This was not how things were supposed to unfold.

Aboard the Tempest Gale, Captain Monge Greywater stared up at the blazing meteors in the sky, his expression ashen.

"Where in the abyss did that mage come from?!"

This was clearly the ninth-tier spell Meteor Shower. Even if it was mockingly known as the worst ninth-tier spell, it was hardly something an ordinary mage could cast.

Monge knew the Silent Sea Pirates well. He had studied their forces for years. Since when had they gained a legendary mage capable of casting Meteor Shower?

Where had his calculations gone awry?

As the meteors fell, his memories flickered like a slideshow before his eyes.

He had always been exceptional. Blessed by the Lord of Storms at a young age, he became the youngest stormpriest of his generation, his command of lightning far surpassing his peers. From suppressing pirates to rising through the naval ranks and earning distinction in the war against the Emerald Dreamwood, he eventually became captain of the Tempest Gale.

Across the entire Ragetide Kingdom, there were fewer than thirty warships of this class. And once again, Monge Greywater had been the youngest captain among them.

But that had been the acme of his life. Since then, he had fallen into decline.

And all that could be attributed to these undead pirates.

The Silent Sea Pirate Company had existed for at least a thousand years. Given its fleet of over a hundred ghost ships, the Ragetide Kingdom had suffered terribly at their hands. Countless attempts had been made to exterminate them, but all were futile.

The ghost ships could dive into the deep sea. The undead could lie upon the ocean floor for years without consequence. Even the kingdom's strongest swimmers could not remain submerged for more than hours. They had no recourse against such enemies.

Fortunately, the Silent Sea Pirates never set foot on land for reasons unknown. Had they turned their sights upon coastal cities, the kingdom would have faced catastrophe.

In his youth, Monge had burned with ambition. He had pursued the infamous pirates relentlessly, and they had clashed many times. He lost more often than he won.

And yet, even such a record earned him the title of "renowned general" within the kingdom.

To gain even a minor advantage over the Silent Sea Pirates was considered a rare achievement.

He received commendations and praise aplenty—but no satisfaction, none at all. He could not accept that such pirates stood above his kingdom. Perhaps it was that unwillingness that drove him to innovate.

He refitted the Tempest Gale for faster speed and a reinforced hull. He developed new detection magic, using tidal shifts and storm currents to sense vessels across vast distances. He collaborated with stormpriests to create new strategic spells. The nearly completed Tempestuous Lightning formation was his proudest creation yet.

All of this had been targeted at the Silent Sea Pirate Company.

Phil had originally been traveling underwater with his fleet. But Ambrose's early arrival forced him to surface and accelerate ahead of the main force.

The moment he did, the wind and tides carried word of it.

Monge Greywater learned of a lone ghost ship heading toward the western coast of the Emerald Dreamwood.

He had not hesitated. He gave chase right away.

This was no trap. The Silent Sea Pirates did not employ elaborate strategy. They were sharks: if they saw prey, they would swarm forward and tear at it, then retreat into the abyss if necessary.

The Ragetide Kingdom's records showed no history of cunning tactics, only direct confrontation.

And, as expected, the ghost ship had charged recklessly into battle.

This was precisely what Monge Greywater had anticipated. He intended to sacrifice a few ordinary warships, complete his Tempestuous Lightning formation, and annihilate the ghost ship before it could dive back into the sea.

Everything had been proceeding smoothly. The formation was nearly complete.

And then... fate mocked him.

The first meteor struck.

The Tempest Gale's force shield barely withstood it, cracking under the strain. The second shattered the shield entirely and smashed into the deck, driving the bow deep into the sea while the stern reared skyward, nearly splitting the ship in two.

The third punched through the stern, igniting the vessel in roaring flames.

As for the fourth... Monge Greywater had no idea. By then, he had already activated a teleportation spell and abandoned ship.

He had to report this. The Silent Sea Pirates now possessed a legendary archmage. Only by carrying that knowledge back could the sacrifice hold meaning.

Before vanishing, he cast one last glance skyward, hoping to memorize his enemy's face—but all he saw was blinding golden radiance.

Ambrose had no idea who Monge Greywater was. He was concentrating solely on guiding his meteors, ensuring that they landed right on target. The Golden Throne had shortened his casting time and amplified the spell's might, but did nothing for its accuracy.

That was where the school of divination shone. Meteors that should have scattered wildly were locked firmly onto the Tempest Gale. All four struck true, utterly destroying the flagship.

The meteor that pierced the hull detonated beneath the sea, sending titanic waves surging outward. Several remaining warships were overturned outright.

With the enemy neutralized, Ambrose descended.

By then, Phil had already ordered the ghost ship to resurface and retrieve him.

The straightforward berserker seemed ill-equipped for eloquence. He repeated only two phrases: "Incredible," and "Absolutely incredible!"

Still, his admiration was sincere. In this world, strength commanded respect.

Ambrose was not the type to downplay his contributions. He explained the Stormborn's plan. "If I hadn't interrupted that spell, your ghost ship would have been obliterated, and possibly you as well. Is this how you usually fight, charging headlong without caution?"

Phil blinked in surprise. "They've never used something like that before."

"Never? How long has it been since you last fought them?"

Phil counted on his fingers. "For me? Almost ten years. I'm not sure about the others. The captain has been sleeping lately, so I rarely surface."

"Ten years..." Ambrose gave a wry smile. The difference in the perception of time between undead and humans was vast.

Humans were short-lived. Ten years to them was an era, long enough for an entire military overhaul.

New equipment, new tactics, new magic—according to incomplete statistics within the magical community, human mages typically developed new spells in five to thirty years. Beyond that, most abandoned the effort. Elves required fifty to three hundred years. Undead? A hundred to a thousand.

These numbers had been reported in no less prestigious a journal than Legendary Spellcraft. They might not be exact, but were surely close enough.

Undead did not eat, sleep, or tire. In theory, they could research endlessly, yet paradoxically, they often stagnated. Freed from worldly desires, they lost inspiration. High-ranking undead tended to isolate themselves, lacking the regular scholarly exchanges common among humans.

Innovation required more than knowledge. It required inspiration. Undead, stripped of sensation and left only with their obsession, experienced fewer stimuli, fewer sparks, and fewer breakthroughs.

That was why humans dominated the world collectively, even if other races possessed superior individuals.

Undead could lie dormant for years. By the time they awoke anew, the world might very well have changed. Suddenly, they were behind the times.

There could not be a perfect balance. The long-lived races surely would not possess a human's sense of urgency. No human would go waiting for a carriage ride three hours in advance, for instance.

"Earlier, you said your captain has been sleeping. What does that mean?" Ambrose asked.

"Sleeping is sleeping," Phil replied. "Is it strange for undead to sleep? We don't have much to do, so we either raid or sleep. The captain recently woke up all of a sudden, which was a bit unusual. Though... perhaps it's because of your visit, honored guest?"

Phil was a legendary undead, but clearly not a member of the Elegiac Society. Otherwise, he would know that the President had recently spoken up in the group chat.

Perhaps that mysterious appearance had stirred the long-slumbering Mute.

Ambrose stroked his chin. "Does the group even have an online notification feature? Did I miss it? Does the Elegiac Society require premium access to unlock it?"

The President's sudden appearance had ostensibly been to give a warning to that foul-mouthed vampire, Heki Stone. But others had sensed something deeper. Both Non-Vegetarian and Mute had hinted at a great event, one that was connected to something that had transpired a millennium ago.

Just what had happened then?

Ambrose hadn't yet transmigrated to this world by then. He would need to consult historical records.

Phil, of course, had no idea what occupied Ambrose's thoughts. "Honored guest," he said, "with this small incident resolved, we should continue our voyage. Since the humans might return, I suggest we sail underwater. What do you think?"

These ghost ships, which could submerge at will, truly were convenient.

Ambrose was about to agree when a troubling realization struck him. His mechanical body... wasn't waterproof.