Deep beneath the sea, there was only darkness.

A ghost ship, overgrown with seaweed and barnacles, cruised along the ocean floor, crushing sand beneath its hull and trailing vast clouds of silt in its wake.

Pale spirits drifted across the vessel, their cold glow illuminating the surrounding waters.

Ambrose stood upon the deck, admiring the rare spectacle of the deep.

After so many years in this world, this was his first descent into the ocean depths. Truly, there was ever more to learn in life—though in his case, he continued learning even after death. Who would have thought that becoming undead would allow him to witness even more extraordinary sights?

For now, Ambrose had switched back to his skeletal body. The sensation of seawater flowing through the gaps in his bones was oddly pleasant. The only problem was that this body felt far too weak.

Mithril was durable, but a mithril-forged magical automaton was not waterproof.

Seawater contained salt, and salt corroded metal components. Pitted, uneven gears were fatal to machinery.

The archives of Alkhemia did contain designs for submersible constructs, but unfortunately, the model Ambrose possessed was not one such.

Left with no better option, he had reverted to his body of bone.

The moment he switched, discomfort set in. The difference in power between his two bodies was immense. If he were merely a mage, it would not matter quite so much, but after gaining the strength of a legendary ranger, he had grown accustomed to physical prowess and agility.

Come to think of it, this skeleton had been shaped for him by Black Rose. The work had been done hastily. It was functional, but hardly top-tier.

When the fishman Phil saw Ambrose change forms, he exclaimed in surprise, "You can swap bodies like that? I envy you liches."

Not all undead could change bodies so freely. Phil, as a zombie, had his soul tightly fused to his corpse. Normally, his soul would perish with his body and could not exist independently.

"Traveling along the seabed must slow us down. How long until we arrive?" Ambrose asked.

"Don't worry. I've informed the captain about the ambush. She'll meet up with us. We'll arrive within a day at most."

That eased Ambrose's mind.

After a while, even the wonders of the deep sea grew less novel. He retreated into the ship's hold instead.

Now was the perfect opportunity to "discipline" the kouto he had captured earlier and see whether they could help charge the Golden Throne.

The kouto still looked vacant and foolish. Locked in the lowest hold of the ghost ship, they panicked and huddled together at the sight of Ambrose.

This time, Ambrose had learned his lesson. He gathered a pile of fish and shrimp from the seabed and tossed them before the kouto.

"Eat. Once you're full, you'll be working for me!"

His aura of fear caused the kouto to tremble violently, but they still devoured the seafood placed before them.

Shaking all over yet stuffing themselves with meat, the foolish creatures gradually changed their attitude. Soon, one kouto knelt before Ambrose.

Kouto were much like sheep. Once one took the lead, the rest followed.

A dozen of them knelt in unison. The power of faith manifested once more, converging upon Ambrose.

"This much?!"

He was genuinely surprised. He had only just killed the redcap and seized its faith, yet these kouto showed no resistance whatsoever to changing gods. Their devotion was no different from before.

This served to prove that their "faith" was not true faith at all, but an instinctive search for spiritual dependence. For many gods, such impure belief would only contaminate their divine power.

Ambrose did not care. He was no god. The power of faith did not flow into his soul directly; instead, it was converted by his legendary boon into strength for the Golden Throne.

Whether the throne might be warped by some grotesque kouto aesthetic did not concern him. A chair was a chair. Ugly was fine, as long as its abilities remained intact.

Yet to his surprise, the Golden Throne showed no signs of corruption. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

He could feel its power increasing. Their faith was efficiently transformed into gold, which reshaped itself into embossed carvings upon the throne. The once-blurred patterns gradually became clear.

But the imagery was strange. It did not resemble any magical formation. Instead, it looked like a religious relief. Countless figures knelt in worship before a colossal being, offering priceless treasures in tribute.

"...Wait. Don't tell me this is a reflection of my inner desires?"

After all, wasn't his favorite pastime sitting at home while others delivered gold to him?

It made perfect sense. This was his legendary boon, engraved with his greatest desire.

Still, having it displayed so blatantly felt somewhat embarrassing. If others saw it, might they misunderstand his character?

Never mind. That wasn't important. Better to spend the time converting more gold.

While Ambrose remained in the hold farming faith, Phil was anything but idle. After the previous battle, the ghost ship had sustained significant damage. It needed repairs, which kept him thoroughly occupied.

The ship traveled along the seabed for nearly twenty hours before finally reaching a vast ocean trench.

Phil hurried to the lower hold. "Honored guest, we've arrived. One of our pirate band's strongholds is ahead. The captain is waiting for you there. Uh... what happened here?"

The kouto were floating belly-up in the water.

"It's nothing," Ambrose said calmly. "Just mental exhaustion. Release them later."

They had been forced to worship for twenty hours straight. Their spirits had long since been drained. Ambrose had also heaped mental spells upon them; they would instinctively continue praying to him for at least a year or two.

The efficiency of kouto prayer truly was impressive, at least a hundred times better than with Bear and Husky.

Unfortunately, Ambrose's current home lay beneath the desert. That was no place for raising fishfolk. Excavating a massive lake and maintaining stocks of fish and shrimp would be far too costly. Sustaining such a body of water underground would be an enormous expense.

Perhaps one day, when he had the time to claim territory at sea, he would consider large-scale kouto farming to recharge his faith reserves.

"Sigh. Faith-based pay-to-win can't compare to profits from honest business, after all."

Following Phil back to the deck, Ambrose saw two coral-covered undersea mountains parting to reveal a narrow passage. His senses could not extend into it: it was clearly reinforced by a powerful magical barrier.

"This is one of our strongholds. The captain is waiting inside."

Ambrose nodded and adjusted his robes. Mute clearly had an extraordinary identity. He ought to mind his manners.

The ghost ship slowly entered the trench, passing through a viscous curtain of water. Beyond it, the scenery transformed.

Rainbow jellyfish floated throughout the vast hidden space, illuminating it like a dreamscape. The dazzling light made the trench resemble a fairyland, utterly incongruous for an undead pirate base.

The coral reefs on either side had been hollowed into layered caverns. Undead fishfolk peered out from within. When they saw Phil's Swordfish, they let out waves of hissing cries, as though welcoming him home.

The Swordfish passed the coral caverns and soon reached a massive harbor.

More than a dozen ghost ships were docked there, linked together like a sunken island. The largest stretched at least a hundred meters long, a true leviathan of the seas.

Unlike the other decrepit vessels, encrusted with moss and barnacles, this flagship was immaculate, as if it were newly launched.

If not for the sails blazing with ghostfire, Ambrose might have thought it a recently captured prize.

Phil said excitedly, "That's our flagship. The captain is aboard."

Ambrose extended his senses to search for the so-called Mute, but before he could approach, an overwhelming pressure bore down upon him.

Something about this felt... wrong.

From the flagship, a cool voice carried effortlessly across the hundred-meter distance. "I'm right here. Come aboard my ship, and we'll speak in detail."

Ambrose immediately withdrew his senses. Mute certainly wasn't a mute.

From afar, Phil halted the Swordfish. "Honored guest, you must go alone. My ship cannot approach any closer."

Indeed, all the other ghost ships kept a distance of roughly fifty meters from the flagship.

"Thank you for the journey," Ambrose said politely.

After bidding Phil farewell, he cast Mist Step and teleported onto the flagship.

The moment his feet touched the deck, the immense pressure intensified, shaking his very soul. He had to raise a protective shield just to move freely.

The vast warship was completely empty. There were no zombie fishfolk, no skeleton crew, and no drifting spirits. Only a slender figure stood at the bow, waiting.

Ambrose approached slowly. She had a delicate silhouette and long golden hair flowing with the ocean currents. She wore a gown like drifting mist, its shape constantly shifting with the water.

As he drew closer, the captain of the undead pirate band turned.

Her refined features bore faint traces of scales, suggesting some siren bloodline, yet not quite. She lacked the pointed ears of a true siren. Overall, she looked more human than anything else.

Her mist-like gown concealed any further racial traits.

She smiled faintly. "You arrived sooner than I expected. That relic must be quite important to you. Should I call you Tiga... or perhaps Tarasin the Endless?"

"I only just came up with that alias," Ambrose said in surprise. "How have you already found out about it?"

"There is little in these seas that I do not know. Call me Aige. ‘Mute' was my former name."

Ambrose fell silent for a moment before asking carefully, "Lady Aige, forgive my bluntness, but are you a deity?"