plan was confidential, the native Braavosi standing before him was certainly no spy for Daenerys.
"For Daenerys's fleet to enter Braavos, they'll have to clear away the sunken ships blocking the gap beneath the Titan's former position. Once they send ships close, we..." He pointed behind himself at the arsenal. "As the nearest stronghold, we'll bear the main responsibility for stopping them. That will inevitably draw all of the enemy's firepower. No one can say how long we'll hold out. And once they break through this defensive line..."
Moody pulled out his pipe again and pointed toward the newly produced cannons being loaded at the docks.
"Do you know where those things are being sent?"
"To other strongholds in the city?"
"Wrong. They're being sent everywhere in the city!" Moody withdrew his pipe and tapped it against the railing to clear away the ash. "Every island, whether it holds a residence or a fortress, and every ship large enough to carry one, whether warship or merchant vessel. The plan is to abandon the open waters around the city-state's outer perimeter and instead fight a defensive battle inside the city, relying on the dense network of canals and numerous islands for obstacles and cover. That way, they hope to negate the superior range and accuracy of the enemy's cannons."
"But by the Moon God, where are we supposed to find so many trained artillerymen? This is clearly a plan to use the city's residents as human shields and exhaust the enemy through attrition! You, me, and our parents, wives, and children could all become sacrifices in this battle at any moment!"
"Is that so?" Placy swallowed hard, secretly hoping that the war would never reach that point. After thinking for a moment, he still offered a helpless defense of the plan's architects. "But I think most of the city's residents would support fighting to the end. After all, even if we don't resist and surrender willingly, Daenerys is an outsider. Once she conquers Braavos, she'll certainly impose heavy taxes and levies. She'll never let us off easily."
"That makes sense, I suppose."
Moody sighed deeply. He was clearly dissatisfied that his old friend had not echoed his own opinion, but in truth, he did not know what else could be done.
Shaking his head, he concentrated on refilling his pipe with tobacco and stopped arguing.
Indeed, as the world's financial center, even though most of the benefits from commerce flowed into the hands of the upper class, the ordinary people at the bottom could still receive a share of the prosperity. Braavos had one of the highest average living standards in the known world, and it had no slaves waiting for Daenerys to liberate them.
After conquest by a foreign power, the living standards of the local population would certainly, unquestionably, and inevitably decline.
That was the fundamental reason why the Braavosi still retained the will to resist, despite the enormous intimidation caused by the Titan's fall.
The two continued chatting intermittently for several minutes when a small boat approached from the west, coming from the direction of the Titan's ruins. Two garrison soldiers responsible for reconnaissance were rowing desperately toward the city while shouting something at the men onshore.
"Fly... what?"
"Are they saying a dragon is attacking? Why panic? The city-state has already prepared its air defenses."
They muttered to each other and looked toward the Titan's ruins. Upon closer inspection, they did indeed notice something unusual.
A large, round white object slowly emerged from behind the reef and rose into the air at an extremely slow pace. It finally stopped at a height even greater than that of the former Titan, remaining steady as though suspended by a rope. Beneath its pale body hung a comparatively tiny basket, and inside that basket appeared to be a person.
It seemed harmless, but a moment later, Moody realized in horror what it was.
An artillery observation post!
With an observation point high enough to overlook the inner city of Braavos from beyond the reef, Daenerys's fleet in the outer sea would no longer need to fire blindly. They could now strike any target they wished to destroy with precision.
And their first target would undoubtedly be the arsenal where he was standing.
Sure enough, before he could share his analysis and conclusion with the old friend beside him, a rumble like distant thunder came from the far side of the reef. In the blink of an eye, more than a dozen columns of water erupted across a wide stretch of the lagoon southeast of the Titan's former position, tens or hundreds of meters from the arsenal, sending water spraying in every direction.
No wonder Daenerys's fleet had not harassed them with cannon fire during the night. They had been conserving gunpowder and ammunition for use during the day.
The enemy had no intention of giving the Braavosi a chance to fight a bloody close battle. Without a word, they had simply begun a relentless bombardment.
It was over.
Although this first round of shelling caused no casualties or property damage, Moody knew the tide had already turned.
Braavos's former glory was about to become the dust of history beneath this merciless bombardment. The only thing an ordinary man like him could do now was turn and run, praying that none of that "dust" fell directly onto his head.
He seized his old friend and sprinted toward the docks without looking back.
"Run!"
(To be continued.)