Diancie stood at the cabin door, hesitated for a moment, and finally spoke.
“Mr. Klein, regarding this matter... should we notify Nelisa?”
Klein’s hand, which had been twirling the charcoal pencil, stopped. The pencil wobbled between his knuckles as he thought for a moment before nodding.
“Tell her. She has operated in these waters for years; she possesses more intelligence on sea routes than all of us combined.”
Diancie gave an affirmative response and turned back into the cabin to retrieve the communication magic tool.
When the communication was connected, the background noise on Nelisa’s end was quite cluttered. One could vaguely hear someone calling out numbers—likely taking inventory of cargo. The voice came through the magic tool slightly distorted and compressed, but the pace was fast, clearly indicating that things were not easy on her end.
Diancie explained the situation briefly and concisely.
The other end of the line went quiet for a few seconds. The background sound of counting also stopped.
“Is Mr. Klein certain?” Nelisa’s voice dropped. There was no intent to question, merely a need for confirmation.
Klein leaned in and said toward the magic tool, “Certain.”
Nelisa didn't press for details.
Since Klein hadn't elaborated, she took it as having heard enough.
“Is there a solution?”
“Not for the moment,” Klein answered frankly.
This time, Nelisa was silent for even longer. It was so long that Diancie thought the communication had failed, reaching out to touch the edge of the magic tool. Her fingertips brushed against the slightly warm metal corners.
“...Then how should we handle these monsters going forward?”
Klein leaned against the cabin wall, tilted his head back, and stared at the ceiling for two seconds.
“If your fleet encounters them, do not linger in battle. Run if you can. If you can't, use runic cannons to pin them in place. Report the specific coordinates to Princess Diancie, and I will handle it.”
“Handle it?” Nelisa repeated the word.
“Yes.”
“Understood,” Nelisa said. “I will adjust our routes to cover as much area as possible. If there are any new discoveries, I will report them immediately.”
“Good.”
“Mr. Klein—” Nelisa suddenly called out again.
“Yes?”
“You've worked hard.”
Klein was taken aback for a moment.
His lips moved as if he wanted to say something polite like “It’s nothing” or “Don’t mention it,” but in the end, nothing came out. The charcoal pencil in his hand began to twirl again, though much slower this time.
Diancie watched from the side, noticing a subtle hint in his expression when he lowered his eyes—a look of someone not quite used to being spoken to that way.
The communication cut off.
Diancie put away the magic tool and snapped the lid of the wooden box shut. The latch made a crisp click as it closed, and the cabin suddenly became much quieter, leaving only the slight rocking of the ship in the waves and the muffled sound of seawater slapping against the wooden hull outside the porthole.
Klein rubbed the bridge of his nose, his expression looking a bit weary. It wasn't physical exhaustion—it was more like his mind was stuffed with too many things and needed a moment to settle. He opened his notebook to write something, but the tip of the charcoal pencil snapped the moment it touched the paper. He looked down at the broken tip, paused for a breath, set the broken pencil on the table, and fished another one out of his pocket.
“What is it?” Diancie asked.
Klein didn't answer immediately. He sat down on a low stool in the cabin, flipped through the pages he had recorded earlier with the new pencil, and then closed it.
“Your Highness has surely seen a carriage before?”
Diancie hadn't expected him to come out with such a line and nodded subconsciously.
“The function of these monsters, to use an analogy, is like that of horses pulling a carriage.” Klein drew a circle on the tabletop with his finger. “The existence of each one is pulling the domain of the will of the deep sea—you can think of it as His ‘Divine Kingdom’—into the real world. They pull when they are alive, and the moment they appear in these waters, the pulling begins.”
Diancie could still follow his train of thought at this point.
“So as long as we kill them all—”
“It’s useless.”
Klein interrupted her. His voice wasn't heavy, but Diancie’s words were cut off completely.
“In a normal carriage, once the horse dies, the carriage stops with it.” Klein reached into his pocket, pulled out his notebook, flipped to a certain page, and handed it to Diancie. “But His ‘horses’ are different.”
Diancie took it. It was covered in dense symbols and lines; she couldn't understand a single word. The oil lamp in the cabin flickered, and a few lines seemed to squirm in the shadows, causing her to blink involuntarily.
“When I decomposed that monster—” Klein pointed to a section of the notes he had circled with charcoal, “I saw something different.”
He tapped the circle.
“These monsters, whether alive or dead, even if they are smashed into fragments and sink to the seabed—as long as their physical remains stay in these waters, the anchoring effect will not disappear.”
Diancie’s hand stopped as she flipped through the notebook.
“Killing them is useless?”
“Yes, useless.” Klein rubbed the charcoal dust on his fingertips.
The cabin remained quiet for a good while.
Diancie handed the notebook back to Klein. She found her fingers were a bit cold.
“So the reason you completely decomposed that monster earlier...”
“Yes, to erase it from the physical plane without leaving a single remnant.” Klein tucked the notebook away. “That is currently the only way to truly pull up the anchor points.”
Diancie understood.
She also realized where the problem lay.
“How many of them are in these waters?”
Klein glanced at her and smiled. There wasn't much lightness in that smile.
“That is exactly what’s giving me a headache.”
...
Nelisa’s efficiency was absurdly high.
Less than two hours after Klein and Diancie ended their communication, the magic tool rang.
What came from Nelisa’s end wasn't polite small talk, but a list of coordinates.
To be precise, twenty-seven coordinates.
Each one was marked with the time of discovery, the sighting ship’s number, the monster’s approximate size, and even the direction of the ocean currents in that area was attached. The format was uniform and the logic clear, as if it had been directly extracted from an intelligence system that had long since matured.
Diancie looked at the markings transcribed onto the maritime chart, her lip twitching slightly.
“Just how many ships does she have under her?”
Klein leaned over the maritime chart and counted the red dots once, then twice, his expression becoming a bit subtle as he looked up.
“Enough to form a fleet, I’d wager.”
Lohr stood by the cabin door, silently taking in the distribution of these coordinates. These markers were scattered across the north and south sides of the shipping route, with the furthest one over three hundred nautical miles west of The Voyager’s current position.
His gaze repeatedly compared several markers, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the hilt of his saber—a habit of his when thinking.
“The Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce’s intelligence network is denser than the Royal Navy’s,” Lohr remarked. His tone was flat, but those who knew him could tell it wasn't just a simple observation.
Diancie didn't respond, but the expression on her face showed she was thinking the same thing.
Klein used his charcoal pencil to connect these coordinates on the maritime chart, then crossed out several unrealistic routes. With every line his pencil crossed out, his brow furrowed deeper. Finally, he set the pencil down.
“It won't work.”
Diancie saw it too. She had done the mental math herself—no matter how fast The Voyager was, traveling to each point individually would take over ten days just in sailing time. That didn't even account for potential bad weather, the need for supplies, or the time needed to find the monsters once they arrived.
More importantly, every day these monsters lived was another day the anchoring effect persisted.
“We can't afford to delay.” Klein rubbed his temples.
The cabin fell silent for a while. The flame of the oil lamp tilted slightly with the rocking of the ship, casting a swaying shadow over the maritime chart. Diancie’s hand pressed against the edge of the chart, her knuckles turning white. Lohr leaned against the doorframe, his gaze moving from the chart to Klein, then away from Klein toward an uncertain direction.
Then Ophelia spoke.
She had been leaning against the cabin wall without saying a word, her arms crossed over her chest as she listened to their discussion on route planning, never once interjecting. Only now did she lower her arms and walk to the maritime chart.
“I will take you.”
Klein looked up at her.
Ophelia pointed her finger at the three nearest coordinates on the chart. “You handle the work once we arrive. Leave the movement to me.”
Diancie didn't react for a moment. Lohr was the first to frown.
“Lady Ophelia, are you suggesting—that the two of you leave The Voyager and set out alone?”
“Yes.”
Ophelia’s tone was so brief it didn't even leave room for negotiation.
Klein stared at Ophelia for two seconds before asking a very practical question: “How long can you sustain it?”
“If I’m only carrying you, the consumption is negligible.” Ophelia thought for a moment and added, “It’s enough. We can just drop down to rest in between.”
Klein didn't agree immediately. He looked down at the dense red dots on the maritime chart, then back at Ophelia.
“What about your left hand?”
“It won't get in the way.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.” Ophelia quietly extended her left hand, clenching it into a fist and then relaxing it. The movement of her knuckles was fluid, and the area covered by scales had receded a bit more than last week.
The edges of those remaining dark scales already showed signs of fading. Although the newly grown skin was still pale, its texture was close to normal.
“You’ve spent so long treating it; it’s finally showing results. Don’t let it go to waste.”
Klein noticed the angle at which she displayed her left hand—tilted slightly to show him the side that had recovered the best.
He wanted to say something more, but he was silenced by a look from Ophelia.
There was no malice in that look, but it was very firm.
Klein cleared his throat and turned to Diancie.
“Your Highness, Ophelia and I will be temporarily leaving The Voyager. Aphros will remain on the ship.”
He paused.
“Take good care of her.”
Diancie nodded.
“...And keep an eye on her,” Klein added, his tone softening significantly, but his meaning was clear.
Diancie blinked but didn't ask further. She had spent some time with Aphros and knew that while the girl with the gray-green vertical slit pupils was as simple as a blank sheet of paper, her origins were what they were. A being born from the information of sirens—no one could say for sure when something might go wrong.
“I understand,” Diancie said.
“The Voyager will continue sailing west along the original route,” Diancie instructed Lohr, resuming her tone of command. “Record the coordinates of any anomalies encountered along the way and report them to Nelisa and Klein immediately.”
“Yes.”
Lohr responded with a single word, his gaze lingering on Klein’s back for a moment.
Klein tucked his notebook away, patted his pocket to confirm everything was there, and tilted his head toward Diancie as a farewell. It was as casual as going out for a stroll and returning in a bit.
Then he walked onto the deck.
The sea breeze was strong, making his clothes flap loudly. The afternoon sunlight leaked through the gaps in the clouds, spreading several bright patches across the deck. A few sailors were tidying up the ropes; seeing Klein come out, they subconsciously offered a greeting.
Ophelia was already waiting on the deck.
Her golden hair was tossed by the sea breeze; she casually gathered a handful and tucked it behind her ear before reaching out her hand toward Klein. Sunlight fell on her face, her exquisite features touched by a faint red from the wind, her golden eyes reflecting the bright line where the sea met the sky.
“Let’s go.”
Klein walked over and took her hand. The moment his fingertips touched her palm, he felt her body temperature—the same as always.
Ophelia wrapped one arm around his waist, the movement as natural as if she had done it a thousand times. Klein’s center of gravity was pulled slightly toward her, his shoulder leaning near her collarbone. He didn't struggle or adjust his posture, simply letting her hold him.
A sailor tidying the ropes looked back, and upon seeing this, the rope in his hands almost ended up in a dead knot.
Diancie and Lohr also followed out of the cabin, standing by the rail to watch.
Ophelia looked down at Klein.
“Hold on tight.”
Klein placed his hand on her shoulder.
Ophelia’s toes lightly tapped the deck.
Without a run-up, without building power, without any redundant preparation, she shot into the sky. Her speed was so fast that the standing water on the deck was whipped into a curtain of spray by the airflow. Wind pressure exploded outward from where she had left; several sailors who hadn't stood firmly staggered half a step, and an unfastened wooden bucket rolled to the ship’s rail before being stopped.
The figures of the two traced a sharp arc in mid-air, shrinking by half in the blink of an eye. In another blink, they became a rapidly receding black dot on the horizon. The wake whipped up by the airflow on the sea surface hadn't even had time to close before the people were gone.
The deck remained silent for several seconds.
A young sailor stood in place with his mouth agape, not even noticing the rope in his hand dragging on the ground. An old sailor beside him reached out and pushed his chin up.
“Stop staring. Get to work.”
Lohr stared in the direction they had vanished, not speaking for a long time. The sea breeze poured into his collar, but he didn't reach out to pull it closed. Diancie stood beside him and suddenly blurted out:
“When she was fighting sea monsters on the west coast... is that how she went into battle?”
Lohr recalled the records about Ophelia in the military archives. Those dry words—“extraordinary mobility,” “non-standard combat methods,” “solo penetration”—suddenly became vivid. He had once felt those evaluations were exaggerated, rhetorical flourishes added by frontline commanders to highlight their military achievements.
Now he knew. Those words weren't rhetoric; they were a plain description.
“Likely so,” he said.
Diancie didn't speak again, standing by the ship’s rail for a while. The sea breeze blew the stray hairs on her forehead into her eyes, but she didn't mind.
Then she turned back toward the cabin.
She stopped after taking two steps.
“Lohr.”
“Yes.”
“Come with me to see Aphros.”
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