After nearly six months at sea, the fleet finally sighted land.
Those six months had been brutal. Raphael had weathered countless storms and horrors the ocean could throw at a ship.
Every time a storm approached, the Force gave him a warning — that faint, prickling sensation between his brows let him adjust course or order the sails reefed in time.
The crew went from doubtful to utterly obedient in just three months.
"Mr. Lee, reefs ahead!" the lookout shouted.
Raphael stood at the bow, the Force spreading out like a net beneath the waves.
Every underwater rock, every current, every shift in the wind — all of it appeared crystal clear in his mind.
"Fifteen degrees to port."
The helmsman turned the wheel. The ship slipped past the jagged reef with inches to spare.
Elizabeth stood behind him, watching in silence.
In the last six months she had seen too many impossible things.
This man could predict storms, stop arrows with his bare hands, and cut through an entire pirate ship single-handed in battle.
He never explained. He never bragged. He simply did the impossible.
The ships continued west.
More than a month later, the fleet reached the mouth of the Singapore River.
The land was wilder than Raphael had imagined.
A few small fishing villages dotted the river mouth. Dark-skinned villagers in simple clothes saw the massive foreign warships approaching and scattered in panic.
Raphael ignored them.
He ordered the ships to anchor, then stepped ashore with Elizabeth and a small group of sailors.
"What now?" Elizabeth asked.
Raphael looked at the dense jungle ahead.
"First we build a base."
---
In the following three months, the land changed beyond recognition.
Raphael used the Force to intimidate several local pirate gangs, then absorbed their ships and men.
The villagers at first hid from him. But when they realized this stranger never oppressed them and instead drove off raiding pirates, they slowly lowered their guard. Soon, people began coming forward to join him.
One. Ten. A hundred.
Three months later, the Singapore River mouth had grown into a settlement of over a thousand people.
Wooden houses, docks, warehouses, workshops — everything was in place.
Raphael had a watchtower built on the hill overlooking the river mouth. From the top you could see the entire sea.
Elizabeth stood on the fortress wall, watching the busy crowd below.
"You're the master of this land now."
Raphael stood beside her.
"Not really. Just a temporary foothold."
"And then?"
Raphael didn't answer.
He didn't know the "then" yet.
This world had no quests, no guidance — only the goals he set for himself: build power, gather strength, and then…
Then what?
Deep down he carried one clear thought and purpose.
In the end, strength was the only language that mattered in this world.
---
Word reached the Johor Sultanate four months later.
A Malay noble who called himself the Temenggong sent an envoy with a letter.
The writing was crude. The message was simple: You foreigners operating around the Singapore River have crossed the line.
Submit, and we will grant you land and collect taxes. Refuse, and face the consequences.
Raphael read the letter, folded it, and handed it back to the envoy.
"Go back and tell your Temenggong: if he wants taxes, he can come take them himself."
The envoy left with his tail between his legs.
Three days later, a force of over a hundred men appeared outside the settlement.
They wore a mix of clothing and carried mismatched weapons — spears, short swords, bows, and even a few old matchlock guns.
At the front rode a fat man on horseback, clearly the leader. His clothes were slightly better than the others.
Raphael walked out of the settlement alone — he didn't want them trampling the new buildings — and stood in front of them.
The leader reined in his horse and looked him over.
"You the foreigner? The Temenggong sends word: submit, or—"
He never finished.
Raphael moved.
No one saw him charge into the crowd.
They only saw a black shadow flash past, followed by screams and the sound of metal striking flesh.
The soldiers fired arrows in panic, but the shafts stopped mid-air as if they had hit an invisible wall, then fell harmlessly to the ground.
Raphael's steel sword flashed. Every swing left a spray of blood.
He didn't kill — he crippled. Sliced wrists, hamstrung ankles, slashed shoulders.
Anyone who could no longer fight was left alone.
But that was enough to break the hundred-man force.
Some threw down their weapons and ran. Others dropped to their knees begging for mercy.
The fat leader tried to wheel his horse around, but Raphael caught the reins in one stride and yanked. The horse reared, throwing the man to the ground.
Raphael planted his boot on the man's chest and looked down.
"A hundred men, and this is all you've got?"
The leader's face turned purple. His lips trembled, but no words came out.
The fleeing soldiers thought they had escaped, only to see a black shadow drop in front of them.
Raphael stood there as if he had fallen from the sky.
The soldiers froze.
"Go back," Raphael said.
No one moved.
He raised his sword and pointed at one man who looked like the second-in-command.
"You. Lead them. All of you — go back."
The deputy dropped to his knees.
"Mercy, my lord!"
Raphael ignored him and walked back to the fat leader.
An hour later, the entire hundred-man force was locked in the settlement's makeshift prison.
The leader was given his own cell — at least he had a straw mat.
Raphael squatted in front of him.
"Tell me about this Temenggong of yours. Who is he?"
The man stammered out the answer.
The so-called Temenggong was just a minor noble under the Johor Sultan, ruling a few villages with a total population of maybe tens of thousands.
This raid was a test — if the foreigners were weak, they would be swallowed. If they were strong, they would be taxed.
Raphael stood up when he heard enough.
"You have two choices. First, send your men back to tell your Temenggong to come ransom you. Second, I kill all of you and go find him myself."
The leader chose the first option without hesitation.
Three days later, one of the prisoners was sent as a messenger toward Johor.
Raphael stood on the fortress wall, looking out at the sea, thinking about the next steps.
Elizabeth walked up beside him.
"You'll let them go?"
Raphael glanced at her.
"How could I?"
"What if that noble sends more men…"
"A minor noble? How many can he send?" Raphael said with clear disdain. "I'm hoping he sends an army!"
For Raphael, what he needed most right now was manpower. He almost wished the Temenggong would send thousands at once — though he knew that was unrealistic.
Still, he had arrived with five hundred Spanish naval sailors armed with firearms. In this era of Asia, that was overwhelming force.
At Raphael's command, the five hundred Spaniards began full military preparations.
In truth, even if the noble didn't come looking for trouble, Raphael had already planned to move against him.
Maintaining five hundred men wasn't cheap. The Spanish governor's personal wealth had covered the costs so far, but by the time the fleet reached Singapore, Raphael's funds were running low.