Regarding Ophelia’s question, Klein knew the answer.
It could be killed.
Sooner or later, it would die.
Once this thing was forced onto the track of physical manifestation, it was no longer the formless, intangible conceptual monster that left one with nowhere to strike.
That which has form must have weaknesses.
That which has structure can be dismantled.
These were the fundamental rules of the material world. Even a god, once stepping into this realm, had to abide by them.
But the problem lay elsewhere.
Klein stared at the evolving composite body on the battlefield, his eyelid twitching.
With every strike Ophelia landed, the thing’s reaction grew a fraction faster.
After a severed part regenerated, its structural density was higher than before.
A defensive angle that had been breached once would have an extra tentacle to block it the second time.
It was getting stronger as it fought.
This wasn't just blustering expansion; it was solid growth, absorbing experience directly from combat.
This body was entirely new to it.
Every attack was a lesson—how to use its claws, how to use its wings, how to coordinate its six heads, and how to allocate the energy of millions of anchor points to the positions where it was needed most.
Ophelia was its best teacher.
And the more excellent she was, the faster it learned.
He did something that seemed quite out of place on such a battlefield.
From the side of the attachment point on the dragon’s back, Klein pulled out a roll of waterproofed maritime chart.
The Silver Dragon’s vertical pupils glanced back.
Klein patted its neck scales. “Steady now, don't shake.”
The Silver Dragon let out a dissatisfied snort, but its flight path indeed stabilized, the flapping frequency of its wings dropping to a minimum gliding mode.
Klein spread the maritime chart across the dragon’s scales, pressing down on the bottom-right corner with one hand while fishing a charcoal pencil out of the tool bag at his waist with the other.
The tip of the charcoal pencil touched the chart.
His mental energy spread out accordingly.
The seabed topography for dozens of nautical miles, the direction of ocean currents, the distribution of mana... all the surveyed data surfaced in his mind, overlapping with the chart.
The charcoal pencil moved rapidly across the map, leaving behind dense markings.
“Ophelia,” Klein spoke.
His voice was weakened by the wind, but the communication runes on the dragon scale armor delivered his words clearly to her ears.
“I hear you.”
The reply was crisp and decisive in the interval between sword flashes.
“Don't be in a hurry to kill it. Just stall it.”
“I wasn't planning on rushing.”
The corner of Klein’s mouth quirked.
Well then, she was even calmer than he was.
Ophelia’s rhythm was indeed changing.
She switched from a fierce offensive of full-power slashes to a more economical fighting style.
Every strike no longer sought maximum destruction; instead, she precisely pierced the joints where the evil god’s coordination was weakest.
The rapport just established between those heads and tentacles was broken by her, one sword strike at a time.
As long as every time it learned a new coordination it was immediately disrupted, its learning efficiency would be slowed down indefinitely.
Klein lowered his head and continued drawing.
The core logic of the array was not complex—“Division.”
All these things were squeezed into the same shell, sharing an energy system and an anchor network—this was its advantage.
But conversely, it was also its greatest flaw.
Sharing meant entanglement.
Entanglement meant it could be dismantled.
Klein marked the first main node on the maritime chart and drew a line to the second.
The array didn't need to be built on the evil god; it would be built in the sea.
Seawater was the best conductive medium, and the evil god’s foundation was rooted in every inch of water in this sea territory.
By applying resonance frequencies through the seawater, the array could generate differentiated pulling forces targeting the various conceptual components within the evil god’s body.
Drag the Siren components to the east.
Pull the Kraken components to the west.
The sea serpent components would be pulled south.
A single body would be torn into several pieces, thrown into separate isolation zones, and then destroyed one by one.
Once each piece lost the replenishment from the other parts, its level of existence, regeneration ability, and learning capacity would suffer a cliff-like decline.
Klein’s charcoal pencil finished the seventh node and paused for a moment.
The distance between nodes was precise. Too close, and the frequencies would interfere with each other; too far, and the pulling force would be insufficient.
He also had to consider the impact of deep-sea currents on mana conduction efficiency.
He added an auxiliary anchor between nodes three and five to stabilize the frequency transition in the middle section.
Then he put the charcoal pencil in his mouth, freeing his hands to flip the maritime chart over and confirm the depth contour data.
“Not enough range.”
He muttered to himself, taking the charcoal pencil out of his mouth and drawing a question mark next to the two outermost nodes on the map.
These two positions were at least fifteen nautical miles away.
Relying on himself alone, there simply wasn't enough time to set the array.
The message from Augustus happened to solve this problem.
Elite troops.
They weren't for a frontal assault.
They were for running errands.
Klein needed manpower—a large number of people who could accurately execute orders under harsh sea conditions.
They had to drop alchemical anchoring objects at designated coordinates and activate them in sequence according to the time nodes he provided, without a single mistake.
The entire array had eleven nodes, and the activation sequence was a specific spiral series. If one was wrong, the resonance frequency would drift.
At best, it would be ineffective; at worst, the array would backlash.
He needed eleven teams, each capable of reaching the designated coordinates within the specified time and completing the specified actions.
Klein rolled up the completed maritime chart and patted the Silver Dragon’s neck.
“Lower your altitude. I need to send a communication.”
The Silver Dragon pulled in its wing membranes and dove, dodging a sweeping pressure wave before leveling out at a lower altitude.
Klein pulled out his communicator and edited a reply.
His phrasing wasn't as polished as Augustus’s—no honorifics, no formatting, just a string of coordinates, a set of numbers, and a note:
“Send one squad to each coordinate point with alchemical deployment devices. I will provide the anchors and operating procedures. Time window is two hours.”
After sending it, he added another one.
“Do not let ships come within three nautical miles of the central sea area. This is a combat hazard zone.”
As he put away the communicator, a golden sword light swept past in front of him, illuminating half of his face.
Ophelia had just lopped off the evil god’s newly grown seventh head.
That head fell before it could even develop complete facial features, crashing into the sea and kicking up a spray of black-green water.
The remaining six heads turned toward her simultaneously.
Ophelia landed back on the dragon’s spine and sheathed her sword, her breathing steady and her movements composed.
She glanced back at Klein, her gaze lingering for a second on the marked-up maritime chart in his hand.
“Finished drawing?”
“Finished. Just waiting for people to arrive.”
“Then I’ll keep stalling?”
Klein thought for a moment. “Yes. Take it slow.”
The corner of Ophelia’s mouth moved slightly, a faint arc that was quickly suppressed.
“So you want me to feed it moves, but not too many.”
“That’s about the gist of it.”
She said nothing more, turned, and leaped again.
Her silver armor traced a sharp arc against the sky, meeting the monster that was still in the midst of evolution.
...
Meanwhile, the scene shifted to Augustus.
The text on the communication stone had no header, no sign-off, and even basic honorifics were omitted. Just a string of coordinates, a set of numbers, and a note.
Augustus stared at the message for three seconds.
The adjutant standing behind him peeked over, his expression changing slightly—this style of writing would be considered a breach of etiquette in any setting within the Empire.
Augustus handed the communication stone to the adjutant.
“Deploy according to this.”
The adjutant took it and scanned the coordinates quickly, his brow furrowing deeper as he read. “Your Majesty, these points are spread across an extremely wide range. The furthest two are over fifteen nautical miles away. Given the current sea conditions—”
“I said, deploy according to this.”
The adjutant shut his mouth and turned to relay the orders.
Augustus stood on the bridge of the flagship, his gaze crossing over layer upon layer of surging waves toward that dark-green canopy in the west. A battle was being fought in there. His daughter had told him to keep the fleet on the periphery and not move, and he had done so. A strange young man had sent a string of utterly discourteous coordinates, and he was doing that too.
It didn't feel great.
But Augustus Julius had been Emperor for twenty-three years, and he knew one thing better than anyone else—on the battlefield, there are no lords and subjects, only those who can fight and those who cannot.
He could not fight.
At least not on this battlefield.
The deployment of the elite troops was faster than expected. Augustus had not brought a conventional naval unit, but the Royal Runic Tactical Squad—every soldier was systematically trained in operating alchemical equipment and could complete underwater operations in sea conditions of level three or higher. This was one of his trump cards, usually stationed in the inner harbor of the imperial capital, its unit designation never made public.
Eleven nodes, eleven squads.
The first eight were assigned without issue. Manpower was sufficient, and routes were clear.
The coordinates for the ninth node fell on a shipping lane controlled by the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce.
Before Augustus could speak, Nelisa stepped forward.
“Leave this one to me, Your Majesty.”
Her tone was casual when she said this, a world away from her persona at the Chamber’s negotiating table. The hem of her dark-gray long dress fluttered loudly in the sea breeze, but she stood firmly. Augustus glanced at her, said nothing, and nodded.
Nelisa turned toward the ship’s railing, pausing for a step as she passed Diancie to whisper something. Her voice was drowned out by the wind, but Diancie’s expression shifted.
The tenth node was also assigned.
Only one remained.
The position wasn't the furthest, but it was the most treacherous—at the edge of a shallow area dense with hidden reefs. The underwater terrain was complex, and regular warships couldn't get close; only small skiffs could be used. Moreover, that area happened to be on the edge of the contamination zone spreading from the evil god, and the seawater had already begun to turn green.
The adjutant flipped through the personnel roster in his hand, looked up at Augustus, and shook his head.
“The remaining manpower isn't enough to form another complete squad. Squads Seven and Eleven have already been merged to save time, and we can't pull—”
“I’ll go.”
Diancie’s voice cut in from the side.
The bridge fell silent for a moment.
The adjutant’s mouth opened and closed as his gaze shifted to Augustus. Lohr’s hand instinctively moved to his sword hilt, but he didn't make a sound.
Diancie stood on the steps of the bridge, the sea breeze blowing the stray hairs on her forehead into a mess. She didn't look particularly well—she hadn't closed her eyes for over a dozen hours, and she had been clutching the communication stone the whole way, her knuckles stiff. But her back was perfectly straight.
Augustus turned around.
He didn't speak immediately. He studied her for a long time. From her face to her hand gripping the communication stone, and then to the ceremonial dagger at her waist that had never been used.
Diancie met his gaze.
She didn't look away. Back in the imperial capital, every time her father looked at her with that expression, she would be the first to avert her eyes. It wasn't fear, but rather not knowing how to respond. This man was simultaneously her father and her Emperor; the pressure of those two identities stacked together was something she had never learned to digest growing up.
But today was different.
She had been on this sea long enough.
Everyone was doing what they could.
She didn't want to just stand there holding a communication stone anymore.
“I only need two people with me,” Diancie said. “I’ve learned how to operate a skiff, and the procedure for the alchemical deployment device is written very clearly in Klein’s notes.”
Augustus didn't respond.
Lohr took half a step forward. “Princess, I will go with you.”
“You stay on the flagship.” Diancie glanced back at him. “There are still scattered minions on the periphery. If you leave, the combat power here won't be enough.”
Lohr’s mouth moved, but he didn't argue in the end. He looked at Augustus.
Augustus was still looking at Diancie.
For a long time.
Long enough that the adjutant began to restlessly shift his weight from foot to foot.
“Take three people,” Augustus finally spoke. “The Deputy Captain of Squad Seven. He’s run the reef area before; he knows the waterways.”
Diancie was stunned for a beat.
“Also,” Augustus put his hands behind his back, turning his gaze back to the sea ahead, his voice flat. “Once the deployment is finished, leave. Don't linger there.”
Diancie didn't move. She stared at his back for two seconds.
Then she nodded, turned, and walked down the steps. Her pace was much faster than when she had come up.
Lohr watched her figure disappear into the deck corridor from behind, his hand relaxing from the sword hilt as he let out a sigh.
Augustus turned his head, happening to catch that sigh.
“Keep an eye on her,” Augustus said.
Lohr was startled. “Didn't Your Majesty say I should stay—”
Augustus glanced at Lohr and said nothing.
“...Yes, sir.”
...
The eleven nodes were scattered across dozens of nautical miles of the sea. Some were in deep water, some in shallows, and some in the gaps of reef clusters.
The first to be completed were the points assigned to the Imperial elite. The Royal Runic Tactical Squad truly lived up to being the trump card Augustus had hidden for years; their execution efficiency was incredibly high—receive coordinates, locate, deploy, activate. The entire process was compressed to within twenty minutes.
The ninth node handled by Nelisa also went smoothly. Her fleet knew the hydrological data of this sea area better than the Imperial Navy. The angle at which the skiff cut into the shipping lane was treacherous and precise, and the position where the deployment device entered the water deviated by no more than half a meter from the coordinates Klein had marked.
Diancie’s side was a bit slower.
The waterways in the reef area were indeed complex. The skiff twisted and turned between the rocks, twice nearly scraping against submerged piles. The Deputy Captain was at the helm in front, sweat dripping from his temples as he constantly called out water depths and distances.
Diancie crouched at the stern, one hand steadying the frame of the deployment device and the other clutching Klein’s operating notes—the edges of the paper were already wet from the seawater, and the handwriting had partially blurred, but she had long since memorized the critical steps.
The skiff jolted, and her knee banged against the deck. She let out a muffled grunt but didn't let go.
The seawater at the edge of the contamination zone glowed with a faint, dark-green fluorescence, and the air was filled with an indescribable fishy stench. The two accompanying soldiers didn't look well, and one had already begun to dry heave.
“We’re here!” Deputy Captain Zhang pushed the helm, and the skiff came to a stop.
Diancie stood up and aimed the base of the deployment device at the water.
The anchor entered the water.
Following the procedure, she injected mana into the runic nodes on the device’s surface in sequence.
The runes lit up. A low hum echoed from beneath the water.
“Go!”
The skiff turned around and retreated at full speed.
...
Klein didn't need to wait for a signal.
The moment the runes of the last node were activated, he felt it.
It wasn't a message from the communicator, but a sensation from his body.
The dragon scale sliver on his chest was resonating with his mental energy. As each node came online, he could capture a pulse of the corresponding frequency. It was like a piano where the keys were being pressed one by one, the notes gradually becoming complete.
The first. The second. The third.
Frequencies overlapped, and the resonance deepened.
By the seventh, the sea surface beneath the Silver Dragon began to glow with an extremely pale blue fluorescence—a signal that the array’s conduction network was taking shape in the seawater.
The ninth. The tenth.
The Silver Dragon tilted its head, a short low growl rolling from its throat. It felt the changes beneath the water.
The eleventh.
All the notes were present.
Klein closed his eyes, his hands resting flat on the dragon’s back. The frequencies of the eleven nodes flowed into his perception network like eleven streams pouring into the same riverbed. Chaotic, turbulent, crashing against each other—what he had to do was make them merge.
Mental energy poured out from the auxiliary circuits of the sliver on his chest, following the conduction network in the seawater to touch all eleven nodes simultaneously.
Calibration.
Fine-tuning.
Sweat from his temples dripped onto the dragon scales and evaporated with a hiss.
Merging.
The eleven frequencies, under the control of his mental energy, locked together at the same instant.
The array was complete.
The sea surface for dozens of nautical miles lit up simultaneously. Blue light shone from beneath the water, spreading along the lines connecting the nodes, outlining a massive, visible net on the sea.
The center of that net was exactly the evil god’s physical form, still locked in combat with Ophelia.
Klein opened his eyes.
His gaze pierced through the churning air currents, landing on the silver figure ahead. Ophelia was just passing beneath the evil god’s third pair of wings, her golden sword light slicing off two newly grown tentacles. Her rhythm was still so steady—fighting with restraint, calm and unhurried, dismantling the coordination the evil god had just built up, one sword strike at a time.
Klein spoke.
The communication runes of the dragon scale armor sent his voice out clearly, through the sound of the wind, through the clamor of battle, into her ears.
“Ophelia.”
Ahead, the golden sword light paused for half a beat.
“Go all out.”
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