An elderly man with white hair sat sipping black coffee, drifting across a vast, empty expanse of the sea.
There was nothing in sight except for seagulls circling above the massive, sleek warship.
He sat with casual ease, his right leg resting over his left, his brown shoe rhythmically tapping the chair’s support as he rested an elbow near the control console.
“It gets tedious without a crew,” Vladimir murmured, slowly savoring his drink.
He found himself reflecting on the events of the past week.
It had all begun when he woke up in this very control room, dressed in a crisp Russian military uniform.
He remembered the hum of the engine and the submarine moving at high speeds with no destination in mind.
His eyes had darted around the cabin—not a soul in sight.
He had scanned every corner, but the results were the same: he was entirely alone.
“What on earth is happening here?” he muttered, clearing his throat.
Rising from his seat, feeling slightly unsteady, Vladimir decided to check the currents beneath the ship.
The waves were immense, far larger than the vessel’s displacement should have allowed.
He proceeded to inspect the levers and the cold, metallic surfaces of the command center.
Everything seemed to be in order, yet as he passed the navigation panel, the lights began to flicker with an unnatural glow.
It was a phenomenon he couldn’t fathom.
If this is a submarine, why does it look nothing like the vessels I commanded in the war?
he wondered.
The layout was foreign—sonar systems equipped with strange, long-handed clocks that had no place in his memories of World War II.
Yet, as he stared at them, the technical knowledge flooded his mind automatically, as if it had been hardwired directly into his brain.
His gaze suddenly shifted to a white object resting on the console.
He picked up a sheet of paper covered in elegant, looping script, but the language was unrecognizable.
Sighing, he turned his attention to a rectangular remote and pressed a red button.
For a moment, nothing happened; then, a screen materialized, displaying his status:
Name: Vladimir Konovalov
Age: 55
Level: 43
Race: Otherworlder
Job: Traveler
Ability: [Submarine Skill] [Infinite Ammo & Weapon Selector]
Skills: [Age Resistance] [Laser Beam] [Missile] [Sonar Searching]
“Abilities?
Skills?
What is all this?” he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly tone.
For now, he decided, he would set aside the burdens of war and simply enjoy the journey.
“Come to think of it, it has been an eternity since I’ve been able to admire the horizon without a world war raging in the background.”
He wasn’t wrong.
He vividly recalled the brutal naval campaigns he had led to crush the Nazi forces.
He had commanded an L-3 submarine—a 1,200-ton vessel, 81 meters long with a 7.5-meter beam, chugging along at a diesel-electric speed of 14 knots.
A week had passed, and the monotony of the open sea was beginning to grate on him.
That was until he spotted a bandit ship two kilometers away.
Vladimir stroked his chin thoughtfully.
He cut the engines of his L-3 and watched the bandit vessel’s movements, then spoke in Russian to the ship’s control interface.
“Admiral, shall we engage the enemy?” the A.I.
queried.
“No.
Not necessary.
We’ll dive.
It’s more strategic to stay hidden.
If I engage, this ship will be shredded in a heartbeat.”
“Understood,” the A.I.
replied flatly.
“I recommend a surgical strike instead.”
Vladimir nodded.
Relying on the A.I.
had become his new normal.
Since the machine had taken over the ship’s navigation, life had become significantly easier.
“Target the west side, 67 degrees,” Vladimir commanded.
He leaned into the periscope.
The bandit ship was charging hard toward them, oblivious.
Vladimir offered a cynical smirk and stepped away.
“Correction,” he added, “steer the submarine to 90 degrees north.”
“North, sir?”
“That’s right.
Do you have an issue with that, A.I.?”
“I am merely here to execute your orders, Admiral.
I have no authority to object.”
“Хороший (Good).”
A missile tore through the surface, accelerating rapidly toward the target.
The bandit crew watched in terror as the massive projectile closed the distance.
“Save us!” “Help!”
Panic turned to chaos.
The missile slammed into the hull, tearing the bandit ship apart.
Some of the crew leaped into the churning sea in a desperate attempt to survive, but there was no escaping the destruction Vladimir had unleashed.
Vladimir watched the destruction with a wry grin, his expression unreadable.
“I suggest we vacate the area immediately, Admiral,” the A.I.
noted with clinical detachment.
Vladimir barely heard the warning over the constant roar of explosions.
Seeing the bandit ship disintegrate, the crew scattered, jumping overboard rather than staying aboard their doomed vessel.
Vladimir looked up and gave the order: “Now!” The L-3 surged downward, diving deep into the ocean, leaving only the thin periscope visible on the surface.
“Time to disappear,” he muttered, stroking his beard.
The cavalry and the general retreated in droves.
The shouts of command echoed clearly across the battlefield.
Both the Kingdom and the Empire faced the same grim reality.
“Everyone!
Retreat!
Retreat!”
Across the field, a man with tanned skin and gray armor fought against the Torquis Empire.
He was the Ars Kingdom’s commander, Cappadox.
Wielding a greatsword and shouting the name of his kingdom, he waited for victory.
General Oxion watched the leader of the Ars Kingdom side; his own commander had fallen two days earlier, and he had stepped in to take command.
His eyes remained fixed on Cappadox, who had been pushing back the Torquis forces all morning.
“Not bad at all.”
General Oxion was impressed by the envelopment tactic.
He had expected the Ars Kingdom to retreat after their commander fell, but Cappadox had instead used the retreat to split his platoons, effectively stalling the Empire’s pursuit.
“Clever tactics, but he’s fighting the wrong man.”
General Oxion ordered his troops to hold the center and left flanks, bracing for the onslaught.
Thirty minutes later, Cappadox’s momentum broke against the Empire’s wall.
Seeing a tactical opening, General Oxion prepared to strike.
“Report, General!
An unusual attack from the west!” a soldier shouted, breathless.
“What?
A major assault?” Oxion frowned, confused.
He signaled his adjutant, Alben, to take command.
“Alben, I’m leaving the line to you.
I’m taking one platoon with me.”
“Understood, General!” Alben saluted.
Oxion spurred his horse toward the source of the reports.
He prayed his intuition was wrong.
The oracle had warned him: “You will face a dangerous otherworlder.
Avoid the ocean.” If the Oracle meant the sea, then a threat far worse than the Kingdom was about to tear through the battlefield.
He had to stop it.
He didn’t know that the bandit ship had already been obliterated by Vladimir.
“Admiral, shall I turn on the ventilation for a smoker like you?” the A.I.
suggested.
“No need.
Let the room smell a bit.
There’s nothing wrong with a good smoke,” Vladimir replied, puffing clouds toward the ceiling.
The A.I.
opened the vents automatically, exhausting the smoke through the engine intake.
The hum was loud, but Vladimir found it comforting.
He enjoyed the view of the sea, even if his accidental laser blast had killed thousands of fish, leaving their remains to float to the surface.
He watched the debris through the periscope.
“What is your next move?”
Vladimir didn’t answer.
He played with the levers, observing the compass.
It was acting erratically—the needle spinning wildly toward a different location.
A red, circular magic rune appeared in the water, targeting his submarine.
“[Fireball]!”
Five fireballs rained down like meteors from the sky.
Vladimir steered the L-3 hard to the right, dodging the impacts.
The heat of the spells turned the ocean into a cloud of scalding steam, obscuring his vision.
He didn’t know these attacks were far more potent than anything from his own world, but he held his course, pulling the trigger to unleash his own missile.
Bubbles churned, and the weapon locked onto the target with lethal precision.
The Torquis Empire and the Ars Kingdom remained on high alert until a missile erupted from the depths.
The blast devastated the landscape.
Hundreds of soldiers fell; those who remained were shattered, mentally and physically.
Realizing the battle was lost, both sides turned to retreat, including Alben.
“Retreat!
Fall back!” Alben commanded.
“A golden opportunity!
While the Empire flees, strike them!” Cappadox yelled, pointing his sword at Alben’s back.
But many soldiers stood their ground, paralyzed by fear or misplaced loyalty to their king—choosing death over the shame of retreating.
The AI detected hostiles approaching as the L-3 surfaced, the periscope rising like a periscope eye to meet the enemy.
General Oxion was horrified.
A metallic monster was emerging from the waves.
He charged toward it, greatsword raised, feeling the overwhelming intimidation radiating from the steel hull.
Inside, Vladimir felt the rumble of an impact.
“Report!”
“Hull section C hit.
Engine A damaged.
It is safe to exit,” the A.I.
said.
“Exit the submarine?” Vladimir frowned.
“Correct.
I will handle the repairs.
I require you to defend the exterior.”
“Fine.
I’ll protect my ship!”
Vladimir grabbed an AK-47 from the armory, equipped with a silencer, and climbed out of the hatch.
He opened fire, taking down soldier after soldier with surgical precision until only two men and General Oxion remained.
“Impossible.
One man…
he’s killed dozens!”
“Leave if you want to live,” Vladimir warned.
“I’ll spare you if you stop attacking.”
“Like hell I will!
You attacked us first!” the soldier shouted, but he was cut off by a single, clean shot to his forehead.
Vladimir breathed deeply.
“Who else wants to die?”
“No need for more, Russian.”
A man leaped from the shadows, wielding a knight’s iron sword.
Vladimir blocked it with his bayonet.
They locked eyes.
The man wore black armor with red circular striped pads, and a transparent blue night-vision lens covered his right eye, while a small antenna replaced his left.
He was wrapped in worn, tattered cloth.
“Troublesome enemy.
You’re from America, aren’t you?”
“America?
You mean that obsolete nation?” the man retorted.
“How do you know about our home?”
They clashed repeatedly.
Vladimir dodged, trying to strike at the man’s midsection.
“L-3 Submarine Combat Mode…
Automatic on!”
“Affirmative!”
The A.I.’s voice boomed across the water.
The man in black armor grew cautious, attacking with renewed speed.
Vladimir parried, trying to break the man’s arm, but was countered and nearly fell.
His bayonet shattered under the impact of a gunshot.
Vladimir sprinted forward, ducking under a strike; his instincts screamed that this man carried an arsenal.
He had to end this, even if it cost him his life.
The L-3 continued to fire automatically, raining missiles on the armies.
Both the Ars Kingdom and Torquis Empire soldiers fled, realizing the carnage was beyond their control.
The man in black armor watched them go, satisfied that they had the sense to retreat.
He looked at Vladimir with new caution.
His armor is Soviet, but his skill is on par with other otherworlders.
Wait—his power scales with the submarine.
If I separate him from the ship, he’ll weaken.
I’ll try that.
Vladimir kept firing, but the man was too agile, deflecting shots with a holographic shield.
The intensity of the fight pushed Vladimir to his limit.
“Now!”
“Affirmative!”
A missile targeted the man, but he smiled.
He vaulted into the air, drawing a knife that pulsed with energy.
He slashed in a blinding ‘X’ pattern, cutting through the blast.
Vladimir retreated toward the sub, but the man pursued.
As the man stepped onto the deck, a blinding flash erupted.
Realizing it was a trap, he bolted.
“Good thing I upgraded before we surfaced,” Vladimir breathed.
“Agreed.
Without the modular weapons, the L-3 would be useless on land,” the A.I.
confirmed.
Vladimir understood the cost: his magic weakened the longer he stayed on land.
That was why he used this amphibious battlefield to sharpen his edge.
He kept his true strength a secret, even from his enemies.
He even had an ace up his sleeve: the laser.
He saved it for emergencies.
As he reached for the trigger, a laser struck his right wrist.
“Too slow!” he cursed, suppressing the pain as blood dripped onto the deck.
He stared at the man in black armor, who now held a laser pistol.
But the man sheathed it, opting for his holographic blades once more.
“You’re from the previous world, too, aren’t you?”
“Don’t tell me you are,” Vladimir countered.
The man smiled bitterly.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he opened the supply hatch, revealing a store of food and ammunition—all labeled Overcapacity.
“Consider it a gift …
Vladimir Konovalov.”
With that, he vanished.
Vladimir stood alone, bewildered.
He scanned the surface, but there was no sign of the man.
Who was he?
How did he know?
In the distance, the man in black armor collapsed, black smoke leaking from his nostrils.
He calmly logged his findings.
“The report to the master is ready.”
He dissolved into a cloud of shadow.
“Until next time, Otherworlder.”
Footsteps approached.
The man donned his armor again, looking up at General Oxion, who was shaking with PTSD-induced horror.
He looked over the battlefield—the carnage of the Ars Kingdom and Torquis Empire soldiers lay silent.
The man walked to the broken general, raised a blade to end his suffering, and choked the life out of him.
He left the battlefield with a cold, confident stare from behind his helmet.