Borrowing Scales

The group returned to the stone house and took a moment to recover.

Nelisa remained outside for the time being.

Perhaps she and the silver dragon had things to discuss.

Unfortunately, no one could truly relax.

When the silver dragon landed, a sliver of starlight still remained on the eastern horizon. Now, even that was gone. In its place was a layer of murky dark green, slowly creeping up from the horizon like a tide pouring into the sky.

Lohr leaned against the window, his blade resting across his knees, silent. When he pulled his gaze back from the window, his lips twitched, his face bearing an expression Klein didn't particularly want to see.

“It’s still expanding,” Lohr muttered, his voice low.

The room fell silent for a few seconds.

Klein sat on a wooden crate in the corner, his back against the wall and his eyes closed. The aftereffects of his overdrawn mental energy persisted—the sensation of sandpaper grinding against bone inside his skull had faded slightly but hadn't vanished. It pulsed occasionally, a sharp reminder not to overexert himself.

He opened his eyes and glanced toward the window. The dark-green layer had drawn closer, swallowing another section of the sky. Its pace was steady and unhurried, like a closing palm, possessing a calmness that was unnerving.

“The expansion is faster than I estimated.”

Nelisa walked in. Her movement in pushing the door open made little sound, yet everyone in the room turned to look at her simultaneously—as if she possessed some magnetic quality that naturally drew attention.

She stood at the other end of the room, arms crossed over her chest. Her tone betrayed neither tension nor ease.

“At the current rate of advancement, this island will be covered within six hours.”

“Six hours?” The first mate nearly choked on his rations, swallowing only after thumping his chest twice. His voice rose half an octave. “And we’re just sitting here?”

“Sitting here or not makes little difference,” Nelisa said, glancing at him. She offered no comfort, nor did she mock him; she simply stated the facts. “Once the boundaries of the Divine Kingdom expand past this island, there won't be a safe foothold for hundreds of nautical miles. You can't outrun its speed.”

Her words were like a bucket of cold water, thoroughly extinguishing what little levity remained in the room. The sailors looked at each other in silence. The first mate’s grin vanished, his wrinkles bunching together. He opened his mouth twice before finally muttering a low curse—not even sure who he was cursing.

Diancie rose from her chair. She had managed to sit still for about five minutes, which, given her temperament, was exceptionally composed.

“I’ve already contacted the imperial capital via the communication artifact.”

Her voice was tight but clear. She had clearly done everything she could on the way here. “The Privy Council says the nearest garrison fleet is to the southeast; it’ll take about two days to arrive at full speed. The Church has also been notified, and the Paladin Order is mobilizing.”

She paused, checking the expressions of everyone in the room—which hadn't improved much—before adding, “And the academy. I’ve had them notify the Imperial Magic Academy as well. The academy won't ignore an event of this magnitude.”

After speaking, Diancie seemed to be waiting for someone to validate her arrangements. Her gaze landed on Ophelia.

Ophelia was still leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. The blood scabs on the web of her thumb had begun to peel, revealing the new, thin skin beneath. She didn't respond immediately.

Everyone in the room watched her, including Nelisa.

The silence stretched for several breaths, long enough that it started to feel uncomfortable.

Then, Ophelia spoke. “It won’t matter if they come.”

Her tone was flat. She wasn't being pessimistic or dramatic; she was simply stating a fact, as naturally as if she were saying the weather was bad.

Diancie’s expression froze for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“I know the combat strength of the garrison fleet,” Ophelia said, uncrossing her arms. Her left hand hung at her side, the black scales between her knuckles faintly visible in the dim light of the runic lamps. She paused, as if weighing how much to say. “Diancie, did you see that thing on the sea?”

“I... I caught a glimpse of it,” Diancie’s voice dropped. She used the word 'glimpse' because she only had time for a single, distant look. In the half-second before her consciousness faded, she had seen that sky-swallowing dark green to the west. “It was... massive.”

“Size isn't the issue.”

Ophelia turned her head to look at Klein. The look was brief, but Klein understood it—take over the explanation.

He straightened up from the wooden crate and rubbed his temples, suppressing the residual buzzing in his mind. “The level of that thing is all wrong,” he said. His voice was a bit hoarse, but he articulated every word clearly. “Princess Diancie, put it this way—even if the Empire deployed every available force, they would just be fodder before that thing. You know Ophelia’s strength.”

He didn't use the word 'strong.' Everyone present knew she was strong; it didn't need to be said. “Even Ophelia couldn't gain the slightest advantage in a direct confrontation.”

These words carried more weight than everything said previously. Diancie fell silent. What could a garrison fleet do? A hundred ships, a thousand soldiers—if Ophelia couldn't move it alone, would a thousand people make a difference?

But she was unwilling to give up. “What about the Paladin Order?” Diancie’s voice grew softer, but the determination in her eyes remained. “If the High Priest acts personally—”

“The High Priest won’t come,” Ophelia said.

Everyone looked at her. Ophelia’s expression remained unchanged, as if she were stating common knowledge. Her tone was even slightly patient, like an adult explaining to a child why the moon couldn't be plucked from the sky. “The mobilization of the Paladin Order requires joint approval from the Privy Council and the Church. The fastest that process can be completed is five days. For the High Priest himself to move, he needs special permission from the Pope.”

She paused. Her gaze moved from Diancie’s face to the spreading dark green outside the window. “And even if he did come...”

“...It still wouldn't be enough.”

The voice wasn't loud, but the effect of those four words was heavier than all the bad news combined. Because the person saying them was Ophelia. She had personally struck that thing. She knew what she had hit, and she knew how far she fell short.

The atmosphere in the room hit rock bottom. The first mate forgot to eat his ration, clenching it in his fist until his knuckles turned white. Some soldiers huddled in the corner; one made a sign of prayer over his chest, his lips moving silently. Another stared at his toes as if the way out were written there.

Lohr’s hand rested on his sword hilt, his thumb rhythmically rubbing the patterns on the crossguard. The steady pace betrayed a restless anxiety.

Diancie bit her lip. She hadn't been unprepared. From the moment Klein and Ophelia jumped off the dragon's back looking battered, she had sensed this answer. Klein’s nosebleed, the scabs on Ophelia’s hand, the 'just back from the brink' aura about them—she wasn't a fool.

But hearing "it's useless" was different from thinking "it's probably useless." There was a wall between thinking and hearing. Now that the wall had collapsed, she could truly see what lay behind it.

“Then what do we do?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse. She wasn't angry at anyone; she was asking everyone. Klein, Ophelia, Nelisa, the silver dragon outside. Anyone who could give an answer.

No one replied immediately. The room was silent except for the sound of the wind. The dark-green sky outside reflected on their faces, casting a sickly, cold light over everyone.

Aphros crouched in the corner, knees to her chest, her gray-green vertical slit pupils fixed on the window. She hadn't spoken since landing. She was so quiet she was almost forgotten. But when Diancie asked that question, her pupils shifted slightly. They landed on Klein.

Klein noticed her gaze. They made eye contact for less than a second. Aphros didn't speak, and her expression didn't change—her face wasn't suited for complex expressions yet; she was a mermaid girl who had only recently learned to walk.

But Klein read something in her eyes. It wasn't fear or a plea for help. It was something closer to... confirmation. As if she knew something and was waiting for him to realize it himself.

A thought stirred in Klein’s mind. It was faint, unformed—a seed that had just begun to crack. He instinctively suppressed it for now. Not now. It shouldn't be now.

“Six hours,” Klein spoke up, bringing the topic back. His tone had changed. It was no longer the heavy analytical tone from before, but something lighter, more characteristic of him.

Everyone in the room looked at him, including Ophelia.

“Does anyone here know how to work iron?”

The question caught them off guard. Several soldiers looked at him with utter confusion—they were just discussing their imminent deaths in six hours, and this alchemist was asking about blacksmithing?

The first mate was the first to react. He opened his mouth, likely to ask if Klein was okay, but he changed course. “I... I worked in a shipyard when I was young. Repairing anchor chains, welding rivets... I wasn't a proper blacksmith, but I can manage.”

Klein nodded, his gaze scanning the rest of the room. No one else raised their hand. He hadn't expected them to. Between a bunch of sailors and a princess, having one person with blacksmithing experience was already a win.

“Not enough,” he murmured to himself. It wasn't loud, but everyone heard it in the quiet room. Then he turned to Nelisa.

Nelisa was leaning against the wall, arms still crossed. She watched Klein, neither rushing nor interrupting him—this woman’s patience was always perfectly measured, giving the illusion that she would wait forever while making it clear her time wasn't infinite.

Klein didn't beat around the bush. He had been thinking about this since he was on the dragon’s back. The patterns on those silver scales, the natural distribution of runic nodes, the magic circuits hidden in the microstructure—he had held back the entire way, only suppressing it when Ophelia snapped him out of it. Now, he didn't have to.

“Miss Nelisa, you haven't introduced that one’s origin at all.” He gestured with his chin toward the window. Outside, the silver dragon lay in the clearing, its tail lazily sweeping the ground, its scales reflecting the dark-green sky. Even lying down, its size was staggering; the stone houses looked like toys beside it.

“I don’t intend to ask,” Klein said. “But I want to know one thing—is it willing to help?”

Nelisa raised an eyebrow, looking slightly surprised, yet not entirely so. “Help with what?”

“Borrowing its scales.”

The room went dead silent. It was even quieter than when they were discussing their deaths. Lohr’s thumb stopped on his sword hilt. He looked up from his blade at Klein’s back, his mouth hanging open slightly. Diancie’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but no words came out.

The first mate reacted quickly. He glanced out the window at the behemoth—the silver scales glinting coldly in the night, a single claw as large as half the room—then looked back at Klein with an expression that could tell a whole story. He swallowed the words "Are you insane?"

Nelisa didn't answer immediately. Her gaze lingered on Klein’s face for several breaths. It wasn't a pause of hesitation—Nelisa never showed hesitation on her face. She was simply confirming how much confidence this young mage, who had overdrawn his mental energy to the point of a nosebleed, actually had when he said those words.

“What do you intend to do with dragon scales?”

Klein stood up. His mental energy was still depleted; standing up too quickly made his head spin, and his vision went black for half a second. He braced himself against the rough stone wall and steadied himself.

Someone nearby moved—it was Ophelia. She leaned forward slightly from the doorframe as if ready to catch him if he fell. But when Klein steadied himself, she leaned back again.

“Alchemy,” he said.

He turned his gaze toward Ophelia. She was still by the doorframe. Hearing this, she pulled her gaze from the window to look at him. Her golden eyes were bright in the dim light. She didn't speak, but her eyebrow twitched upward—the look of someone waiting for the rest of the story.

“For Ophelia,” Klein said, nodding toward her. His tone was flat, as if he were stating something completely obvious.