With the Shi'ar and Kree dealt with, the Galactic Council was hardly worth mentioning. Leaving everything else aside, the motley assortment of large and small ships in all sorts of styles jumping into Sparta's orbit nearly made Su Ming laugh out loud.
What was this supposed to be? One ship from every member state of the council? Even a world exposition probably did not look this ridiculous.
There were certainly a lot of them, but some races had even brought cargo ships to make up the numbers, probably hoping to make a quick profit amid the chaos.
The dense fleet lined up in orbit, seeming to form a ring around the planet in an instant. Their signal lights and engine flames made it shine like a tiny galaxy.
"A ragtag army, but still an interstellar fleet. Sparta currently has no force capable of contending with them in space."
Su Ming put away the God Metal Rifle and had Gin notify Prince Jason that their rest was over and it was time to continue the mission.
The Prince and the Old Steward arrived quickly, their footsteps seeming to carry the wind. They clearly had not idled during their brief break. Not only had they bathed and changed clothes, but the steward even seemed to have given Jason a new hairstyle.
"Oh, is that the Galactic Council's fleet?" Jason looked at the distant ships without showing any emotion. He now barely looked like a suitable heir to the throne.
Whether the Old Steward had told him something or he had come to understand the cruelty of the universe himself had little to do with Deathstroke. As long as the other party fulfilled the contract, that was enough.
The steward nodded, then shifted his gaze from the window to Deathstroke. His aged face