I Became a Witch and Started an Industrial Revolution

After the meeting ended, Marlon took a small boat back to his warship. In the small conference room, he issued the latest orders to his officers and soldiers, then straightened his uniform and walked toward his cabin.

As he opened the door and entered, a young girl in a naval officer’s uniform was frowning at the cup of tea in her hands. She closed her eyes, grimaced, and tilted her head back to force it down.

Marlon couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. “You really can’t handle even a bit of bitterness.”

Tina’s delicate face scrunched up tightly. She disliked anything bitter—such flavors reminded her of unpleasant memories from her childhood.

But her older sister Mitia had told her that drinking persimmon leaf tea while at sea was essential; it replenished a large amount of vitamin C. She had no choice but to drink it.

Seeing Marlon laughing at her, Tina glared fiercely at him. In response, he reached out his large hand, palm up, revealing two candies wrapped in white wax paper. “Here, milk candy.”

She snatched one, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. Only then did the strange bitterness fade away.

Both Marlon and Tina had been personally assigned by Mitia to the Navy Department—he as the captain of a cruiser, and she as the sergeant major.

By rights, given their merits in stirring the uprising in the Kingdom of Ovinia and later aiding the Seris Federation in reclaiming and peacefully integrating the kingdom, their rewards should have been far greater.

In truth, they were already substantial. The only awkward part was that the Federation’s most advanced warship class at present was the Zhiyuan-class cruiser—there wasn’t much to choose from. Still, that didn’t hinder the two from rising swiftly through the naval ranks.

As for why they weren’t appointed generals in the Army Department—that was mainly to avoid suspicion.

It couldn’t be denied that the original army had even been nicknamed “Tina’s Army.” Her immense reputation made it unsuitable for her to continue serving in the ground forces.

To prevent any unnecessary trouble in the future, assigning the two of them to another military branch was the most appropriate solution—and there was no need to worry about them being mistreated there.

And as for why Mitia kept mentioning “the two of them” together—well, the moment she saw them, she’d sensed an unusually sour “odor” between them. So she decided to send them away early.

Otherwise, she feared she might not be able to resist breaking Marlon’s legs on impulse—and that would hardly be a proper way to treat a hero.

From behind, Marlon wrapped his arms around Tina and spoke softly, “Once this war is over, I’ll return and ask Her Majesty the Empress for permission to marry you. What do you say?”

‘Not a chance!’

“Huh? Why not?”

Tina’s fair cheeks flushed crimson. She twisted his waist lightly and scolded in a low voice, “Don’t say things like ‘after the war’ or ‘when this is over.’ Sister said that’s like jinxing yourself—it sounds like you’re leaving your last words!”

Marlon: “……”

An hour later, as night approached—

The Federation Fleet had entered the Coparac Gulf. Inside the gulf, warships filled the waters, sails and masts rising like a forest as they advanced at full speed.

The two earlier waves of bombing may not have crippled the Church’s so-called Invincible Fleet, but the chaos, explosions, and time wasted rescuing sailors from the water had seriously delayed them.

So now, following the “36 Stratagems,” they tried to retreat back into open waters—where the vast sea would once again become their natural defense.

But the Federation Navy would not let them escape so easily. The purpose of bombers, after all, was not only to destroy but also to flush the enemy out.

Because the various classes of warships differed in speed, their formation naturally stretched into a long line. The Federation fleet, blocking the mouth of the gulf, had already formed a T-shaped position—broadside to the enemy.

Reconnaissance airships and spotters soon sighted the Church’s “Invincible Fleet” in the distance. Rangefinders aboard the Federation ships quickly calculated distance and bearing using data from their scouts.

The parameters were sent to the fire-control rooms. The three twin-mounted main guns on each cruiser had already rotated into position and began loading high-explosive shells powered by alchemical powder.

The four side-mounted 152mm rapid-fire guns were loaded with armor-piercing rounds—their task was to weaken the enemy’s magical shields.

Experiments had shown that, likely because armor-piercing rounds carried immense kinetic penetration, a magical barrier—a wide-area defensive array—required enormous energy to resist such focused, high-speed impacts. In effect, armor-piercing shells had become a sort of “magic nemesis.”

Signal flags rose up the masts, and the radio transmitters came alive. At Admiral Doolittle’s command, his flagship Zhiyuan fired a solo volley first—to gather trajectory data for the rest of the fleet to adjust their aim.

Shells roared toward the Church’s clustered warships fifteen kilometers away.

“What’s that sound?”

“Shells! Enemy attack!”

Whistling shells crashed into the sea nearby, sending up towering plumes of water. When no ships were hit, the panicked Church sailors breathed a sigh of relief.

But before they could realign their guns or ready their counterattack, the remaining twenty-nine cruisers had already opened fire in alternating full broadsides—the two forward turrets first, followed by the rear.

Under the thunderous roar of the main guns, volleys of shells streaked across the waves, shrieking through the air before slamming into the heart of the Church fleet.

Several third-rate battleships and two second-rate warships at the front erupted in flames, their hulls torn apart amid the deafening thunder of death.

【Enemy attack!!!】

【Return fire! Hurry, return fire!】

【We’re out of range! Too far! Full speed ahead!】

【By the Goddess! What kind of fleet is that? How can they strike from so far away?!】

As the first volley ended, loaders waited for the hydraulic systems to reset the main guns, preparing shells for the second salvo.

Meanwhile, the priests aboard the Church ships snapped out of their panic. Raising their holy emblems, they shouted orders to steady their sailors’ morale.

Crewmen rushed below decks to man the oars, hoping to close the distance and bring their cannons within range. Others hurriedly transported the massive shells and giant ballista bolts used by their shipboard weapons.

Yes—ballista bolts.

Since the rise of the Seris Federation, the introduction of gunpowder weapons had inevitably caught the attention of all major powers. Everyone had tried to imitate them.

If the Dwarves could do it, then certainly the Church could as well—and better. After all, the Church had no shortage of Goblin, Dwarf, or Gnome slaves skilled in crafting instruments of war.

Still, their small artisanal workshops had limited output. Only their first-rate and “Goddess-class” battleships had been fully refitted with cannons. Their second- and third-rate ships still carried many of the older magitech ballistae.

Naturally, the Church refused to stand there and be shelled without retaliation. But the range and technology gap between the two fleets were simply insurmountable.

The most frustrating part was this: for the Church Navy to stand a chance, they needed to close in and hold the Federation fleet’s “T” head-on—but their ships were too slow. Without speed, they couldn’t bring their broadside firepower to bear.

And unlike the Federation warships with 360° rotating turrets, their ships had few usable forward-facing guns at all.

Even when those few guns did fire, no one could say where their shots actually landed.

Naval gunnery was a complex, systematic discipline.

Especially now that turrets could rotate freely, old firing clocks were practically useless.

The Federation fleet’s shipboard optical rangefinders could measure distances accurately within fifteen kilometers, but beyond that, the margin of error grew sharply.

And once you had the enemy’s bearing, speed, and range, could you simply plug them into the fire-control system? Not yet.

Warships at sea were constantly pitching and rolling; the calculations had to account for the vessel’s angle relative to the horizon, excluding the influence of waves—this meant compensating for pitch, roll, and yaw.

The old “horizon method” was both cumbersome and imprecise.

The modern Federation fleet, however, used gyroscopic systems, which easily computed roll angles. Still, since the turrets now rotated freely, corrections had to be applied for both elevation and azimuth.

And because both sides were in motion during battle, these values were constantly changing—requiring nonstop calculation of distance, rate of change, bearing, and bearing rate.