Rock Island (4)
Not just Arwen felt that way.
Most of the dark elves here shared the sentiment.
Bound by all sorts of superstitions and faiths, they gazed at Owen and the turtle dragon's encounter as if it were a scene straight out of legend.
With the situation like this, Arwen quickly issued a command.
"Cease fire! Stop the attack!"
It looked like that guy named Owen was up to something.
Interrupting now would spell disaster.
Everyone halted their actions, unable to tear their eyes from the bizarre spectacle unfolding on the beach.
Some had been fumbling awkwardly, about to ram wicks into cannon muzzles.
Others dangled from planks in the sea.
Still others had quivers stacked on their backs like firewood.
They'd all been scurrying about in a frenzy, but now they froze, staring mesmerized at Owen and the turtle dragon's meeting.
Not even a proper breath escaped them.
Owen was just as tense.
The colossal figure piercing through the thick gun smoke defied imagination.
Its head alone towered higher than a decent frigate.
This creature, over 100 meters long, was a walking commandment in itself.
Gulp.
He swallowed dryly.
But thanks to his past life's experience, Owen quickly regained his composure.
'Come to think of it, the intimidation from first meeting Tanares was far greater than this.'
He kept his hand extended, sending his thoughts.
He was removing the barnacles from the turtle dragon.
Kuoooooh.
The beast lowed in delight.
It showed no hostility toward Owen.
'Good start, at least...'
The problem was peeling off those barnacles clinging to its massive carapace wouldn't be easy.
These weren't ordinary barnacles—the big ones were meter-class.
'No way I can do this alone.'
It'd take the whole army hanging off it.
They'd need all sorts of tools too.
But would this turtle dragon stay still with people swarming its body? That was the issue.
It didn't seem threatened, but a single shake from annoyance would be catastrophic.
Owen felt the need to ask about that.
"Hmm..."
He imagined humans and dark elves working together to remove the barnacles, then asked if it could stay put on the beach meanwhile.
Kuoooooh.
The turtle dragon lowed approvingly again.
But that was it—the end of the line.
It didn't seem to grasp the part about staying on the beach.
'This is awkward.'
Owen tried a few more times, but communication wasn't clicking.
It really drove home how smart Grenville was for understanding human speech.
'How the hell do I ask this?'
The issue was that the turtle dragon's world had no question words.
No way to express when, why, where, what, or how.
As their communication faltered, the turtle dragon began tilting its head rhythmically.
Owen caught on.
'Wait... it's not annoyed?'
From experience, he figured that periodic tilt meant questioning.
Time to test it.
Owen imagined the turtle dragon lying still on the beach and tilted his own head.
The massive eye looked down at Owen, confirming.
Soon, it lowed in response.
Grwoooooh.
The tone was different from before.
"Ah!"
Owen realized he'd nailed it.
That rhythmic head tilt was definitely their way of asking back.
From then on, Owen added actual head tilts to his thoughts, advancing the talk.
'Alright, now we're communicating.'
Body language was key with dragons.
It had been the same with Grenville.
He'd gotten distracted by his newly awakened ability and forgotten the basics.
Owen now drew fully on his experience, unleashing a barrage of gestures.
He'd even courted a Tokay dragon once.
Once he had the method, convincing a turtle dragon was child's play.
His efforts soon bore fruit—they reached an agreement.
Grwoooooh!
The turtle dragon promised not to move while Owen's army removed the barnacles.
In return, it couldn't stay out of water all day, so it'd head back at sunset.
"That's fine. No problem."
Owen sighed in relief, finally relaxing.
He'd averted this massive beast laying waste to the area.
His palms were slick with sweat from the tension.
Owen backed away, gesturing to the turtle dragon.
Kuuuuh.
It lowed softly and lumbered forward slowly.
As it reached the beach, half its submerged body emerged, jaw-dropping in scale.
Its thick legs left deep footprints, waves rushing in to form ponds.
Thud! Thud! Boom!
Each step birthed new ponds on the beach.
It stopped where the sand ended, part of its body still in the water.
Not wanting to go farther, it lay down right there.
Grooooaaargh!
It seemed light, but the ground shook, sand flying everywhere.
"Ugh!"
Owen ended up covered in wet sand.
He spat out the grit in his mouth—ptui, ptui—while the turtle dragon leisurely basked in the sun and closed its eyes.
Like it was saying, handle it yourselves.
"This is insane."
Just eyeing the barnacles blanketing its body promised hellish work.
As Owen recoiled at the workload, the onlookers were stunned for entirely different reasons.
"What... what did we just witness?"
"That monster's actually obeying Sir Leire?"
The humans were shocked enough, but the dark elves—steeped in superstition—reacted even more dramatically.
"He tamed Kuaram Kam!"
"Parte has appeased Kuaram Kam, the messenger of the gods..."
"A hero. That's no mere Parte level. He's beyond that—insufficient to measure him."
"Heroicus!"
The turtle dragon had rampaged briefly, smashing a dozen prized dark elf frigates.
Nearly as many needed repairs from moderate damage.
Yet this unscathed monster obeyed a mere boy like a docile cow.
The watchers gasped as it promptly fell asleep.
Snurrrrk! Pfffffft!
Snurrrrk!
It snored human-like, each exhale blasting sand like a bellows.
Even the gulls that fled the chaos returned, cawing caw-caw, perching atop the turtle dragon.
Amid destruction's scars, an unreal peace blanketed the beach.
"...Am I dreaming?"
Arwen murmured in a daze.
Moments ago, it'd felt like a typhoon's eye; now, like waking from a nightmare.
Everything felt unreal.
Especially Owen single-handedly subduing the ocean's king—it was hard to believe even seeing it.
"Commander. You should discuss with the Parte first."
"Yeah. No telling how long that thing'll sleep."
As Arwen hurried to Owen, human commander Betshel arrived too.
The old veteran couldn't hold back, firing questions.
"What in the world happened? Why's it sleeping now? What's next?"
"Elder, I'll explain—just take it slow."
"Sorry, lad. My wits are all scattered."
Even a veteran like Betshel was beside himself.
"Perfect—Lady Arwen's here too. Let me explain the situation."
Owen recounted the whole commotion.
Arwen nearly collapsed, legs buckling.
"...What? Barnacles? You're serious?"
"Hard to believe, I know. But true, Lady Arwen."
Owen insisted it was all about the barnacles.
They'd calmed it by promising removal, so they needed to start work now.
"Sure, we could break the promise and run. But then we'd be stuck off the North Sea for ages. An angry turtle dragon would smash every ship in sight."
"..."
Arwen was speechless.
Unlike Owen, to her, the turtle dragon was a divine messenger.
Her proud ancestors had left records dripping with dread: avoid Kuaram Kam in the North Sea.
Owen spoke like it was just nursing a sick pet—bridging that gap wasn't easy.
Betshel looked equally baffled at removing dragon barnacles.
Despite the mood, Owen stood firm.
"If we don't help that turtle, we can't complete the mission. Removing the barnacles and sending it back to sea is our only way."
"All those?"
"Yes, Elder. Use every tool available. Plenty of materials floating in the sea—salvage them to build gear."
Owen pointed to the drifting wreckage and debris.
"..."
Arwen fell silent a long while before issuing a reluctant order.
"3rd and 4th Direct Commandos, recover sunken materials from the sea. The rest, prepare for barnacle removal. But Sir Parte Leire."
"Yes?"
"It'll stay still even if we climb on its back?"
"Correct. Promised until sunset."
"No idea how you did it, but you even made a deal."
Unbelievable, but Arwen decided to empty her mind.
"Fine. If we can send Kuaram Kam away, who cares about some barnacles..."
That day, barnacle removal from its carapace began.
Soldiers swarmed the sleeping turtle dragon like ants, prying with levers.
"Heave! Heave! Heave!"
Groups heaved together.
The grueling work soaked them in sweat fast.
Smaller barnacles fell to swinging axes.
No worry of scratching the carapace.
Even full-force chops left mere nicks.
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"The sides are the problem."
At the workers' reports, Owen deployed dragon knights.
Dragons like Grenville, adept at clinging to walls, handled the sloped carapace sides.
"Deploy medium dragons too, Sir Leire. Load workers aboard—they can reach the high barnacles."
"Understood."
To finish fast, every method was mustered.
Shipwreck timber became instant ladders.
People swung axes, clubs—whatever worked.
Throughout, all followed Owen's orders.
He alone could communicate with the turtle dragon.
Proud Arwen smarted at that.
"Lady Arwen, take 100 men and handle the hind leg barnacles."
"...Ugh. Got it, Sir Parte Leire."
She assented, face flushing.
A noble heir like her, taking orders from a human man?
But refusal wasn't an option.
Messing up and enraging Kuaram Kam? Unthinkable horror.
The problem: other dark elves witnessing this.
Seeing their future matron commanded, they began murmuring one word.
"...Heroicus."
"He's definitely Heroicus."
The whispers reached Owen too.
Well-versed in dark elf culture, even he didn't know what Heroicus meant.
Then something odd happened.
Four days into removal, one morning the turtle dragon—back from the North Sea overnight—returned with something in its mouth.
The work-clad soldiers buzzed.
"What is that?"
"It's sparkling."
"Pretty big."
The turtle dragon scanned about, seeking Owen.
Ants to it, yet it spotted him and approached.
Thud! Boom!
Folks scattered, leaving Owen.
It dropped its burden before him.
Thud.
A massive metal figure half-sank into the sand.
"A figurehead? For me?"
Figureheads adorned ship prows against sea evils.
Bigger ships, bigger figures—and this neared 5 meters.
Definitely for a capital ship.
Woooong!
As if confirming, it lowed—then claimed its sunny spot and lay down.
With many barnacles gone, its mood was mellow.
Soldiers fixated on the figurehead over the dragon now.
Especially dark elves still deeming it divine—they inspected closely, amazed.
Obviously extraordinary.
Owen approached too: a dark elf figurehead.
No ordinary one—high status.
"Who is it?"
Definitely no commoner.
Figureheads warded evil with famed heroes.
"Hmm... looks like a queen."
The attire evoked ancient dark elf queens.
Owen got no further, but the dark elves recognized it.
Their legend-made-real.
They couldn't hide their shock—then one eyed Owen and declared.
"Heroicus!"
It ignited everything.
All dark elves turned to Owen, erupting in clamor.
"Heroicus! Heroicus!"
"Heroicus! Yes—he's Heroicus!"
And it didn't stop.
Suddenly, dark elves knelt on one knee, heads bowed.
"Heroicus!"
Owen, naturally, was baffled.
"What? Hey—Lady Arwen?"
He glanced at her, as if to say do something.
She wasn't kneeling—but fidgeting badly.
Face beet-red, biting her lip, ears twitching in humiliation, glaring at Owen.
Like she'd suffered grave insult.
Then the unbelievable: kneeling dark elves scolded Arwen angrily.
"Heroicus!"
"Heroicus!"
Impossible.
Clan warriors never treated a dignified heir this way.
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