The endless Atlantic Ocean.
Regional channel chat blazed nonstop:
"Hand over the murderer who killed Kim Soo-jeong, or we'll take matters into our own hands!"
"That bastard Orgod should rot in hell. He lied to us, claiming he was the chosen of the gods. Now look around—everyone's a chosen one. His lies fell apart on their own."
"You owe the world an explanation. Harboring a murderer—even in this merged world—demands punishment. Justice will still be served."
Far across the boundless sea, a massive coalition fleet made up of multiple nations advanced in tight formation.
Three nuclear-powered aircraft carriers led the charge, dozens of warships sailed alongside, and countless elite adventurers mounted on powerful beasts hovered above the waves, forming battle lines.
"Anti-sub aircraft report seven large submarines lurking within a 500-mile radius!"
"Understood. Send the Piet Langzi and the Wavechaser destroyers to those coordinates. Force those jackals to surface!"
"This is U.S. Navy Commander Marcus Smith. You are trespassing in our sovereign territorial waters. This is a formal warning—leave immediately!"
Moments later, a cold laugh echoed through the regional channel.
"You assassinated a national figure, deliberately sparked an international conflict, and think you can just hide the culprit? This isn't the old world anymore."
"Hand over Orgod, or we'll declare war right now!"
"You've run roughshod over everyone long enough, sowing chaos across nations, stifling our adventurers' progress in Infinite Dimensions. What makes you think you can shelter a criminal from consequence?"
The coalition fleet kept pressing forward.
US naval forces were fully locked and loaded. Carrier jets launched in tight squadrons, heavy guns readied, tension cutting through the salty air like knives.
Marcus's face shifted between gloom and iron resolve.
Ever since the world merger triggered that war countdown, militaries around the globe had been itching for a fight.
They didn't hesitate to cross an ocean that was now ten times its former size just to be the first to breach U.S. waters.
Publicly, they demanded the handover of "Subject 001."
But everyone knew the truth—this was a blatant power grab.
They wanted to pounce on the US before it could fully regroup and stabilize.
And it wasn't just this coalition. Other nations hovered like vultures on the periphery, greed in their eyes.
The root cause was simple:
During the so-called "Tax Wars," top US guilds like Godslayer had completely crushed these same countries' guilds, forcing them to sign punishing tribute treaties.
Now, with the merged world already here for over half a month, those defeated states had full national backing. Of course they were tearing up those old agreements at the first chance—trying to bleed the US dry while it was still vulnerable.
Just then, another US fleet appeared on the horizon.
"…What the hell are those?"
The commander of the Rusina fleet stared in raw disbelief.
Because this new fleet was… different.
All the ships were painted jet black. Looking closer, their hulls and decks were layered with heavy slabs of obsidian.
What was once a conventional 100,000-ton carrier had been transformed into a monstrous supercarrier displacing nearly 160,000 tons—bulked up with towering decks and bristling with arcane weaponry.
Six enhanced CIWS cannons dotted each massive ship, and dozens of stealth fighters—also modified—sat ready on the decks.
"You're kidding… obsidian warships?!"
"Holy shit—where'd they get that much obsidian?"
"Yeah, it's not impossibly rare, but to build this many warships in such a short time? That's insane."
Their very appearance caused immediate panic among the coalition adventurers.
Sure, other countries also had top-tier crafters who'd upgraded their own fleets with magic.
But this was different—this was monstrous.
Even at a distance, without scanning their full stats, these black behemoths seemed like abyssal sea monsters that had surfaced to feed.
"Hmph. Don't panic. The teleportation arrays are fully calibrated. If they dare make a move, we'll obliterate them instantly."
A Maple Nation adventurer snorted.
All eyes turned upward.
That man sat astride a colossal dragon armored in runic plating, wielding a massive magic spear, radiating a crushing presence.
It was none other than Maple Nation's strongest knight—Davis.
"You think I'm some trembling coward?"
Aboard one of the black carriers, Madman was sunbathing on a deck chair, lazily sipping his beer.
Magic constructs from Infinite Dimensions were fearsome, but in certain aspects—like range—they still couldn't beat modern weapons.
New destroyer-mounted railguns could lob slugs hundreds of kilometers.
ICBMs could strike targets thousands, even tens of thousands of kilometers away.
Not even Orson could achieve such absurd range.
These nations were practically screaming at them:
"We refuse to be crushed under your heel any longer!"
Madman stretched with a yawn.
"Do whatever the hell you want. Not happy? Then start the war."
His grin was wicked as he added,
"But let me be clear: the second you do, every country involved pays double tax."
That hit the coalition adventurers like a punch to the gut.
Their faces drained of color.
Mining for powerful guilds was tough but manageable—they could still balance work and leisure.
But if taxes doubled in this fused world? Even the most tireless adventurers would be bled dry.
Davis roared down from his dragon:
"Either hand over Orgod, or abolish all national tithes! The abyss is opening, the apocalypse is close at hand—don't cling to your selfish interests while trampling on the rights of other nations! A peaceful solution is our sacred duty!"
A cool voice drifted across the sky.
A deep thrumming reverberated overhead.
Through the drifting clouds, an immense floating fortress emerged—its colossal shadow falling across the entire coalition fleet.
A chilling fear seeped into every heart.
For years, rumors swirled that the US possessed a divine artifact capable of defending the entire nation.
Seeing it firsthand was something else entirely.
Thirty-three enormous cannons stood in grim silence.
Compared to this fortress, the coalition's vaunted naval firepower looked utterly laughable.
Davis and his commanders could only stare, stunned.
Through the swirling mist, a priestess stepped forward. Her level was just 40—nothing by adventurer standards.
Yet she radiated brilliant, multicolored light. Her clear eyes sparkled with an entrancing, soul-stealing glow.
"O Supreme Goddess of Chaos, I offer you my humble prayer."
Standing beside her was a pale man with an elegant, slender build, cloaked in blood-red, eyes full of fervent reverence.
That was none other than Sylothor—the Dark Dragon Emperor, ruler of the Dark Dragon Empire.
And yet here, this near-divine powerhouse was merely an attendant at Sienna's side.