The Divine Throne of Shipgirls

"One rider to break a thousand"—in simpler terms, it meant a champion stepping forth to duel, cutting down enemy leaders at the front lines.

The lower-tier Abyssal shipgirls were entirely dependent on the cohesion brought by their flagship. If the flagships were decapitated on the battlefield, their formations would scatter like panicked mobs. A clean decapitation strike could rout an entire army.

And the Abyssal flagships never refused a duel. Their negative-energy-based nature made them revel in such battles—no, massacres. Watching a powerful foe struggle desperately before dying in their hands was the greatest ecstasy for them.

To trample and defile all things born of light—this was their very instinct. They would die for it without hesitation. For those born of darkness, life itself was torment, and they held no regard for self-preservation. In fact, many longed to be slain by a worthy foe—because they worshipped the law of the jungle.

But the difficulty with "one rider breaking a thousand" was that Abyssal flagships were unbeatable within their tier.

Yamato voiced the central question. "How do you plan to win?"

The Fleet Admiral's tone was resolute. "Wear her down. A war of attrition."

To wear her down... how many max-level shipgirls would have to be sacrificed?

Yamato felt the crushing weight of it. Her heart wavered. It took her a moment to speak. "Barbarossa isn't someone you can just wear down."

In truth, "wearing down" was a deceptive phrase—it only worked because the Abyssal flagship's natural regeneration couldn't keep pace with accumulated damage. But in a real battle to the death, unless the Abyssal flagship recognized the opponent as worthy, she would never fight honorably. They would never allow themselves to be slain by someone weak.

The Fleet Admiral looked back at his shipgirl, Inazuma.

She answered his gaze with a gentle but unwavering smile.

"Our goal," the Fleet Admiral said, "is to reduce Abyssal Barbarossa's endurance to below half. Then we'll unleash every bomber, torpedo plane, submarine, battleship, and battlecruiser we have—and kill her before she can escape."

There was no doubt—this was going to be a bloodbath. But no one objected.

This was the authority the Fleet Admiral had built up over a century of command. Even the most insane plan—if he gave it reasoning—there would be legions ready to march into hell for him.

He raised his hand. "Advance south. Notify the frontline of our plan. If he's already engaged a flagship, then all the better."

Yamato took a long drag from her cigarette, snuffed it out, and exhaled slowly.

"This is a battle that will decide the fate of the nation. Gentlemen, may fortune favor our blades."

…

The Fleet Admiral's orders were swiftly transmitted to the entire force.

He clearly stated that anyone unwilling to die could leave—but not a single soul turned away, not even the field reporters and observers.

In fact, to be part of such a battle… was an honor.

Win or lose, this war would go down in history.

The Forward Command's personal fleet raced southward. In the past few days, Abyssal Barbarossa had pushed forward 100 nautical miles daily. Now she was once again launching a major offensive. The distance between both sides had shrunk to under 300 nautical miles.

With the fleet averaging over 30 knots, they would reach engagement range in about ten hours.

Everyone waited for dawn beneath dark clouds.

The constant thunder of waves and distant cannon fire had somehow fallen silent. The endless black sea lay eerily calm.

The radio crackled and buzzed with static. Then, a voice emerged from the broadcast.

Despite all the interference from Abyssal powers, thanks to the equipment embedded in their ship rigs, limited voice communication remained possible—though the signal was poor.

The voice reported updates from the front.

"…East Sea operations in disarray… Supreme Commander fell in battle… nation's fate at stake… South Seas … one rider faces a thousand…"

There was no need to hide the truth. Against the Abyssals, controlling public morale was just as important as troop movements.

Shipgirls were born from the thoughts and hopes of humanity. If people lived in fear, the black ocean's power would only grow. But if they were filled with defiance and hope, the number of shipgirls born would increase.

This battle in the South Seas was already a war for survival. If they lost, the coastlines would fall, and the nation would be reduced to clinging to the inland. But if they won—how many hearts would ignite with glory and pride?

[End of Chapter]

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