Global Lords: Building the Strongest Civilization with SSS Rank Talent Chapter 169: A Mysterious Ship

As the flagship bobbed in the dark water, heavy cannons locked onto the colossal black hull. Syra waited patiently at the bow, but as five, then ten minutes passed, the thick fog simply continued to swirl around the silent vessel.

No flags were raised, and no horns sounded to declare their intent.

Stepping onto the main deck, Iron-Scale stared at the massive obstacle blocking their path. ’I do not have ti for a staring contest,’ he thought, raising a clawed hand. "Fire the spools. We are boarding."

The deck crew imdiately fired dozens of high-tensile grappling lines, the heavy steel hooks biting deeply into the stranger’s hull. Grabbing a line, Iron-Scale zipped across the gap in a blur of motion with Gulag following right behind him.

The Troglodyte general vaulted over the Vanguard railing to land on the enemy deck with a heavy thud, while a dozen elite Kobold assassins touched down silently in the shadows around them.

Finding the dark tal deck completely empty, Iron-Scale kept his sleek sword drawn and kicked open the massive doors leading into the main cabin.

The boarding party flooded the interior, sweeping systematically through the lower holds, the armory, and the navigation corridors. Aside from the dimly pulsing crimson runes on the walls that provided their only light, they found absolutely nothing; there was no crew, and there were no weapons.

"A ghost ship," Gulag grunted, keeping her spiked club raised in the cramped hallway. "The engines are running, but nobody is manning the boiler."

"Keep moving," Iron-Scale ordered as they marched up the wide stairs toward the grand quarterdeck.

With a swift kick, the supre commander threw the final set of doors open to reveal an upper deck lavishly decorated with velvet rugs and floating alchemical lanterns. Right in the center of the room, a single figure sat lazily in a high-backed leather chair.

Although he looked human, his presence felt entirely wrong. He wore an immaculate, tailored white coat that sharply contrasted with the grim, blood-soaked reality of the ocean, and silver rings lined his nimble fingers. Sporting a sharp, roguish face and a highly charismatic smile, the stranger was casually shuffling a deck of tallic cards.

"Fifty thousand heavily ard troops," the man said smoothly, his voice carrying a strange, lodic echo. "You brought quite the crowd to my private waters."

Iron-Scale stepped into the room and pointed his blade directly at the man’s throat. "Who are you, and where is your crew?"

Chuckling, the man expertly fanned the tallic cards out across his palm.

"I am the crew," he replied with a flawless smile. "The na is Silas. You are currently trespassing on my personal toll road, and while I usually charge a modest fee for passing fleets, an army of this size ans we are going to have to negotiate sothing much more interesting."

Iron-Scale narrowed his slitted eyes. ’He is completely alone and entirely unafraid. He is hiding sothing dangerous. I have a bad feeling about this. I would love to fight him, but we are on a mission.’

Catching the silver card smoothly between his knuckles, Silas leaned back in his heavy leather chair. He looked past the sharp edge of the Iron-Scale’s sword, his gaze drifting toward the dense fog lingering outside the cabin windows.

"Before we discuss the price of admission, you should at least tell where you are taking a fleet of fifty thousand heavily ard troops," the man requested casually, resting his chin on his free hand. "It is not every day a war machine of this scale sails through the mist."

Iron-Scale kept his blade perfectly steady against the stranger’s throat. "We are marching on the Second Continent. The Sovereign of the Seventeenth has decreed the destruction of the Fourth Continent’s invading forces."

"Ah, a global holy war," Silas noted with a bright, knowing smile. He stood up slowly, gently pushing the flat of the star-iron blade away with a single, glowing finger. The sheer density of mana radiating from that simple touch forced the supre commander to take a cautious half-step back.

"Since you are operating under divine orders, it is only fair that I formally introduce myself," Silas continued, casually dusting off his immaculate white coat. "I am not a simple pirate or a rogue captain. I am an Apostle."

Gulag imdiately tightened her grip on her spiked club, her slitted eyes widening slightly in alarm. Both Vanguard commanders knew exactly what that title ant. Having witnessed the devastating aftermath of their own god’s descent on the Seventeenth Continent, they understood that if this charismatic man was a true Apostle, they were currently standing in the presence of a continent-level threat.

"I serve the deity who rules the Eleventh Continent," Silas explained, gesturing grandly toward the western horizon. "My master’s domain shares its borders with the Twelfth and Thirteenth Continents, forming a massive terrestrial alliance. However, directly opposite our shores lies the Fourteenth Continent. The dark waters you are currently trying to navigate form the grand strait directly between our two territories."

He began to pace slowly across the velvet rugs, shuffling his tallic cards with practiced, hypnotic ease.

"This strait is a highly contested chokepoint, and I serve as the designated toll collector for the Eleventh," the Apostle stated smoothly. Stopping near the wooden railing, he looked back at the tense Vanguard commanders. "Now, even if I were feeling incredibly generous today and decided to let your massive fleet pass as a gesture of good faith, the lunatics patrolling the Fourteenth Continent absolutely wouldn’t. They would blow your ironclads out of the water just for the sport of it."

Silas flashed another flawless, roguish smile and tossed a glowing silver card onto the table between them.

"So, it is much better for your survival to pay my toll now," he concluded effortlessly. "Purchase our protection, and my god will ensure you cross the strait safely to reach your destination. Refuse, and your holy war ends right here in the fog."