Forging the Armor

“Among the cards we currently hold, the only ones who can go toe-to-toe with that thing are the one lying outside and Ophelia.”

No one argued.

It was the truth. Everyone present knew in their hearts—if they had to pick one person to face that sky-swallowing entity, it could only be her.

“Ophelia's current equipment is quite ordinary.”

Klein's speaking pace quickened. Once his mind started racing, the exhaustion from overdrawing his mental energy was pushed to the back of his mind, like an old garment tossed into the bottom of a closet, out of sight and out of mind for now.

“A single sword isn't enough. She needs full protection—at the very least, something that can withstand power of that level.”

He looked at Nelisa, the usual gentleness in his eyes fading slightly, replaced by something sharper—not aggression, but focus.

The kind of focus a mage only displayed when discussing matters within their own domain.

“I've studied the dragon scale you gave me.”

As he spoke, Nelisa’s expression shifted ever so slightly—as if she were re-evaluating something.

“Its microstructure and the distribution of runic nodes are perfectly aligned; it's naturally the best enchantment carrier. It exists in a different dimension compared to any man-made material. If I can get a sufficient number of scales, I'm confident I can create a functional set of gear within six hours.”

He knew his own capabilities.

Nelisa fell silent for three seconds.

It wasn't long. But in that room where everyone was waiting for an answer, those three seconds stretched as long as thirty.

Lohr’s breathing grew light. Diancie’s nails dug into her palms. The first mate’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

Even the silver dragon outside seemed to have gone quiet—its tail stopped sweeping, its claws stopped moving, as if it were also waiting.

“How many scales?” Nelisa asked.

The question itself was an answer.

Klein held up a hand, fingers spread wide.

“At least fifty. To cover the torso and the major parts of the limbs.” He paused, as if quickly scanning a design blueprint in his mind. “If I can get eighty, I can even make head protection.”

Eighty dragon scales.

To take eighty scales from a living dragon.

No one in the room thought this was a trivial matter. Lohr instinctively glanced out the window—the silver dragon was indeed massive, with tens of thousands of scales; eighty might not even be one percent. But the issue was never “is there enough.”

The issue was: By what right?

To a dragon, scales were more than just armor. Klein had studied the sample; he knew better than anyone present that the patterns on every scale were connected to the dragon's life field. Taking a scale was equivalent to cutting flesh.

Contrary to everyone's expectations, Nelisa agreed directly.

“Very well.”

Two words. As blunt as if she were agreeing to lend a chair.

She didn't even turn her head to look out the window. There was no gesture of seeking the silver dragon's opinion, no hint of negotiation, no “I need to ask first.”

It was as if, between the two of them, Nelisa had always been the one in charge.

The room fell silent for a beat.

The first mate's mouth slowly closed.

Diancie looked at Nelisa's profile, wanting to ask something for a moment—but logic told her that now was not the time to pry into the internal power structure of the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce.

Klein didn't press further either.

He simply let out a long breath the moment he heard “Very well.”

The exhale was deeper than he had expected. His body was more honest than his mind—he truly hadn't been certain Nelisa would agree. Eighty dragon scales was a request that would be considered arrogant in any context.

But she had agreed.

So, what came next was his responsibility.

He turned his head to look at Ophelia.

Ophelia was leaning against the doorframe, her golden eyes quietly watching him back. The blood scabs on the web of her thumb had mostly fallen off. Her hand rested on her sword hilt, her posture relaxed, her expression flat—but Klein knew her too well.

The nearly non-existent curve at the corner of her mouth was something only he could see.

It was anticipation.

...

...

The process of the silver dragon shedding its scales was quieter than Klein had imagined.

It lay in the clearing, front claws crossed, neck slightly lowered. Nelisa stood by its neck, one hand pressed against the edge of the largest scale, her fingers slowly tracing along the gaps between them. With every scale she passed, it loosened from the root, its edges curling up, falling from the branch like a leaf ripened by the autumn wind.

There was no blood. Klein noticed this. Where the scales fell away, a layer of thinner, more tender new scales was revealed, a shade lighter in color, with patterns that hadn't fully formed yet.

The silver dragon's breathing was steady. Occasionally, a blast of hot air from its nostrils sent the gravel on the ground rolling. Its vertical pupils were half-closed, and the tip of its tail tapped the ground every now and then—it didn't look like it was enduring pain, but rather like it was putting up with something tedious.

Nelisa moved quickly. In less than fifteen minutes, eighty-three silver scales were neatly stacked on a piece of cloth at her feet. Each was about the size of an adult's palm, with intact edges, their radiating patterns shimmering with a cold blue light under the runic lamps.

She gathered the four corners of the cloth, picked it up, and turned toward the stone house.

The silver dragon moved behind her—resting its head on its front claws and closing its eyes. The area on its neck where the scales had been shed was particularly striking in the night, the pale silver new scales so thin that the texture of the muscles beneath could be seen.

When Klein took the bundle of dragon scales, his hands dipped under the weight.

Heavy. Heavier than he had anticipated.

Moreover, every scale carried warmth—not the kind of warmth from being held, but the scales themselves were radiating heat. The residual energy of the life field was still circulating within the patterns; it would take a while to cool down completely.

“They work better while they're still warm,” Nelisa remarked.

Klein looked up at her.

“Thank you,” he said.

Nelisa nodded and didn't linger, turning back toward the silver dragon. After a few steps, she paused again. She didn't turn around, only tilted her face slightly, her silhouette exceptionally sharp in the night.

“Mr. Klein.”

“Yes?”

“It says, use them well.”

Klein was taken aback for a moment. Then he looked down at the bundle of silver scales in his arms, still carrying their lingering warmth, and nodded.

“I will.”

Nelisa didn't stop this time and walked away.

Klein placed the bundle of dragon scales on the only decent table in the stone house, untied the cloth, and spread them out one by one. Silver light washed over the tabletop, brightening the entire room.

The first mate leaned in and rubbed his hands together.

“Mr. Klein, can I touch one?”

“Don't touch the patterns,” Klein said without looking up. “Anywhere else is fine.”

The first mate carefully pinched the edge of a scale, weighed it, and let out a whistle. “I've never touched anything this expensive in my life.”

Klein felt a bit helpless at his reaction. “Go move that runic furnace over here. Get to work once you're done marveling.”

The first mate gave an affirmative shout, rolled up his sleeves, and went to move the furnace.

As Klein was mapping out the arrangement of the scales on the table, he heard footsteps behind him.

He turned.

Lohr was standing at the door, sword still at his hip, his expression a bit awkward. Beside him was Diancie, her sleeves already rolled up above her elbows, revealing a stretch of pale forearms.

“I'll help too,” Lohr said. Just those three words, no further explanation.

Diancie added, “I've studied basic runic inscriptions. Even if it's only at a theory-course level—it's better than knowing nothing.”

Klein looked at them for two seconds.

Lohr’s ears were a bit red. A middle-aged man, the deputy the Empire sent to monitor him, currently stood at the door looking very much like a transfer student unsure if he should enter the classroom.

Diancie, on the other hand, was perfectly confident, her chin tilted slightly.

Klein smiled.

“Lohr, go help the first mate with the furnace. I'll tell you when to adjust the heat. Princess Diancie—”

“Yes?”

“...I'll teach you how to pre-process the scales. The gaps between the patterns need to be cleaned with mana to extract the residual life field energy and store it in containers. We'll need it for the enchantment later.”

Diancie walked over, stood by the table, and looked down at the silver scales. The light from the runic lamps hit her face, her eyes reflecting the cold blue from the scales.

“Okay,” she said.

“Don't just look.” Klein pushed a scale toward her. “Place your hand on it and pour mana into the patterns. Slowly and evenly. Stop when you feel resistance.”

Diancie did as instructed. The moment her fingers touched the scale’s surface, her eyebrows shot up—she likely felt the residual energy within the patterns responding to her mana. Those radiating patterns seemed to wake up, a ring of cold blue light spreading out from where her fingertips touched.

“That's the feeling,” Klein said. “Hold it, and stop once the light reaches the edge.”

Diancie bit her lip, her brow furrowed slightly, so focused she didn't say another word.

Ophelia didn't participate in these preparations. She leaned against the wall on the other side of the room, arms crossed, quietly watching Klein direct the others as they busied themselves.

She was the one who would wear the equipment. During the forging process, Klein needed to repeatedly compare her physical measurements, the flow of her battle qi circuits, and the distribution of the scales on her left hand—this information could only be calibrated in real-time with her present.

So she stayed.

During the process, Klein looked back at her three times. The first was when measuring her shoulder width; his gaze swept from her left shoulder to her right, his lips moving silently as he recorded the data. The second was to compare the curve of her waistline, his gaze lingering on her side for two seconds—Ophelia raised an eyebrow, and he quickly turned his head back. The third was to confirm the distribution of the scales on her left hand; he beckoned to her, and Ophelia walked over, offering him her left hand.

Klein held her hand and turned it over, his thumb sliding along the edges of the black scales with a light touch, as if feeling something fragile.

“That's enough,” he said.

Ophelia pulled her hand back. In the process of withdrawing it, her fingers brushed across his palm—it was too fast, so fast that the people nearby didn't notice at all.

The rest of the soldiers had been ushered out by the first mate long ago. “Don't get in the way here,” the first mate waved them off while stuffing runic scrap into the furnace. “Go rest outside. Sleep if you can. Who knows if we'll be alive or dead tomorrow? Save your energy.”

The men scattered in small groups. Some headed to the adjacent stone house, while others simply sat down against the outer wall, looking up at the still-spreading dark-green sky, lost in thought.

Aphros was also persuaded to leave—by Diancie. “Go rest; we don't need you here,” Diancie said in a tone like an older sister coaxing a younger one. Aphros glanced at Klein, who nodded to her, before she turned and walked out barefoot on the gravel path.

She paused at the door, her gray-green vertical pupils looking back at the silver scales on the table, her lips moving slightly. No sound came out. Then she left.

The door of the stone house closed.

Only five people remained in the room: Klein, Ophelia, the first mate, Lohr, and Diancie.

The furnace fire roared to life. The temperature from the burning runic scrap was high, heat waves surging from the furnace mouth and raising the room's temperature by several degrees. Lohr stood by the furnace, sweat already starting to bead on his forehead, but his hands were steady as he adjusted the size of the air intake according to Klein's instructions.

Klein placed the first dragon scale on the workbench.

Six hours. Starting now.

...

...

The alchemy process was nearly an hour faster than Klein had estimated.

There were two reasons.

First, Lohr. This middle-aged man stood before the furnace, sleeves rolled to his shoulders, his shirt soaked with sweat and clinging to his back, but his hands for adjusting the heat were incredibly steady. When Klein called for “up half a notch,” he moved it half a notch, no more, no less. When called to “damp it down,” he slammed a hand onto the intake valve, and the furnace temperature dropped instantly. Throughout the entire process, he didn't ask why or what it was for; he simply did exactly as he was told.

Halfway through, Klein looked back at him and couldn't help but say, “Lohr, are you sure you've never been a blacksmith?”

“Never.” Lohr wiped away sweat, his face flushed red from the furnace fire, making him look five years older than his actual age.

“Then your feel for it is natural,” Klein said sincerely.

The corner of Lohr's mouth moved. It wasn't a smile, but a sort of awkwardness that came with being recognized, unsure of what expression to make. He only grunted an “Mm” and turned back to monitor the furnace temperature.

The second reason was Diancie.

She had said she was “only at a theory-course level.”

After seeing her technique, Klein could only conclude that this princess was far too modest.

The precision of her mana control would place her at least in the top thirty of the Imperial Magic Academy’s practical assessment. When she pre-processed the dragon scales, the speed, direction, and timing of her mana infusion were all pinpoint accurate. By the fifth scale, Klein was still watching over her, but after the tenth, he stopped looking—there was no need; she was doing better than most alchemists Klein had seen.

“Princess,” Klein said while carving runic inscriptions onto a scale.

“Yes?”

“That ‘theory-course level’ of yours—which professor taught you?”

Diancie’s hand paused. “...A royal private tutor. Why?”

“Nothing.” Klein lowered his head to continue carving. “I just feel like the Empire's alchemists aren't completely beyond saving yet.”

Diancie huffed and didn't respond, though her work became even more efficient. A slight curve touched the corners of her mouth, though she didn't notice it herself.