It had been nearly a month since the warship descended from the sky.
During that time, the ship had remained completely unresponsive, and to the locals, it had become nothing more than an eyesore, an unwelcome presence that blocked sunlight and loomed over the city.
After weeks of being subjected to countless weapon tests and heroic ultimate attacks, the warship’s targeting rights were eventually put up for sale—meaning, the city’s administration had begun selling the right to attack the ship to the highest bidder.
A former villain and current bodyguard, Wormburg, had finally secured those rights after waiting for a month. He couldn’t contain his laughter.
“At last, it’s my turn.”
As an insectoid beastkin, Wormburg possessed strength dozens of times greater than an ordinary human, and he had recently developed a finishing move that took full advantage of his power.
His only regret was that there had never been a proper testing ground—nothing sturdy enough to withstand his full power, meaning he had no way to accurately measure its impact.
But now, he no longer had to hold back.
After all, a warship that could withstand any attack had finally appeared.
“I’ll crumple that armor like tin foil.”
Of course, even for someone as confident as Wormburg, he wasn’t delusional enough to claim that he could break through the warship’s plating.
He had some self-awareness.
Anyone who could watch countless military weapons and S-Class heroes fail and still claim they could shatter the hull would be borderline insane, not just confident.
Realistically speaking, if he could even make a dent, it would be a miracle.
Clenching his fist, Wormburg planted his feet and launched his strike toward the sky.
“Super Insect Fist!”
A massive shockwave burst from the tip of his punch, hurtling straight toward the warship.
Even among superhumans, few could replicate such a technique.
And yet, Wormburg had gone even further—enhancing the attack with additional refinements, maximizing its destructive potential.
The moment the shockwave reached the warship—
For the first time in a month, something happened.
A jet-black liquid gushed from the previously unblemished armor, spilling out like ink in a chaotic spray.
“W-wait, what—?!”
Wormburg, who had been watching from below, froze in shock.
Even the city officials, who had been overseeing the event for proper queue management, gasped at the sight.
The ship, which had endlessly spewed out that inky substance, suddenly—
Opened.
Its hull split apart, revealing its interior for the first time since it had arrived.
Of course, this moment of revelation lasted only a second or two before the warship seamlessly restored itself—but the damage had been done.
Fortunately, the entire event had been captured on camera.
That footage would serve as undeniable proof that Wormburg’s attack had breached the warship’s defenses.
“...D-did that just—”
“...Yeah.”
Without another word, Wormburg slowly raised his fist.
“From this day forward, I shall be known as Wormburg of the Super Insect Fist.”
“OHHHHHHHH—!!!”
A deafening roar erupted from the crowd.
...It didn’t take long for them to realize that Wormburg’s technique wasn’t even strong enough to smash a car.
***
“We did it...!”
Tears of joy welled up in Aile’s eyes as she clutched her magical girl staff.
Meanwhile, Arima and I simply clicked our tongues as we watched her celebrate.
“According to the data, you could have done it faster.”
“Letting your mana leak everywhere... You’re a failure as a mage.”
Aile scrunched up her face in frustration, but I ignored her and turned my gaze toward the interior of the warship.
The New Washington was exactly as I remembered.
The way its shattered outer armor instantly regenerated, the pristine white walls welcoming us inside—everything was just as it should be.
...How nostalgic.
Some of the technology used in this ship had been developed in our own research lab. It was back then that I first realized just how influential my professor truly was—pulling in contracts for projects of this magnitude.
And it was also then that I first understood just how many people were sacrificed to build something like this.
The final product was a dream, but the process of creating it was a nightmare.
“Scientist? What’s wrong?”
“Ah... Nothing. Let’s hurry. If we stay too long, the security system might detect us.”
Of course, I wasn’t entirely sure if the security system was even functional.
The external shielding, which should have been impenetrable, was completely offline. If it had been operational, it would have taken much longer to break through both the armor and the shields.
The fact that such a crucial defense mechanism had been deactivated meant that this ship was in an even worse state than I had imagined.
It had been forced to rely solely on its armor, leaving its lifeline completely exposed.
We pressed forward, heading deeper into the ship.
While the exact layout of the warship was classified—meaning even I didn’t know its precise structure—that wasn’t an issue.
We had someone to take care of that.
“This way.”
Lizebel.
Now a four-dimensional entity, she could glimpse into the future.
Just as she had once sought me out purely based on a "possibility", she could now find the path forward, as long as it existed.
And in the physical world, zero percent probability does not exist.
Even a monkey, given infinite time, could eventually type out the complete works of Shakespeare.
“Woooah... It’s huge in here.”
“Of course it is. It’s a warship.”
“Yeah, but... this huge? Isn’t this kind of excessive?”
As we made our way toward the bridge, Aile marveled at the sheer scale of the ship’s interior.
But it wasn’t that surprising.
Even nuclear-powered aircraft carriers—which only floated on water—could house thousands of crew members.
For a warship the size of an entire city, it wouldn’t be odd for it to have hundreds of times that number.
Not that it needed that many people.
Most of the ship’s operations were handled by AI and autonomous systems.
The vast space wasn’t just for the few human personnel, but also to accommodate the infrastructure needed to keep the ship running.
“...Something’s off.”
“What is?”
“Hold on, my lord. Let me check something.”
Lizebel, who had been leading the way, suddenly stopped in her tracks.
She closed her eyes, scanning through the endless stream of possibilities.
Moments later, she flinched, eyes widening in shock.
“M-my lord... this ship...”
“Hm? What about it?”
“...The probability of us encountering another human being aboard this ship is zero.”
I parted my lips slightly, then closed them again.
...I had expected this.
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From the moment this warship first appeared, its behavior had felt more mechanical than human-directed.
But up until now, that had been just a theory—a mere suspicion.
Now, that lingering uncertainty had been confirmed.
And at that moment, a heavy stone dropped into my chest.
Uncertainty breeds more uncertainty.
Perhaps...
Perhaps there was a reason why there were no humans aboard this warship.
Perhaps there were technologies I had never seen before—like the Flower of Malevolence.
Perhaps...
Earth was already—
“My lord?”
“...Yeah. Then what about non-human entities? Are we likely to encounter any androids or security drones?”
“Not really... no.”
“Well, that’s at least some good news.”
If the ship had been populated only by android guards, it would have been a nightmare.
There would be no way to convince them that we weren’t intruders, and while they might not have been on the same level as Peacekeepers, they were still extremely dangerous combat units.
We quickened our pace, our footsteps feeling heavier than before.
Finally, we reached the bridge, guided by Lizebel’s foresight.
At the center of the room, a single monitor blinked repeatedly.
And displayed on the screen—
[Destination reached. Awaiting next orders.]
[Destination reached. Awaiting next orders.]
[Destination reached. Awaiting next orders...]
The same message, looping over and over again.
A military-grade AI, its autonomy completely stripped away, capable of doing nothing but following orders.
And, of course—
There wasn’t a single person in sight.
No one had been cryogenically frozen in stasis, awaiting revival after a long journey.
There was simply no one here.
This warship was a ghost ship.
“Eight.”
“...Give me a moment.”
Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself.
Then, I began hacking into the terminal.
Fortunately, it was still using the encryption system I was familiar with, so it didn’t take long.
I accessed the system’s internal logs, searching for the very first recorded entry—the moment this warship was launched.
And then, I saw the date.
<999+ days before>
A strange timestamp.
But when I checked the full details, the true value was revealed.
<43,815,114,151 days before>
43.8 billion days.
Approximately 120 million years.
Far, far beyond the span of human history.
This ship had been sailing through space for over a hundred million years—
—to reach me.