Grind-to-Cash System: Buy SSS Skills to Spam them Infinitely with Cash-Chapter 18 - Envoy from the Modern World

Location: Geneva, Global Security Council War Bunker

Time: 03:30 A.M. — 26 Hours After the Rift Opened

The war room was cold.

Not from temperature—but from the silence that came with thousands dead, billions lost, and something far worse looming beyond a hole in the sky.

The holo-table in the center of the steel chamber flickered, displaying blood-red zones spreading across maps of Earth and another, far stranger continent. Commanders sat stiff-backed. Diplomats leaned in. The air reeked of burnt coffee and sleepless nerves.

Commander Bryce's voice broke the silence like a dropped hammer.

"So let's start with the obvious. Who authorized the nuke?"

General Wallace stood without flinching. "I did."

The murmurs began instantly—half protest, half disbelief.

"You launched a Godhammer—in another world—without council approval?"

Wallace's tone didn't change. "Because we were dying."

He gestured toward the display.

"Tokyo. Paris. Riyadh. New York. All hit. All within the first five minutes."

The screen flashed. Grainy footage played of a subway station in Osaka. A rift bloomed open mid-air—dark, pulsating like a wound in space. Then came the shrieks. Lizardmen, pouring out, armed with spears and jagged blades, their eyes glowing with hunger.

"They didn't negotiate. They didn't speak. They just started killing."

Another screen. Paris. Fireballs lit the skyline.

"The world panicked. SWAT teams deployed. Armies scrambled."

Bryce slammed a fist on the table. "And it wasn't enough."

"No," Wallace agreed. "We lost thousands in four hours. That's when we pushed back."

He tapped the table, and the footage changed again—this time, from helmet cams. Soldiers stepping through the rift. Tanks following. A different sky above. A different world.

"The other side was a wasteland. Ruined cities. Lizardmen tribes. We tried peaceful contact. They answered with fire."

"Losses?" asked a woman in a blue suit.

"Twelve tanks deployed. Eight destroyed in the first hour. Dozens of men roasted alive inside them."

Someone gagged.

"We tried holding a line," said Admiral Lin. "Didn't last. That's when we met the other threat."

The display shifted again—now a soldier's POV.

From the sky, human-shaped figures descended—riding swords.

"They flew," Wallace said. "Blades glowing with energy. They were faster than our drones, stronger than our armor. One of them cut a Humvee clean through."

They watched the footage in silence. The moment the sword glowed blue and swept once—turning steel and soldiers into halves and limbs.

"Who the hell were they?" asked a UN official.

"We don't know," Wallace said. "But they weren't with the lizardmen. In fact, they fought them too."

The room tensed.

"So we weren't in a two-faction war," Bryce muttered. "We walked into a three-way battle."

"Exactly. Us. The lizardmen. And these... sword-flying humans."

"And then? What caused use of a nuke?" someone asked.

"We spotted a fleet of ship escaping. Gilded. Armored. Looked important. Maybe a messenger or envoy fron the way it was escorted by other six. We couldn't let them call reinforcements."

Wallace's voice turned grim.

"So we sent Raptors."

He tapped the table again.

Footage from a drone's bird's-eye view: three fighter jets soared over Terra's sea. Then—a figure rose. Small. Human. Floating with no wings. No boosters.

Just... rising.

Then came the sword.

One swing. One breath. The jet split in half.

No explosion. No magic effect.

Just raw, effortless annihilation.

Gasps filled the room.

"That one—was he part of those sword-riders?" asked a NATO advisor, wide-eyed.

"No," Wallace said. "He was initially fighting those sword weilders to begin with before escaping due to outnumbered."

A cold pause filled the space.

"When he without any exhaustion, just wuth a swing of sword cut down our jet, that's when we realized," Lin said softly, "we weren't fighting grunts. We were beneath gods."

No one laughed.

Wallace folded his arms.

"We had one option left. We deployed the THOR-class AGM-300. Tactical nuke. Airburst above their field. Burned everything. Ended the immediate threat."

The room went quiet.

Then Bryce asked the question everyone feared.

"So... are we at war with another world?"

Wallace didn't answer right away.

His eyes scanned the faces in the room—politicians, generals, technocrats. Not a single one had slept. Not a single one looked confident.

"I don't know," he finally said. "But I know this: we're not alone. And if we wait to understand them before preparing... we'll lose."

Silence followed—until a young intelligence officer, barely thirty, broke in.

"We've observed something... strange. The fleet we nuked—wasn't just retreating anywhere. It was heading somewhere away from the country or island we attacked."

She tapped her pad, and a projection zoomed in on a barely-visible dot past the outer edge of the ocean encircling the kingdom.

"There's more beyond that ocean. Possibly more nations. More kingdoms. We don't have the full map, but that ship was heading to... something. A larger landmass given the details of ship's design, it was similar to aristocratic style."

Now the council was murmuring again. Calculations. Risk. Strategy.

A German strategist proposed, "We send a full expedition. Troops, researchers, engineers. Start with a fortress outpost beyond the rift, make contact with whatever's left."

"Too noisy," someone else countered. "They'll see us as an invading army."

"We are an invading army," snapped a French diplomat. "We nuked their capital."

"But we don't know that was their capital—" another tried.

Then came the suggestion.

Quiet, almost drowned in the noise, but sharp.

"Send a woman."

The room fell still again.

General Wallace's brows furrowed. "What?"

"A single woman," repeated Dr. Malik, the Indian sociocultural analyst. "No soldiers. No battalion. Just... one."

Faces turned toward him. Frowns. Confusion.

"I'm not being flippant," he said quickly. "I'm being strategic."

He stood, pulled up new data: historic timelines, psychological profiles, first contact simulations.

"In every known human culture, and possibly in theirs too, a lone female is far less threatening than a squad of armed men. Especially if she's beautiful. Clever. Disarming. We use charm, not force."

"You want to seduce an alien civilization?" someone scoffed.

"I want to infiltrate one," Malik replied. "Manipulation is a universal language. And sex," he added bluntly, "has been used as a tool of diplomacy, espionage, and dominance since history began."

He let that linger.

"If we send someone who appears vulnerable, exotic, someone who can ask questions, read the room, and act without raising a single weapon—we might learn more in two weeks than we would in two years of war."

Bryce leaned forward. "And what if they kill her?"

"Then we know who we're dealing with."

"But if she wins them over," Malik continued, "if she earns their trust, she might learn their politics, their factions, their weaknesses. What they value. What they fear. And if it's resource extraction we're after, what better tool than a human Trojan horse?"

A long silence.

Then Wallace nodded. "So who do we send?"

Files flickered open on the holo-table. Faces, names, dossiers.

Top agents. Linguists. Undercover experts.

Then one file glowed green.

"Agent Isha Verrick," Lin read aloud. "26. Polyglot. Espionage certified. Former deep cover in North Korea, Sudan, and the Siberian Warlord Crisis. Psych profile—cold, adaptive, sexually manipulative when necessary, moral gray zone operative."

"She's perfect," Malik said.

"She's dangerous," Wallace added.

"Good. So is the job."

Bryce finally nodded.

"Prep her. Equip her. No trackers, no obvious tech. She steps through alone."

He paused.

"And God help us if she doesn't come back."

The order was sealed.

Earth's first ambassador—was a weapon in heels.