Assigned To The 1st Fleet

World Era 1909.

As the new year began, feasts and celebrations were held all over the country. It had already been over a year since the war with the Doicheun Empire ended, yet the nation’s condition was far from good.

Although war reparations were still being received from the Nubea Kingdom, they were nowhere near enough. Currently, three new battleships were under construction, and even more urgently, cruisers and destroyers—of which many had been lost during the war—also needed to be replenished.

These ships were already being commissioned and built at various shipyards across the country. But large-scale warship construction always required immense funds.

Even though the Polia Kingdom possessed a sizeable island territory and overseas colonies, there was still a clear limit to the available budget. In theory, things could be managed if done gradually. The problem was that military strength needed to be restored quickly and in a short time frame.

To secure the necessary funding, taxes naturally had to be raised, and as a result, the standard of living for the citizens plummeted. In such harsh living conditions, public discontent was inevitable.

All the more so when extravagant parties were being thrown, and nobles flaunted their luxury without shame. The stark contrast sparked a sense of deprivation among the people. The result: protests erupted—and in some places, even rebellions.

So what actions did the King of Polia Kingdom take in response? None other than forceful suppression of protesters and mercilessly crushing rebellions with blood.

January 15

Central Plaza, Pullea (Capital City)

Just weeks into the new year, over twenty thousand people had already gathered at the capital’s central plaza. They all held protest signs and shouted their demands.

〈The taxes are too high—we can’t survive! Lower them!〉
〈Prices have soared! Guarantee us a livable wage!〉
〈We are not just tax-paying slaves of the kingdom!〉
〈Guarantee our labor rights!〉

They shouted their demands and occupied the central plaza. In a monarchy, such protests were considered illegal. But the awakened citizens could no longer endure such unjust treatment and voiced their grievances.

In front of them stood heavily armed riot police, each holding rifles. Beyond them were around a hundred mounted officers, prepared to charge. Soon, a warning was broadcast through a long triangular megaphone.

“Disperse immediately! If you do not, you will be forcefully removed!”

The protesters responded by shouting louder. They were determined not to back down unless their demands were met.

“Lower the taxes!”

“Guarantee livable conditions!”

“We are not slaves!”

“Protect our labor rights!”

Their voices trembled with rage. Most of the protestors were people who couldn’t even afford to pay taxes anymore. Driven by desperation, they had nothing to lose and joined the protest in anger.

But the riot police weren’t there to negotiate. Under the King’s command, they had the authority to forcibly disperse the illegal protesters. After a single warning, they immediately began their operation.

“Disperse them all! Arrest the ringleaders if you see them!”

At that order, the hundred mounted officers began charging. The sight of their heavy steeds galloping forward was terrifying. As they reached the front lines, people panicked. Those in the very front were struck hard by the oncoming horses.

“Kyaaah!”

“Ahhh!”

“S-Stop!”

“Please don’t!”

“R-Run!”

As the cavalry plowed through the crowd, people were either flung away or trampled underfoot. Bones broke, abdomens were crushed, and blood was spat onto the ground. It was a gruesome sight—but the riot police’s eyes showed no hint of sympathy.

Soon, additional police officers moved in to apprehend the fallen. Of course, many others fled in all directions. The result: 12 dead, 110 injured.

Though the riot seemed to have ended quickly and brutally, it wasn’t truly over. The ringleaders of the protest remained at large.

Late at night, a group of uniformed men arrived at a certain house in a residential district. Wearing dark-colored uniforms, they stood before the door and rang the bell. Ding— A moment later, a voice came from inside.

“It’s late. What is this about?”

“Is this the residence of the Alens family—graduate of Doren High School?”

“Yes, my son. What’s this about? Who are you?”

The middle-aged man’s voice trembled slightly, but what came next was a cold and emotionless reply.

“We’re the Secret Police (Mauter). Your son has been identified as one of the ringleaders of today’s illegal protest. A warrant has been issued. Open the door and prepare for a search.”

“S-Secret Police?! My son has nothing to do with that protest!”

“That’s not for you to decide. If you refuse to open this door, we are authorized to force our way in. Be aware—refusal will make you subject to arrest as well. So what will it be? Will you open the door? Or shall we break it down?”

Silenced by the threat, the man hesitated before unlocking the door with a click and cautiously opening it. The officer grabbed the door and flung it open. A man in pajamas stood inside, while his wife peered out fearfully from behind him.

The Mauter, or Secret Police, were feared even in the Polia Kingdom. Anyone deemed a threat to the state could be arrested, tortured, and coerced into false confessions under their authority.

Having these men show up looking for their son sent a chill down the couple’s spines. The officer entered the home, his boots echoing on the floor, and spoke.

“If you’re hiding your son, be aware that you too will be investigated. Tell us where he is now, and we’ll leave you alone. That’s a promise.”

“We… We don’t know.”

“Our son Alens… hasn’t even come home today.”

The Secret Policeman stared silently at the couple, then signaled to the four agents who had followed him.

“Search the place.”

With that command, they entered the house and began their search. It was anything but gentle.

Crash!—a loud crashing sound rang out, loud enough for lights to flicker on in nearby homes. Meanwhile, the Secret Police officer who had given the orders pulled a cigarette pack from his coat, placed one between his lips, and lit it with a Zippo lighter.

He took a deep drag, then exhaled with a whoosh—just as someone came out of the nearest house. Glancing at the figure, the officer issued a stern warning.

“Secret Police. We’re carrying out official duties. If you approach, you’ll be arrested. Are you coming anyway?”

“N-No! I’m sorry!”

The man quickly backed away, and others who had peeked out their doors slammed them shut in fear after hearing the officer’s voice. It was proof of just how feared the Secret Police were. Then, a voice rang out nearby:

“Catch him! After him!”

‘So he really was here.’

From the look on the parents’ faces, it had been easy to guess. For a veteran like the Secret Police officer, tracking down an ordinary fugitive was hardly difficult. At that moment, a young man bolted out the door. Still holding his cigarette, the officer raised both hands.

“G-Get out of my way!”

“……”

The youth charged ahead, clearly intending to break through by force, but the officer crouched low and lunged. With a thud, he slammed the young man to the ground. Crash!—the young man collapsed in a heap.

“Aaagh! Alens!?”

“My boy!”

As the panicked cries of the parents rang out, the officer took another puff from his cigarette and muttered quietly in the young man’s ear.

“Your life’s over now. Your parents’ lives, too. You should’ve known better than to do what you did.”

The youth trembled, stunned, then finally realized what his future held—and burst into tears. He began to beg for forgiveness, but it was far too late.

That night, seven protest leaders were arrested.

Navy Headquarters

“Ian Mustaq, reporting as ordered.”

Saluting now felt natural. Ian had come here not as a prince, but as a soldier, and directed his gaze to his superior: the admiral of the 1st Fleet.

He was Duke Elkherd von Brudwar, wearing the insignia of a Lupera (Admiral). He was also the highest-ranking officer representing the Navy, tasked with defending the mainland. Though less known to the public, he held the highest standing within the Navy itself.

“Welcome.”

He had an imposing face framed by a thick white beard—an aura of aged dignity, with an air of nobility. From his eyes, Ian could sense a certain warmth—likely due to the prince’s distinguished contributions during the war against the Empire.

“Ian Mustaq, do you know why you’ve been called here?”

“Not at all, sir.”

“There are two things I need to inform you of.”

The admiral placed two sheets of paper on his antique wooden desk. Curious, Ian looked down at them.

“One is your appointment order. The other, a mission briefing.”

“Understood.”

“Take a look at the appointment order first.”

“Excuse me.”

Ian picked up the appointment letter and read through it. He quickly realized he had been officially assigned to the 1st Fleet—under Admiral Brudwar’s command. Since the 1st Fleet defended the mainland, he wondered if this meant he wouldn’t be sailing anytime soon.

‘Wait, wasn’t there also a mission briefing?’

“As of today, you’re under my command. I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise, Admiral Brudwar. May I ask what the mission briefing is about?”

“Have a look for yourself.”

At his prompting, Ian read the mission order. It instructed him to suppress a rebellion that had broken out in the Marin Archipelago, a chain of 220 large and small islands in Polia Kingdom’s southern seas.

‘A rebellion in the Marin Archipelago? But how can I carry out this mission while assigned to the 1st Fleet?’

“You’re wondering how someone in the 1st Fleet can be sent on such a mission, aren’t you?”

“You saw right through me, sir.”

“It’s natural to think that. But it’s possible—because it’s you.”

“Because of me, sir?”

“You command a battleship. You’re a prince. And you gained great merit during the last war. A commanding officer with such prestige will apply considerable pressure on the rebels. Therefore, you’re being granted the authority to operate independently.”

“You mean I’ll have autonomous command within the 1st Fleet?”

“Exactly. You’ll lead a detached squadron. A small fleet under your command.”

So, he would be leading a small independent task force. In other words, he’d be allowed to operate freely under the 1st Fleet’s name. Ian wasn’t sure whether to call this luck or not.

‘They’re clearly trying to leverage my reputation, rank, and battleship to intimidate the enemy.’

He was being used—but given that he had decided to serve properly in the Navy, this was only natural. In fact, it was the perfect opportunity for him to distinguish himself even further.

“I understand. I’ll carry out the mission. When do I begin?”

“The sooner, the better. The rebellion in the Marin Archipelago is already underway. Deploy as soon as you can.”

Ian saluted and said he’d begin preparations immediately. Although he hadn’t technically graduated yet, classes were over—he just needed to collect his diploma later.

And so, for the first time in a while, Ian would return to the sea.