I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 1263: The Ship With Unsettling Might

The march back through Ryugan’s carved corridors felt different than the entrance. The leader of the envoys maintained his perfect posture, his expression serene, but internally he was cataloguing every detail. Every nervous glance from passing guards. Every hastily closed door. Every whispered conversation that cut off as they approached.

’Fear. Good. That’s the expected response.’

Behind him, his personal guard—the man in silver armor with the blue shoulder cape—spoke quietly.

"That went well, Lord Pyrrhus."

Pyrrhus allowed himself a small smile.

"Better than expected, Adelais. The prince’s outburst was a gift. I was prepared to push much harder."

"The king showed remarkable restraint," Adelais observed, his tone respectful.

"Restraint born of weakness," Pyrrhus corrected. The words came easily, accompanied by a familiar satisfaction. He’d seen it before—rulers who couldn’t afford to act, trapped by circumstances beyond their control. "He knows he cannot fight us. The outburst simply confirmed what we already suspected—Ryugan’s leadership is fragile. The old king holds on, but his children are volatile. Exploitable."

The third figure—the one in casual black rags who moved with unsettling fluidity—chuckled softly. His voice carried an accent that suggested origins far from the Empire’s heartland.

"The girl, though. The princess. She’s sharper than the others."

"Roma." Pyrrhus nodded. "Yes. She maintained composure throughout. Interesting."

He made a mental note for his report. The Emperor’s intelligence on the royal family would need updating. She’d grown since the last assessment—sharper, more controlled than the previous reports indicated. Worth watching.

They descended grand staircases, passed through archways carved with ancient patterns, and finally emerged into the open air. The wind hit them immediately—cold, sharp, carrying the scent of stone and altitude. Ryugan’s port district spread before them in descending tiers carved into the mountainside itself.

Their ships waited at the docks. Three Imperial frigates, smaller than capital vessels but still formidable. Sleek hulls painted in crimson and gold, essence cannons visible along their flanks, the Emperor’s banner flying from each mast. Standard diplomatic escort—enough presence to remind everyone who they represented, not so much as to provoke.

Pyrrhus had taken perhaps ten steps toward the nearest ship when Adelais stopped abruptly.

"My lord."

Something in his tone made Pyrrhus pause. He followed Adelais’s gaze across the port district.

And saw it.

The vessel dominated the far end of the dock like a predator among prey. It was massive—easily three times the size of their largest frigate—with a hull that seemed constructed from dark metal that caught the light strangely. But what truly captured attention was the storm.

Crackling energy surrounded the ship like a living thing. Lightning arced and twisted in patterns that suggested containment rather than chaos, power held in check by deliberate design. The storm shield pulsed with barely restrained force, making the air shimmer with heat distortion.

Pyrrhus stopped walking entirely.

"What in the stars is that?" Adelais breathed.

The Imperial soldiers had noticed now too. Their perfect formation wavered slightly as heads turned, as hands unconsciously moved toward weapons in response to the vessel’s sheer threatening presence.

"A dreadnought," the man in black rags said softly. "Or something like one. But I’ve never seen storm channeling on that scale."

Pyrrhus’s mind was racing. He prided himself on knowing things—on having intelligence that others lacked. The Empire’s spy network was extensive, their surveillance of neighboring nations thorough. He had detailed reports on Ryugan’s military capabilities, their naval assets, their infrastructure.

’None of those reports mentioned this.’

The thought carried weight. Implications.

"Adelais," he said quietly. "What do we know about Ryugan’s shipbuilding capacity?"

"Limited, my lord." Adelais’s response was immediate—he’d memorized the same briefings. "They have adequate craftsmen, but they lack the industrial base for major vessel construction. Their fleet consists primarily of light escorts and cargo transports. Their largest military ship is the Mountain’s Fist—a frigate approximately sixty meters in length."

Pyrrhus looked at the dreadnought again. It had to be at least a hundred and fifty meters long. Possibly more.

"That is not a light escort," he said dryly.

"No, my lord."

They stood in silence for a moment, Imperial envoys and soldiers alike staring at the impossible vessel sitting calmly in Ryugan’s port. The storm shield crackled, sending shadows dancing across the dock.

"Could they have purchased it?" one of the soldiers suggested hesitantly.

"From whom?" Adelais countered. "The Mercantile Guilds don’t sell vessels of that class. The Northern Confederacy doesn’t have storm-channeling technology. The Southern Kingdoms are barely maintaining their own fleets after the succession wars." He paused. "Let’s not even speak of Ryugan’s incapability to establish relationships across continents."

"Then they built it," another soldier said.

"Impossible," Adelais said flatly. "We would have known. Construction of something that size takes years. Our surveillance would have detected it."

The man in black rags was studying the ship with unsettling intensity. "Unless they built it somewhere else. Somewhere we weren’t watching."

Pyrrhus felt a cold prickle of unease. That was... possible. Unlikely, but possible. If Ryugan had access to facilities outside their borders, if they’d been preparing in secret for years—

But no. That required resources, connections, infrastructure. Things that left traces. Things the Empire would have noticed.

"No," he said aloud, forcing confidence into his voice. "Look at it more carefully."

The others turned to him, questioning.

"The design is wrong for Ryugan. Too aggressive. Too... foreign." Pyrrhus gestured toward the vessel, his analytical mind cataloguing details even as unease settled in his chest. "This isn’t their aesthetic. Their ships are built for mountain warfare—vertical maneuvering, quick ascents and descents. That thing is built for open-sky dominance. For overwhelming force."

He paused, analyzing the lines of the hull, the placement of the weapons systems, the configuration of the storm shield.

"It’s not theirs. Someone else brought it here."

"Who?" Adelais asked.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

Pyrrhus stared at the dreadnought, at the crackling energy that surrounded it like a crown of lightning, and felt the first stirrings of something he rarely experienced.

Doubt.

’This changes things. The Emperor needs to know.’