“Ophelia,” Klein called out to her. His voice was a tone deeper than before.
She heard the underlying meaning in his tone and glanced down at her left hand.
The scales were still moving.
Ophelia’s brow twitched—a slight, fleeting movement, so quick that only Klein, who was staring at her intently, would have noticed. Then, she shifted her sword back to her right hand. Her movements were decisive, without a hint of hesitation. The blood on the web of her thumb had already formed a thin crust, making the hilt feel sticky, but she gripped it tightly.
Letting her left hand fall back to her side, she slowly clenched her fingers, pressing the protruding scales back down.
She turned her head to look at Klein.
“Do you have any other ideas?”
Klein opened his mouth. The ringing in his ears persisted, and the residual calculations of the spell nodes in his mind felt like a cluster of gears that hadn't been shut off, grinding against his nerves with sharp pulses of pain. He struggled to suppress the noise, trying to scrape something useful from his nearly depleted reserves of mental energy.
Was there a way?
Yes.
There was indeed a plan in his head. It was a scheme he had never verified in actual combat, one where the theoretical deduction was only seventy percent complete, and the consequences of failure were something he didn't even dare to dwell on.
It might work. It could possibly work.
But before he could organize that “possibly” into a complete sentence—
A roar tore through the eastern sky.
This sound was unlike any other in this sea. It wasn't wet, it wasn't cold, and it didn't travel from beneath the water. It was dry and scorching, carrying a sharp, metallic friction as it dove from an extreme height, piercing through the closing dark-green canopy and carving a path through the space covered by the Divine Kingdom.
The canopy was torn open.
It hadn't split from the inside—something had smashed through it from the outside.
Both of them turned their heads simultaneously.
Ophelia’s left hand was already raised, battle qi coiling in her palm, ready to strike at any moment. Klein spread his perception—
A massive life signal.
It was so enormous that his perception was bounced back the instant it made contact. It wasn't that the other party had actively shielded themselves; rather, the volume of information was so great that his remaining mental energy couldn't carry it. It was like trying to catch a waterfall with a cup.
The dark shadow emerging from the rift in the eastern sky grew larger. It moved with incredible speed, its wingspan stretching out to block the last small patch of starlight that hadn't been swallowed yet.
Silver.
The scales were silver. Not a dull, metallic white, but a translucent, living silver. As the wings flapped, the airflow lifted the edges of the scales slightly, and the light—even the residual light within the Divine Kingdom's projection—struck them, casting a faint, cold blue halo around the edges.
A dragon.
Klein’s mind went blank for half a second.
It wasn't a metaphor, a description, or some “dragon-like creature.”
It was a dragon.
Four limbs, two wings, a long tail, and a neck with an elegant yet dangerous curve. Each scale was the size of an adult’s palm, with patterns radiating outward from the center, so regular they didn't seem natural—it looked more like they had been carved on, one by one, by some power.
He had seen this pattern before.
The dragon scale the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce had given him—it had this exact pattern. Identical. He had spent three whole days in the laboratory studying that scale, and the flow of every line was etched into his memory. Now, they were magnified a thousandfold, covering the body of a living creature from the top of its head to the tip of its tail.
For a brief moment, Klein’s instincts as a mage overrode his survival instincts—he wanted to analyze it. He wanted to know the rules governing the arrangement of these patterns, the relationship between them and the physical structure of the scales, and how the life field of a dragon functioned.
But he only had half a second to think.
The dragon was larger than Klein had imagined. Its wingspan was over forty meters when fully extended, its body was lithe, and lines of muscle rippled beneath the scales. Every beat of its wings brought a downdraft strong enough to press craters into the sea's surface. As it passed through the Divine Kingdom's canopy, its body smashed a hole through the dark-green layer—it didn't cut through; it forced its way in. The edges of the hole were closing back up, but they clearly couldn't keep up with the dragon’s momentum.
It wasn't afraid of this.
A living, pure-blooded dragon was not afraid of the Divine Kingdom's suppression.
The forces that had caused Klein’s nose to bleed, overloaded his mental energy, and made the entire sky collapse—when they struck this dragon’s scales, they were like waves hitting a reef. They splashed apart. They scattered. Nothing remained.
Klein shifted his gaze upward. There was someone on the dragon’s back. Ophelia had seen it before him. Her vision was naturally better than Klein’s—senses reinforced by battle qi crushed a mage’s naked eye at this distance.
“Nelisa,” Ophelia said.
That was something Klein hadn't expected.
As the dragon dove, closing the distance to within a hundred meters, he finally saw clearly. The person on the dragon’s back wore a dark-gray long dress, her hair tied up without any ornaments. The wind whipped her skirt, but her posture on the dragon’s back was incredibly stable; she had clearly done this many times before. Her back was straight, her legs gripped the scales on either side of the dragon’s neck, and one hand rested on the largest scale at the base of the neck, her fingers tucked into the gap as if holding a handle known only to her.
Klein looked down at the sea beneath his feet, then up at the closing canopy of the Divine Kingdom, and then at the silver dragon.
“...Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce,” he murmured.
Silver Scale.
Silver scales.
The dragon leveled out its dive at an altitude of thirty meters above the sea, its wings spreading to decelerate. The downdraft pressed a crater over ten meters in diameter into the water beneath them. At close range, the silver scales were even clearer—each one possessed intricate patterns, with the intersections slightly raised, looking like natural runic nodes.
Klein’s mind began to whirl again. Uncontrollably.
Ophelia reached out and tapped his shoulder.
The force wasn't great, but it was enough to pull him back from that obsessive analytical state.
“Snap out of it,” she said.
Klein blinked. “...Right.”
The dragon circled above them for half a turn before slowly descending. The shadow cast by its massive body enveloped the two of them, and the faint light reflected by the silver scales cast dappled spots of light on the sea, mirroring the glow of the anchors in the void below—one cold, one warm, distinctly separated.
Nelisa stood up from the dragon’s back.
The wind was still strong at this height, but her movements were as composed as if she were standing in her own living room. She looked down at the two on the sea, her gaze first landing on Klein, pausing for a breath, before moving to Ophelia and pausing again.
Then she spoke. Her voice wasn't loud, but it was carried by some force, reaching their ears clearly without a single word being lost to the wind.
“Mr. Klein, Ms. Ophelia.”
Her tone was no different from when they had last met at Silver Scale Harbor, as if she weren't riding a dragon in the center of a Divine Kingdom's projection, as if there weren't a deep-sea evil god awakening beneath them, as if this were all just a pre-arranged business meeting.
“My apologies for being late,” Nelisa said. “I encountered some... obstacles on the way.”
Klein stared at her for two seconds.
Then he laughed.
“President Nelisa.” Klein looked up, his nosebleed not yet cleaned, his face as white as paper, but his tone was steady. “I have... quite a few questions for you right now.”
“I know,” Nelisa said. “But now is not the time.”
Her gaze moved past them, landing on what was behind them—the colossal, slowly writhing entity that occupied the entire void.
Her expression finally changed.
The dragon beneath her feet let out a low rumble. It wasn't the tearing roar from before—it was a sustained, vibrating bass note rolling from deep within its chest. It seemed to be responding to something.
Or—it was a warning.
“Come up,” Nelisa said, reaching out to them. “Now.”
The moment Klein stepped onto the dragon’s back, the sensation through the soles of his feet made him pause.
It wasn't cold—the silver scales against his boots carried a dry warmth, like a stone slab that had been sitting in the sun. The gaps between the scales were perfect for wedging the front of his feet, a natural anti-slip structure.
Ophelia was stable before him. Her movement onto the dragon’s back was clean and efficient, her center of gravity dropping as she took a firm stance.
Nelisa glanced back at them but said nothing, only tightening her grip in the gaps of the dragon’s neck scales.
The dragon moved.
There was no run-up, no tensing of muscles. With a single spread of its wings, its entire body lifted from the sea.
Klein instinctively bent his knees to lower his center of gravity, preparing for the impact of the acceleration—
But it never came.
Nothing happened.
No wind rushed in, no inertia pulled him back, not even the hem of his clothes fluttered. The air on the dragon’s back was still, the temperature constant, as if they were enclosed in an invisible shell.
Klein straightened up and looked back.
The scene behind them was receding at high speed. The dark-green canopy, the writhing colossus in the void below, the closing boundaries of the Divine Kingdom—everything was shrinking. The dragon’s speed was incredible, but standing on its back, he couldn't perceive any sense of velocity.
“A biological field,” Klein murmured.
This dragon’s aura formed a complete isolation layer on the outer surface of its body, thoroughly cutting off the internal space from the external environment. Wind resistance, pressure changes, temperature gradients—all were blocked outside.
Thus, riding on its back was steadier than sitting in a carriage.
Ophelia walked over to him and stood still. The blood on the web of her thumb had completely dried, forming a dark-red crust. She hadn't bandaged it, and she probably didn't intend to.
“You haven't cleaned your nosebleed yet,” she said.
Klein raised a hand to touch his upper lip; his fingertips were indeed sticky. He wiped it haphazardly with his sleeve.
“Better?”
“There's still some on the left.”
Klein wiped it again.
Ophelia looked at him for two seconds, then reached out, her thumb pressing against the side of his nose to wipe away the last bit of dried blood. The movement was casual, like wiping dust off a table.
She withdrew her hand immediately after, turning her gaze forward.
Klein stared at her profile for a breath. Her golden hair was held still by the stagnant air on the dragon’s back, hanging quietly by her shoulders. After being blown into a mess on the sea, it was now perfectly behaved.
He withdrew his gaze and walked a few steps forward, stopping behind Nelisa.
“Nelisa.”
“Yes.”
“Where are we going next?”
Nelisa didn't turn around. Her voice carried back to him, clear in the quiet environment on the dragon’s back. “To regroup with Diancie and the others.”
Klein paused. “They contacted you?”
“Princess Diancie contacted me via the communication stone immediately after landing,” Nelisa said in a flat tone, as if reporting a routine business matter. “She said you were still at the original location and asked me to come for backup.”
Klein was silent for two seconds.
The Princess had reacted quickly.
“Where are they now?”
“At one of the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce's outposts. It's about twenty minutes away.” Nelisa paused, then added, “At this one's speed.”
She patted the dragon scales beneath her hand.
The dragon let out a low snort, seemingly in response, or perhaps out of impatience.
Klein’s gaze fell on Nelisa’s hands—her fingers were wedged into the scale gaps with practiced ease. The angle of her knuckles and the direction of her strength were all muscle memory developed over many years.
He had many questions.
What was the origin of this dragon? What was the relationship between the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce and it? How did she get the dragon scale she gave him? And who was Nelisa herself—a chamber president who rode a dragon more naturally than a horse? It didn't add up.
But he held back.
Not now.
Ophelia walked over and stood to his left. Her gaze swept over Nelisa’s back, then over the silver scales beneath her feet, and finally settled on Klein’s face.
“You look terrible.”
“My mental energy is overdrawn,” Klein didn't hide it from her. “I need rest.”
Ophelia didn't speak. She shifted half a step to the side, her shoulder leaning in, subtly providing him with a point of support.
Klein’s body was more honest than his mind—he instinctively leaned part of his weight onto her shoulder.
Nelisa never looked back.
But her voice drifted back again: “Mr. Klein, that spell you used just now—”
“Yes?”
“...Never mind. We'll talk when we arrive.”
She swallowed the rest of her sentence.
The silver dragon showed no signs of slowing down, but Nelisa’s fingers pulled out of the scale gaps—the movement itself was a signal.
Klein looked ahead.
On the sea, the silhouette of a lonely island emerged from the night. It wasn't large, looking no more than two or three miles across, with a shoreline jagged with reefs. There were no lights on the island, but as Klein’s perception swept over it, he captured life signals—familiar ones.
The dragon began to descend. Its wing surfaces folded slightly, its body tilting forward as it glided toward a clearing in the center of the island in a smooth arc. The landing was much lighter than Klein had expected—when its four claws touched the ground, the earth only vibrated slightly, without even kicking up dust.
Klein jumped down from the dragon’s back, his knees buckling, nearly making him fall. Ophelia landed right after him, reaching out to support the small of his back with just enough force to steady him.
“Thanks.”
Ophelia didn't respond, her hand already withdrawn.
There weren't many buildings on the island; a few low stone houses were scattered among the trees, looking like temporary shelters for fishermen. However, faint traces of runic lines were visible on the walls—it was well-disguised, impossible to see unless one was close.
A Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce outpost. Hiding in a place like this didn't quite match their usual style.
The sound of footsteps came from the direction of the nearest stone house. The door was pushed open, and Diancie was the first to rush out.
She ran quickly, not even lifting her skirt, her feet thumping against the gravel path as she hurried over. Lohr followed behind her, his blade still at his waist, his pace steadier than Diancie’s but no less fast. Behind them were several sailors, with the first mate in the lead, still clutching half a piece of dry ration and chewing.
Diancie ran up to them, her gaze darting back and forth between Klein and Ophelia. Her mouth opened and closed, closed and opened, until she finally managed to blurt out: “Are you—are you two all right?”
Klein could hear the mix of emotions in her voice—urgency, anger, and relief all tangled together, none of them taking the lead.
“We're fine,” Klein said, waving a hand. “All in one piece.”
Diancie’s gaze fixed on his face for two seconds.
“You have blood under your nose.”
Klein instinctively touched it. It was dry. Hadn't Ophelia wiped it for him just now? It must have seeped out again on the dragon’s back.
“Minor issue. I used too much mental energy; it's a normal reaction.”
Diancie’s brow didn't relax. She turned to look at Ophelia, her gaze falling on the dark-red crust on her right thumb, and she pursed her lips.
“Lady Ophelia, your hand—”
“A superficial wound,” Ophelia’s answer was curt, leaving no room for further questioning.
Lohr approached. He didn't speak, but his gaze passed the two of them and landed on the silver dragon that was currently folding its wings behind them. His pupils constricted. His hand rested on his sword hilt—not to draw it, but as an instinctive action, unrelated to tension and born purely of habit.
“That is...” Lohr’s voice was a bit dry.
“A dragon,” Klein finished for him. “A living one. Nelisa rode it here.”
Lohr was silent for three seconds. He turned to look at Nelisa as she climbed down from the dragon’s neck, then turned back to Klein, his expression complex.
“...Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce,” he said.
“Exactly,” Klein nodded. “Silver Scale. Silver scales.”
The first mate walked over then, having finished his ration. He wiped his hands on his pants and let out a grin. “Mr. Klein, that magic of yours—I’ve never experienced anything like that in my life. When I woke up on the ground, I thought I’d died and been reincarnated.”
Klein smiled. “Sorry, the experience wasn't exactly pleasant.”
“No, no, no,” the first mate waved his hands repeatedly. “As long as we're alive. It beats being fish food.”
Aphros walked out from the doorway of the stone house. She was still barefoot, seemingly unfazed by the gravel ground. Her gray-green vertical slit pupils were particularly striking in the night as her gaze went straight past everyone, landing on the silver dragon in the distance.
Rate on N.U.
