Starting With an SSS-Rank Goddess Summon!

Chapter 212: Luxury Dealership

Silas was so incredibly tired.

He had just fought a tectonic collapse... he had also just watched a Norse deity atomize a Sand God so was not in the mood for anime romance tropes.

Silas let out a long sigh, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Elora," Silas said dryly, his voice echoing with skepticism. "Stop joking. We literally just escaped a collapsing dimension... It’s not funny."

"I am not joking, Silas," Elora replied.

She stepped slightly closer.

The icy untouchable demeanor she usually wore like a suit of armor was entirely gone.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes shining with a rare seriousness that completely unsettled his eyes.

"I am completely serious," Elora told him, her voice softening just a fraction. "And I don’t want your answer right now. I am fully aware of my reputation, and I know exactly how intensely paranoid you are of the Valoria nobles such as myself."

She reached out with her pale hand but she didn’t grab his arm or his shoulder.

Elora gently slipped her slender fingers directly into his calloused right hand, interlocking their fingers with surprising warmth.

"I will give you all the time you require to think about it," Elora continued, her grip tightening slightly against his callouses. "But regardless of your paranoia... I want to do something genuinely good for the man that I love. You saved my life in the desert. You fought a god and you deserve a proper reward."

’Did she forget that it was we...?’

With that said, she didn’t wait for him to argue the logistics of the whole thing.

Elora simply turned and aggressively dragged him by the hand directly toward the massive fortified glass sliding doors of the dealership.

"Elora, wait," Silas protested with his heavy combat boots dragging slightly against the polished pavement as he tried to halt her momentum without physically throwing her off balance. "I appreciate the sentiment, but this is ridiculous... You can’t just buy me a car... I don’t even have a valid driver’s license."

Elora didn’t even break her stride as she casually rolled her icy blue eyes, pulling him harder toward the glass.

"Do not lie to me, Silas Graves," Elora scolded him without looking back with her memory flawlessly recalling everything. "I didn’t even need to read your public registry. I know for a fact that Valoria Academy hosted a mandatory transit event when our class turned seventeen... The Academy legally paid to have every single student in your slum district tested and certified for vehicular licenses to meet the City’s conscription quotas so you have a license."

Silas gritted his teeth.

She was right. He did, in fact, have a valid Class-C transit license gathering dust in his inventory.

It had been a miserable Tuesday when he was seventeen, sitting in a rusted Academy transport while an instructor yelled at him to check his mirrors.

But that wasn’t the point.

Before he could formulate another excuse to avoid accepting a massive financial handout from a noble, the massive, reinforced glass doors of the dealership automatically hissed open.

They stepped into the bright sterilized showroom floor of Apex Sovereign Motors.

The interior of the dealership was absolutely massive.

It smelled intensely of expensive leather, high-tier engine coolant and so much more that Silas couldn’t name.

The pristine white marble floor was lined with the pinnacle of modern engineering.

There were sleek aerodynamic supercars with anti-gravity thrusters, heavy-duty assault transports plated in depleted uranium, and high-speed interceptor bikes that looked like they belonged on a battlefield, not a highway.

’The hell...?’

The moment they stepped through the doors, a polished sharply dressed sales associate materialized from behind a glowing marble reception desk.

He wore a crisp, tailored suit and a forced perfectly practiced customer-service smile. But as the associate’s eyes landed on the two individuals who had just walked in, that smile completely froze.

The associate’s internal alarm bells aggressively went off.

Standing in his pristine showroom was a dark-haired man wearing a heavy, scuffed black shirt that was literally dripping with ried foul-smelling monster blood.

He had a lethal-looking mythril longsword strapped to his hip, and his golden-ringed eyes swept the room with a curious look.

And standing right next to him, holding his hand, was a woman whose highly expensive frost-silk robes were torn to shreds, covered in soot.

They looked like they had just crawled out of a mass grave!

"Welcome to Apex Sovereign Motors," the associate greeted them, his voice trembling slightly as he forced himself to bow.

He nervously eyed the dried blood on Silas’s boots. "How... how may I be of assistance this evening?"

"We are purchasing a vehicle," Elora stated coldly, instantly slipping back into her untouchable City Lord persona.

She completely ignored the man’s terrified stare. "A heavy-duty, high-performance Supercar so we require immediate access to the VIP inventory."

The sales associate blinked, his professional smile faltering into panic.

"O-Of course, Madam," the associate stammered, holding up his hands defensively. "However, company protocol strictly mandates... to access the heavily fortified VIP and military-grade inventory, I am legally required by the Valoria Lord Association to verify the identification and security clearance of both the purchaser and the intended recipient..."

He looked at Silas’s aesthetic with obvious poorly hidden disdain. He assumed they were scavengers who had struck it rich on a lucky drop.

Silas sighed heavily.

He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his battered, scratched, standard-issue Lord Association ID card. He tossed it onto the marble desk with a dull clack.

The associate glanced at it.

[Silas Graves]

’Blue Core...? But still, he’s from Sector 4.’ The man thought.

"I’m sorry, sir," the associate said with his voice turning instantly patronizing. "But the VIP levels require a minimum Class-A aristocratic clearance. I cannot allow you down—"

Elora didn’t say a word.

She simply raised her left hand, projecting her glowing blue interface directly into the associate’s face.

The holographic crest of the Verinda family... a massive intricate snowflake wrapped in golden chains flashed brilliantly in the air, illuminating the entire reception desk in cold blue light.

"Are you done? I’m getting tired of this."

The sales associate’s eyes went comically wide as the blood instantly drained from his face.

He recognized the unquestionable authority of the City Lord’s bloodline.

The patronizing sneer vanished, replaced by pants-wetting terror.

He had just tried to deny access to the daughter of the man who literally owned the city!

"L-Lady Verinda!" the associate gasped, dropping to a full ninety-degree bow, his forehead nearly slamming into the marble desk. "My deepest apologies! I did not recognize you in... in your current attire! Please, forgive my insolence! Right this way! The VIP elevator is immediately available!"

He frantically scrambled out from behind the desk, practically sprinting toward a set of heavy blast-proof steel doors at the back of the showroom.

Silas smirked, thoroughly enjoying the sudden shift in tone.

’So this is what it means to be a Lord, huh?’ Silas thought as he casually picked his ID card off the desk, sliding it back into his coat as he let Elora pull him along.

Usually being a Blue core was enough for places like this but apparently this place was so influential that it didn’t even acknowledge giving him special treatment because he was one.

The heavy steel doors hissed open, and they stepped into the massive high-speed freight elevator.

The associate frantically keyed in a twelve-digit security code, his hands shaking, and the elevator aggressively descended deep into the lower levels of the dealership.

"You really don’t have to do this, Elora," Silas muttered, crossing his arms and leaning back against the steel wall as they descended. "I can just buy a regular transport from somewhere tomorrow. I don’t need a luxury tank."

"You are a Lord of a rapidly expanding territory, Silas, As your Hero’s strength proved..." Elora lectured him while looking straight ahead at the elevator doors. "You cannot show up to subjugation raids that I plan to invite you to by driving a rusted carrier. It projects extreme weakness to the other factions... You need a vehicle that accurately reflects your lethality."

’Why is she even going so far?’

"I project lethality by cutting people in half," Silas countered dryly. "Not by having expensive seats."

The elevator doors chimed and smoothly slid open.

They stepped out into a massive fortified and brilliantly illuminated underground bunker that served as the true VIP showroom.

This wasn’t a place for sleek fragile sports cars or vanity projects. This specific level was dedicated entirely to well... the peak.

Massive armored transports were parked in pristine and perfectly illuminated bays.

Some possessed mounted, retractable mana-turrets on the roof. Others featured thick, tank-tread tracks explicitly designed for traversing completely hostile uncharted Secret Realms or areas in the Sovereign Realm.

A few were sleek aggressive interceptors built purely for ramming through reinforced concrete barricades.

’What the hell is all this...?’

"Show us your top-tier terrestrial models," Elora commanded the associate, who was still actively sweating through his tailored suit.

"Right away, Lady Verinda!" the associate squeaked, eagerly leading them down the wide, polished aisle.

He gestured enthusiastically to a boxy plated transport vehicle painted in standard utilitarian military olive drab.

"This is the Goliath MK-IV..." the associate presented proudly, tapping the thick armor plating. "It features dual-layered titanium hull reinforcement, a baseline dampening field, and a massive rear cargo hold capable of comfortably transporting up to twelve big crates of raw materials. It is highly reliable, incredibly sturdy, and retails for a very reasonable eight hundred thousand Spirit Credits."

Elora looked at the boxy, uninspired, completely utilitarian vehicle and immediately turned up her nose in sheer aristocratic disgust.

"It looks like a garbage delivery truck," Elora dismissed it coldly. "I am not putting my partner in a glorified moving van... Show us something with actual presence."

Silas, however, narrowed his golden-ringed eyes. He actually really liked the Goliath.

"Wait," Silas interrupted, stepping toward the olive-drab transport and running his calloused hand over the thick cold titanium plating. ’This could actually fit into Blessed Land but I have to convince her...’

"This is very practical," Silas argued, looking at the massive tires and the high ground clearance. "It doesn’t draw unnecessary attention on the highway. It has excellent suspension for the rough unpaved terrain around my territory and that massive cargo space in the back? That is exactly what I need for hauling heavy dungeon loot, monster corpses, and building materials back to the base. I choose this one. Eight hundred thousand is reasonable."

Elora turned to him, her icy blue eyes narrowing in profound, absolute disapproval.

"Absolutely not," Elora vetoed his choice instantly.

She aggressively grabbed his arm, completely ignoring his arguments, and physically dragged him further down the illuminated aisle.

"I want to get you a real car... not a truck."

"Elora, I need cargo space!" Silas grumbled, his boots dragging.

"You are not a delivery boy!" she snapped back.

They stopped at the very end of the bunker, directly in front of the premier elevated display bay.

Sitting under a ring of perfectly angled spotlights was a monster of engineering.

It was a low-slung hyper-advanced supercar.

The exterior was coated in a flawless black finish that practically swallowed the glaring showroom lights.

It had an incredibly aerodynamic profile, sitting mere inches from the floor on four wide-track, run-flat performance tires.

The body was completely seamless.

It was forged from a dark mythril-alloy blend that looked sleek enough for a high-society gala in the central district, yet sturdy enough to survive a carpet bombing.

Subtle silver runic engravings lined the undercarriage, pulsing faintly with latent kinetic-redirection magic to keep the car glued to the asphalt at high speeds.

"This," the associate announced, his voice dropping into a hushed reverent whisper as if he were unveiling the Holy Grail, "is the Zenith IVR. It is the pinnacle of terrestrial luxury and survivability combined in one."

The associate practically vibrated with excitement as he rattled off the spec sheet.

"The chassis is a pure mythril-carbon weave. It handles like a premier track car on the city highways but possesses the structural resistance of a heavy Vanguard’s shield. Under the hood, you have a highly advanced, dual-core anti-gravity mana engine. It generates over twelve hundred horsepower, allowing for a seamless instantaneous transition between standard terrestrial driving and emergency hover-evasion."

He patted the matte-black hood with a gloved hand.

"The windows are forged from enchanted dragon-glass. They are completely shatterproof against anything below an Tier-3 elemental strike. Inside, the cabin is fully climate-controlled and outfitted with subtle spatial-expansion runes. It guarantees maximum ergonomic comfort and legroom, even for a driver of your... formidable physical stature."

The associate paused. He smoothed his tailored tie, gulping nervously as he looked toward Elora.

"However... it is our most exclusive daily-driver model in the entire facility. It retails for exactly three point eight million Spirit Credits."

Elora didn’t even blink at the astronomical price tag.

She slowly looked over the terrifyingly sleek black supercar then, she turned her head and looked right at Silas.

Her icy blue eyes took in his aesthetic with the black shirt and the naturally intimidating cold aura he constantly projected.

It was a flawless visual match.

"It matches you perfectly," Elora declared, her voice ringing with satisfaction.

She turned back to the associate, completely unfazed by the cost. "We will take this one."

"Elora, no," Silas argued fiercely, aggressively stepping between her and the vehicle.

Was she trying to make him go broke trying to pay her back?!