The Winds of Tepr

Chapter 28

"FIRE!"

Official Mo stands on a ship's decks. He overlooks the coastal city of Meln, where the sound of crashing waves mingles with the cacophony of cannon fire. His eyes narrow in mild amusement as he watches the relentless bombardment of the city below.

Mo lazily raises his eyeglass to his eye. He observes the fiery arc of each cannonball as it plunges toward the city's imposing walls, creating bursts of dust and debris upon impact.

"Your firepower isn't so bad, sir Fajii!" Mo calls out to the admiral in charge of the navy, his tone filled with condescension. He watches as the admiral nods in acknowledgment but remains focused on the ongoing siege.

Far from the soaring rebellion in the northern Bos region, this uprising in the southeastern port city of Meln is of a different nature. It's a revolt born of discontent—a coalition of furious fishermen protesting exorbitant taxes, disgruntled soldiers who were forcibly drafted and separated from their homes, and opportunistic pirates hoping to exploit the chaos for profit.

The city of Meln, with its intricate canal network and formidable fortifications, is a near-impenetrable fortress. Taking it by storm would be a fool's errand, so the empire had dispatched one of its most skilled admirals. For weeks, his formidable navy has blockaded the coastal city, cutting off its supply lines and reducing it to a state of desperation.

Admiral Fajii stands tall on the ship's deck, his eyes fixed on the relentless barrage of cannon fire. He doesn't turn to face Official Mo but acknowledges his comment with a hearty laugh.

"I'm glad you think so, Official Mo! With these cannons, these rebels will surrender in no time!" Fajii's voice carries a note of pride in the firepower at his disposal.

Mo, however, wears an expression of impatience, his glasses in hand as he wipes them clean. "Wait for their surrender? Aren't those fancy cannons of yours able to break the walls?"

Fajii chuckles heartily at Mo's question, shaking his head with amusement. "You think too highly of our cannons, Official Mo! Even Crouching Tigers are not able to break Moukopl walls. They're made with the strongest materials, and their base is too large. Their foundation of stone and wood is plainly unbreakable."

Mo sighs, his expectations tempered by the admiral's explanation. He places his glasses back on his nose, adjusting them with a resigned air. "Is that so..."

Official Mo is a middle-aged man, his features reflecting the weariness and cynicism of someone long accustomed to the bureaucratic intricacies of the Moukopl Empire. He has a lean and somewhat haggard appearance, with sharp, angular facial features.

His hair, once perhaps a deep shade of black, has grayed at the temples and thinned with the passage of time. He wears it meticulously combed, though the effort doesn't entirely conceal the signs of aging.

Mo's most distinctive feature is the pair of wire-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The glasses are constantly in need of adjustment, which he does with an absentminded habit, as if the act of wiping them clean or pushing them back up provides him with a sense of control in a world filled with chaos.

His eyes, behind the glasses, are a piercing shade of brown, keen and calculating, capable of assessing situations with a quick, analytical glance. Yet, they also hold a perpetual hint of boredom and impatience, as though Mo views the world with a detached cynicism.

As the conversation unfolds on the ship's deck, a lieutenant approaches his captain with haste, a hint of excitement in his voice as he delivers his report.

"Captain! They raised a flag on the furthest docked ship!"

The captain repeats the news to Admiral Fajii, his tone laced with anticipation. "It seems like they're already surrendering, Sir!"