When Novia realized that the weapon forged from Albion the Dragon's skull actually carried what seemed to be the dragon's own consciousness, his first instinct was… to pretend he hadn't heard a thing.
After all, refining someone's severed head—especially the proudest of all dragons—into a weapon for personal use wasn't exactly easy to explain away.
What's more, a weapon possessing its own will? That wasn't part of his plan.
The Albion Dragon's soul had clearly crossed over to the Reverse Side of the World. The Clock Tower of later generations had experimented on its corpse countless times without provoking any reaction…
So how come, when it came to him, things suddenly didn't go according to plan?
"You… are you like Osiris, a new consciousness born upon your own remains?"
The purple-haired girl, Shiali, leapt down from Novia's back, her indifferent gaze settling on the object floating a short distance away—the very thing she herself had forged.
From the moment the voice had spoken, this underground space had transformed into an extraordinary, distorted reality—one capable of warping the vision of anyone who looked upon it.
But it wasn't just visual distortion.
Even in the age when the gods still walked the earth, most magi would've struggled to neutralize such warping.
In other words, if an ordinary person were to set foot here, their sense of balance would collapse instantly—they wouldn't even be able to stand.
The object likely exuded some innate "presence" as well.
It wouldn't be surprising if a mere glimpse of it caused an ordinary person to lose themselves entirely.
Suspended in the twisted space, bound by her ether lines—
Was a weapon.
A blue-black spear.
A weapon that could move on its own—
That alone was reason enough for Novia to take its voice seriously.
Whether this was truly the dragon's consciousness or some newly born entity, he didn't intend to pry too deeply.
Judging from the tone earlier, and recalling how the fairy Lancelot—his left-hand incarnation—tended to behave,
It seemed the best approach would be along the lines of "You'll never have to be lonely again."
Thus—
"Ah… so you are the mighty Albion Dragon…"
Novia smiled.
"It is an honor beyond words to meet you. I apologize for being unable to welcome you with the highest ceremony, and for daring to use your peerless body without permission."
The silver-haired boy spoke with unwavering sincerity, his tone respectful yet natural, his expression gentle and reassuring.
"I never imagined that even after the end of fantasy, you could manifest your will here in the present world… but then again, it is only fitting. You are the strongest of dragons.
From a young age, I've revered you deeply. It was that admiration that drove me to follow in your footsteps all the way here… yet I failed to meet you in time.
In order to protect your remains from being defiled by loathsome worms, I was forced to resort to this desperate measure.
Please, allow me once again to express my sincerest apologies to you—the mightiest of all dragons."
Something about those words stirred a vague memory in Albion the Dragon's mind.
Humans.
Those frail creatures with pitiful survivability.
And among them, a particular breed called teachers, who, for reasons beyond comprehension, selflessly imparted knowledge to their weaker kin and nurtured them.
This human… had carried another frail human on his back, hadn't he?
Lost in its own associations, and somewhat mollified by Novia's stream of flattery, Albion the Dragon's indignation eased ever so slightly.
"Though I have yet to witness the true, radiant form of your celestial visage, to hear the words of the strongest dragon with my own ears…"
Novia placed his hand over his heart, his tone growing solemn.
"Allow me to state my eternal, unchanging reverence for your unparalleled might."
"Hmph… do you think I, the strongest, can't see through such empty flattery? Do you know how many weaklings like you I've heard sing the same praises over the ages?"
"I deeply apologize… I'm not particularly sociable… so my words lack polish and wit…"
Novia raised his right hand to his chest, an apologetic look on his face.
"But I will devote myself wholeheartedly moving forward. I hope you, mighty Albion, will view me with long-term patience."
"Tch… smooth talker."
Shiali muttered quietly, her amethyst eyes sharpening ever so slightly.
Naturally, she could tell—the spear's temper had visibly improved thanks to Novia's speech.
At the very least, it was no longer radiating that seething rage from before.
Her gaze drifted between the boy and the weapon.
Though she couldn't quite explain it, a faint, inexplicable irritation simmered within her.
"Hmph… look at you… you clearly just want me to become some convenient weapon for you to command, don't you?
Do you really think this flowery speech will earn you forgiveness for mutilating my body?"
Albion's voice was cold and dismissive.
As the strongest dragon, it saw no reason to walk alongside anyone as an equal—let alone submit to a human wielding it like a mere tool.
Frankly, the fact it hadn't devoured this human the moment they met was already a monumental act of mercy.
"I wouldn't know."
Novia replied with disarming honesty, shaking his head and lowering his gaze.
"Perhaps, if I possessed the skill to eloquently persuade the strongest being to heed the request of a weakling like me…
That would indeed be impressive. But… I don't have that ability."
The human before Albion, from a certain perspective, was a creature whose life could be snuffed out by the dragon's slightest twitch.
Weak creatures existed solely to be consumed and harvested by the strong—that was the natural order.
Albion the Dragon didn't deny thinking that way.
But… not entirely.
It had occasionally smiled at the weak.
Occasionally clashed with them.
Occasionally worried over the present… the future.
Such fleeting mornings, shared among fragile beings… were so ephemeral. So illusory.
By contrast, it alone possessed strength—undeniable, absolute strength.
Naturally… these weaklings' admiration of it was only proper.
The boy lifted his head, taking steady steps toward the spear.
"Indeed… the weak obey the strong. That's only natural.
But to be trapped underground, denied the open skies…
For someone as beautiful as you… it's far too unfair.
You are the undisputed strongest dragon—
You belong at the boundary between land and sky, gazing upon the endless horizon."
"Hmph… you saw my disgraceful corpse, didn't you?
The filth I spewed… the sorrow I—the strongest—should never have shown… you witnessed all of it."
Despite her evaluation of this frail human rising uncontrollably in her heart, Albion's voice remained icily indifferent.
The atmosphere suggested she could slaughter him at any moment.
"As you say… I saw it all.
The filth you expelled… the grief unbefitting the strongest… I witnessed every bit of it. But—"
His eyes, unwavering and sincere, locked onto the dragon's gaze.
"No matter how unsightly… no matter how dangerous…
It doesn't diminish the awe I hold for you.
You outshine every memory, the most radiant existence this world has ever birthed.
Even if my body perishes… even if my heart decays…
My reverence for your celestial beauty—my eternal, unchanging reverence for you—will never fade."
Novia extended his hand.
Albion the Dragon froze, momentarily stunned.
He continued, softly—
"I cannot offer much to the mightiest of dragons…
But… may I, as one of the weak…
Wander beside you?
Worry beside you?
Struggle beside you?
Hesitate beside you?
Albion the Dragon, may I?"