Fire-control ranging, and the turret that swung off the beam
Your destroyer's main turret used to hang out over the water off the bow, and shells welled up out of the middle of the hull instead of leaving the barrel. Both are fixed — and while we were in the gun house, the guns learned to range themselves. Here's a gunnery pass for the sea war.
The turret sits where it should now
Swing your ship onto a new heading and the forward turret used to peel away with it, ending up cranked out over the beam while its barrels still pointed at the target — a mount that never quite belonged to the deck under it. Now it rides the forecastle where it lives, turning on its ring as it tracks your aim. Come to any heading you like; the turret stays planted up on the bow and swings only to follow the target.
Shells leave the barrel
The rounds had the same problem one deck down: the muzzle flash was on the barrel, but the shell itself climbed up out of the keel and slewed away sideways. Now a round leaves the gun you're pointing — up at deck height, off the end of the barrel, along the line of your aim. Enemy fire reads true the same way, so a salvo coming at you looks like it's coming from a ship's guns instead of its bilges.
Aim where you point — the guns do the rest
The fight happens across kilometres of open sea, and a shell takes real seconds to get there, dropping the whole way. Until now you compensated by eye — walking the reticle up above a distant hull and guessing the holdover. Fun once, tedious forever.
So the guns range themselves, World of Warships style. Put the sight on a target and the battery elevates to wherever the crosshair points, continuously — the centre of the sight is where the shells will land. Lay it on an enemy hull and it locks to a clean, steady range; lay it on open water and it ranges the sea, so you can walk your aim onto a mover's course and lead her by eye. No range to set, no holdover to chase, no number to fight. Just point and shoot.
…but the shells still scatter
Guns that always drop dead on the crosshair would make gunnery trivial, and that's not how battleships work — so a salvo disperses. Each round falls somewhere inside a pattern around your aim: most cluster near the centre, the odd one flies wide, and the pattern opens up the farther you shoot. A destroyer's quick rifles group tight; a battleship throws a looser spread. Ranging the target and timing your salvo is the skill; the sea takes its cut on where each shell lands.
With shells missing more, a fleet round stopped being decided purely by who sinks whom and started turning on the capture zones — a better fight, and a closer one. The naval map is deliberately lopsided, a natural coastline and scattered islands rather than a mirror, and one flank reaches the contested centre cap a touch sooner. So the fleets now swap which side they deploy on each round: the good flank belongs to Crimson and Cobalt equally over a match, and neither colour can ride the map to a win.