Ophelia did not say a word from beginning to end.
She leaned against the wall, her posture unchanged, arms crossed over her chest, her breathing steady. But her gaze never strayed from Klein’s back since the moment he began.
She knew he wouldn’t stop. And he shouldn’t. This was his battlefield. Her battlefield would come in six hours.
So she simply watched. Quietly, without ever looking away.
Like a sword that had not yet left its scabbard, waiting for the moment he would place it in her hand.
...
A little over four hours passed.
Klein picked up the last piece of scale armor from the workbench, tilting it under the light of the runic lamp to check for any breaks in the magic circuits within the patterns.
None. It was clean, sharp, and completed in one go.
He stood up, his vertebrae letting out a series of cracks—he had been sitting for too long. For a brief second, his vision went black. He reached out to steady himself on the edge of the table, only letting go once his sight returned.
A complete set of gear sat on the table.
A chestplate, spaulders, bracers, greaves, a waistguard, and a pair of short gauntlets covering the back of the hands and knuckles. After the alchemical treatment, the patterns on the silver scales were even clearer, with a cold blue glow slowly flowing along the runic lines. It looked alive, as if something were breathing beneath the plates.
In the final stages, Klein had indeed spent some effort on decoration—not much, just a trim of patterns around the edges of the spaulders and a runic fastener he had fashioned on a whim for the center of the chestplate. It was shaped like a miniature sword.
It had no practical function. He simply thought it looked too plain without it.
“Come here,” he beckoned to Ophelia.
Ophelia walked over from the wall. She hadn't moved for over four hours, yet her steps were still light, showing none of the stiffness that came from standing for so long. She came to a stop in front of him.
Her golden pupils shimmered slightly in the light of the runic lamp. Her gaze swept over the set of armor on the table before finally settling on his face.
Klein picked up the chestplate, gauged the position, and pressed it against her.
The moment the scale armor touched her body, the runic inscriptions at the edges lit up—and then the entire plate adhered itself to her. It didn't just snap on; it suctioned itself, fitting the curves of her torso perfectly without a single gap, as if it were custom-made.
Because it was custom-made.
Klein had repeatedly calibrated her physical data during the forging process. The curvature of every scale was bent according to the contours of her body. Shoulder width, chest circumference, waistline, arm length—it was precise down to the millimeter.
Piece by piece. Spaulders, bracers, greaves—they adhered in sequence. Every piece lit up as it fell into place, then settled down quietly and snugly.
When Klein fitted the spaulders, his hands slid over her shoulders. When he fitted the bracers, his fingertips trailed all the way down the inside of her forearms. When he fitted the greaves, he crouched down, his palms sliding from above her knees along the outside of her thighs to her hip bones to confirm the adhesion angle of the plates.
His movements were professional. His pressure was even. It was no different from the way he had been adjusting the runic nodes at the workbench earlier.
A faint blush appeared on Ophelia’s face.
It was very faint—so faint it was almost invisible under the reflection of the silver armor. She didn't move or speak, letting him work. Her breathing was just a fraction shallower than before.
Diancie watched from the side, noticing nothing. The first mate didn't even look over; he was busy tidying up the furnace.
Finally, there were the short gauntlets.
Klein picked up the right one, hesitated for a moment, then picked up the left one.
He glanced at Ophelia.
Ophelia extended her left hand. The black scales between her knuckles were strikingly distinct under the cold light of the silver armor.
Klein snapped the gauntlet into place.
As the runic inscriptions lit up, those black scales shrank back as if being suppressed. Once covered by the silver plates, they became docile.
Klein’s fingertips lingered on the back of her hand for an extra breath.
“They will be even more well-behaved from now on,” he said. His voice was very soft, audible only within the distance between them.
Ophelia didn't respond. But her fingers curled slightly in his palm, holding it for half a second before letting go.
“How does it feel?” Klein stepped back, returning to a normal volume.
Ophelia flexed her wrists, rotated her shoulders, and gave the air a high kick. Her movements were large, but the armor plates made no clashing sounds, nor was there any sign of them catching on her joints.
“It doesn't hinder me,” she said. After a beat, she added two more words: “Very light.”
Klein nodded. The dragon scales themselves were quite heavy, but through the alchemical process, he had converted the excess mass into energy storage for the runic circuits—the weight she felt while wearing it was only a third of the original.
Ophelia looked down and saw the sword-shaped fastener in the center of the chestplate.
Her movements paused.
Her fingertips touched the miniature sword, tracing its outline once. Then she looked up at Klein.
Klein’s expression was perfectly innocent. “Decoration.”
Diancie leaned in, circling Ophelia with her eyes shining brightly.
The silver plates fit Ophelia like a second skin she had been born with. The cold blue runic light flowed slightly at the joint connections.
The overall look was—
“Beautiful,” Diancie offered an evaluation that was completely out of place given the current situation.
She froze for a moment after saying it, likely feeling the word wasn't quite enough. But she couldn't find a more appropriate one.
Klein stood to the side, head tilted as he watched the fully-armed Ophelia. The silver light and her golden hair reflected off each other. Standing there, she looked like a goddess of war stepped out of a mythological mural.
The corner of his mouth quirked up.
She truly was beautiful.
After finishing the full set for Ophelia, eleven dragon scales remained on the table.
Klein counted them, said nothing, and sat right back down at the workbench.
For the next hour, he didn't let anyone help.
Lohr tried to lean in to see, but was dismissed with a “Don't block the light.”
No one could see exactly what he was doing. They only saw his hands flipping the scales over and over, the sound of the runic etching needle fast and dense. Occasionally he would stop, gesture in the air a few times, then continue. At one point, he stacked two scales together and pressed down hard—the two scales merged into one, their thickness unchanged, but the density of the patterns doubled.
The first mate watched, clicking his tongue. “What kind of technique is that?”
No one could answer him.
Ophelia leaned against the wall, the cold light of the silver armor reflected in her golden pupils.
She simply stood there quietly, the silver armor on her body emitting an extremely faint low hum—as if responding to its master's heartbeat.
When Klein finally stood up, he had a few more items in his hands.
A pair of bracers, so thin they were almost transparent, yet the density of the patterns on the surface was more than double that of Ophelia’s set. A pendant for the chest, a teardrop-shaped piece of polished dragon scale, the runic circuits inside as dense as a miniature heart. And one more thin piece of unknown purpose—which he tucked into the inner pocket of his coat.
“What are those?” Diancie finally couldn't help but ask.
Klein fastened his coat buttons, patted the spot over his chest, and smiled.
“For my own use.”
Diancie opened her mouth, but in the end, she didn't press further. She had grown smarter—it was useless to ask about things this man didn't want to explain.
Ophelia’s gaze fell on his chest. She didn't ask. But her eyes were calm—not the calm of “not caring,” but the calm of “I know you know what you're doing.”
Klein met her gaze and gave her a smile.
The smile was very light and faint, as if saying: Don't worry.
....
Six hours.
It wasn't long, but it wasn't short either. It was enough for one person to forge a full set of dragon scale armor from scratch, and enough for a dark-green sky to crawl from the western sea to right above their heads.
Klein stood at the door of the stone house and looked up at the sky.
“It's time,” Klein said, withdrawing his gaze.
From the distant sea came the first roar. Something emerged from the dark-green waves. More than one. Three, five, more—bodies of various forms squeezed out from between the waves, dragging limbs of varying lengths as they surged toward the shore.
The Divine Kingdom had brought its residents.
Nelisa walked out of the stone house, her gaze passing over Klein’s shoulder toward the sea, her expression unchanged. She turned to look at the Silver Dragon behind her—the massive creature was lying on the reef, its vertical pupils half-closed, the tip of its tail tapping the ground occasionally.
“I'll handle the ones on the perimeter,” Nelisa said, her tone no different from when she discussed business. “You two go do what needs to be done.”
Diancie followed them out, still clutching the communication stone, her face looking rather grim. “The imperial fleet won't arrive for at least another four hours.”
“We don't need them,” Ophelia’s voice came from beside Klein.
She was already fully geared. The silver dragon scale armor clung to her, the cold blue runic light flowing slightly at her joints.
“Wait for us to return,” Ophelia glanced at Diancie. “If the fleet arrives, tell them to stay on the perimeter. Don't let them charge in.”
Diancie opened her mouth, then swallowed her words. She nodded.
Lohr walked over with his sword in hand, standing behind Diancie. He didn't speak, only gave a slight nod toward Klein and Ophelia. The meaning was clear—leave this side to me.
Aphros stood at the window of the stone house, looking out. Her gray-green vertical pupils reflected the color of the sky. Her expression was calm, but her gaze followed Klein and Ophelia.
Klein waved to her.
Aphros tilted her head, mimicking his movement and waving back.
The Silver Dragon stood up.
It shook its wings, the scales making a crisp metallic sound as they rubbed together. Nelisa patted its front claw and said something—her voice was too soft for anyone to hear. The Silver Dragon lowered its head, its breath puffing against her face, then turned toward Klein and Ophelia.
Klein vaulted onto the dragon’s back. Ophelia followed immediately, taking a seat just half an arm's length behind him.
“Three hours.” Nelisa looked up at the two on the dragon’s back, holding up three fingers. “I can hold the perimeter for three hours. Beyond that—”
“It won't take longer,” Klein said.
Nelisa looked at him for two seconds, withdrew her hand, and stepped back.
The Silver Dragon’s wings unfurled. The wingspan covered most of the sky, the patterns on the wing membranes shimmering with cold silver under the dark-green light.
The wind pressure kicked up the gravel on the ground.
Diancie used her hand to shield her wind-blown hair, looking up as the Silver Dragon took flight. Lohr stood beside her, his hand never leaving his sword hilt.
The Silver Dragon ascended to a hundred meters, turned, and flew west.
Toward the thickest, deepest, darkest part of that dark-green void.
...
Klein sat on the dragon’s back. He reached into his inner pocket—the thin piece tucked inside was warm against his body, its faint runic pulse synchronized with his heartbeat.
Ophelia’s hand rested on his shoulder.
She didn't use force; she just rested it there.
Klein glanced back at her.
The runic light on her silver armor intertwined with the color of her eyes. She wasn't looking at him, but straight ahead—at that dark-green abyss swallowing the horizon.
Her thumb pressed lightly against his shoulder.
Klein turned back to face forward.
The sound of the wind grew louder. A salty, fishy, rotting smell began to permeate the air. The Silver Dragon’s flight speed was still increasing, the wingtips cutting through the air with a sharp whistle.
Beneath them, the sea was no longer the sea.
It was a boundless, slowly squirming expanse of deep green. The Silver Dragon did not slow down.
Its flight posture lowered slightly, the beating of its wings switching from steady cruising to a burst mode.
The further west they went, the thicker the air became.
The air itself gained weight—every breath felt like pouring semi-solid gel into the lungs. Klein frowned, drawing two symbols on his knee with his fingertip. A thin filtration membrane covered his nose and mouth.
And, of course, he provided one for Ophelia as well.
The Silver Dragon flew for about ten minutes.
The sea below had completely vanished.
They were inside the Divine Kingdom.
The Silver Dragon’s speed began to drop—not because it wanted to slow down, but because the surrounding space was repelling it. Klein could feel the vibration frequency from the dragon’s back change; the dragon’s field was clashing with some external force.
Then he saw it.
Straight ahead.
That thing.
The last time he saw it, Klein’s mental energy had been overdrawn to the limit, and he hadn't observed it closely. This time his condition was whole, and he could see it more clearly—
And then he wished he hadn't.
It had no outline.
It wasn't that the outline was “unclear”; it was that the concept of an “outline” did not apply to it. Klein’s vision told him there was a massive presence ahead, but his brain refused to assign it a shape. Every time he tried to focus, his cognition would fail to gain purchase—one second it felt like a wall, the next like a sphere, and the next all judgment would collapse to zero.
The only thing he could determine was the density.
Millions of anchor points, nodes glowing white-hot, flickered across the surface of that “indescribable” mass. They were like stars in the night sky, yet not—stars did not breathe.
These nodes were breathing. In synchronization.
Klein’s stomach churned. He pressed his temples, forcing his gaze away from the mass to look at the data—pure data. The distribution density of the anchor points, the frequency of energy fluctuations, the spacing between the membrane-like structures.
Numbers did not cause nausea.
“We're close enough.” Klein patted the dragon’s back.
The Silver Dragon stopped. Its wings maintained a hovering balance, its field pushing back the surrounding repulsive force. The dragon’s body swayed slightly, but it held firm.
Ophelia was already standing.
She stood on the dragon’s back, one hand on her sword hilt, her gaze level. The runic light on her silver armor was two levels brighter than before—the plates were automatically responding to the environmental threat, pulling the protection power to a high setting.
The wind rushed into the gap between them.
Klein looked up at her profile. Her expression was quiet, her pupils slightly constricted—she was adapting to the visual interference from that mass.
“Let's confirm the plan,” Klein said.
Ophelia looked down at him.
“I'm responsible for finding its core nodes,” Klein held up one finger. “You're responsible for helping me tear open a sufficient observation channel. The Silver Dragon will maintain the field and maneuverability.”
“Its membranes will regenerate,” Ophelia said. This was from their previous experience.
“So you have to be fast.” Klein held up a second finger. “I only need a three-second observation window. Three seconds is enough.”
Ophelia didn't answer.
She drew her sword from its scabbard.
The blade was perfectly clean, with no battle qi attached, just the cold white edge reflecting its natural color under the dark-green light.
Then she smiled.
It was brief, a curve of her lips that flashed and vanished; if Klein had blinked for half a second longer, he would have missed it.
“Three seconds... that's too short,” she said.
“Don't underestimate me, Klein.”
Klein was stunned for a beat, then he couldn't help but let the corner of his mouth turn up.
“Then... we'll do it your way.”
Rate on N.U.
