Steel Island
Their next destination was decided.
However, it didn't seem like everyone could go together this time.
"Even considering the distance, it's far too small," Roan muttered. "It looks like it'll be full with just one or two people."
"An island in the middle of the ocean... I-I apologize, but if we are not careful, we might very well end up as fish food," Charbun said, his voice trembling slightly.
"Exactly," Roan replied. "This is happening in a place I don't know much about, so there's no telling what might happen."
To put it bluntly, a seed of destruction could very well be sprouting in a place like that.
That was why choosing who to bring along was of the utmost importance.
"So... who wants to come with me?"
At his question, a flurry of mixed emotions crossed their faces. Their gazes were a tangled mess of wanting to go and wanting to stay behind.
Though I've already made up my mind.
The choice had already been made anyway, backed by a perfectly reasonable excuse.
"Jane, Belgard, Charbun—you guys stay here and rest up. I'll head over there with Rowell."
If you must protect someone from danger, keep them closest to you. With that philosophy in mind, Roan had decided to bring Rowell along.
Confirming there were no objections, Roan stepped out of the lodging. Rowell followed closely behind.
"I'm glad, though," Roan said. "I half-expected you to refuse."
"I am a man who repays his debts," Rowell replied stiffly. "You helped hunt the Kraken, so the least I can do is grant a favor."
"I love it when you're cooperative! Right, you're just going to go back to wandering alone once this is over anyway, aren't you? So let's work together this time."
Rowell had spent the least amount of time with the party. Perhaps that was why Roan felt a deeper connection to him now. Looking as though he might burst into tears of emotion at any moment, Roan quickly pointed toward another building to distract himself.
"First, let's secure a boat. Even if we could swim, that island is way too far."
A reasonable point. Rowell followed Roan inside. Roan immediately got straight to the point with the owner, as if there wasn't a single second to waste.
"What do you mean, no?"
"You're talking about that place, right? The jagged island you can only see on a clear day."
"Exactly! You know the one."
"Of course I do. It's famous among the sailors who work around here."
The Steel Island, the Cluster of Blades, the Ship Graveyard. It was called by many names, but they all shared one common thread.
"No sailor in their right mind goes near it. The stray chunks of iron drifting around that area will tear a ship to shreds."
"...Chunks of iron broken off from the island? No, who on earth made such an island in the first place?" Rowell asked.
"Who knows? Most of what we know is just rumors."
"Rumors?"
"Yeah. But everyone's story aligns perfectly. When a rumor is that consistent, it's usually not just a rumor—it's the truth."
"Is that so? What kind of rumor?" Rowell asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Ha, normally I wouldn't share this... but since you're the heroes who saved Tyramore, I'll let you in on it."
The sailor began his tale.
Once, there was a mad blacksmith stationed in Tyramore. This blacksmith squandered their entire fortune to acquire every piece of iron near Tyramore. Swords, arrowheads, ship parts—it didn't matter what it was. They gathered it all and hammered away day and night.
Even when driven out to the outskirts due to the noise, the blacksmith did not stop.
But perhaps unable to forge what they truly desired, the blacksmith threw all their creations into the sea.
The discarded metal was swept up by the ocean currents, clustering together in one spot until it eventually formed an entire island.
"...So it's not a legend, but something that actually happened?"
"I told you, I don't know for sure. Anyway, I need my boat to make a living. I'm sorry, but I can't lend it to you."
The sailor firmly refused once more. Hearing this, Rowell shook his head.
"Well, there you have it. It seems we must give up on going to the island—"
Rowell trailed off as he turned to look at Roan. Roan's eyes were flashing. His entire body language screamed that he would not take no for an answer.
"W-what... why are you looking at me like that all of a sudden...?"
If Jane or Belgard had been here, they would have easily predicted what was coming next: Ah, he's going to get to that island by any means necessary.
But the only one here was Rowell, who had always acted alone. He had absolutely no idea what fate awaited him!
"Alright! Let's go!"
"Go where?! What are you doing?!"
"We might find traces of Zaraxia! She's the only blacksmith skilled enough to create an entire island in such a short time!"
"Who the hell is Zaraxia?!"
Drag, drag, drag. Rowell was hauled away by Roan's overwhelming strength. The sailor watched them leave, utterly bewildered by the slapstick exit of the duo.
"So, what's the plan?" Rowell pressed. "None of the boat owners are going to let us use their vessels."
"And don't even think about suggesting we buy a boat outright," Rowell added quickly.
"I wouldn't dream of it! Besides, I've already figured out what to do!"
"Hmph. So you're not just acting on a whim? Fine, let's hear it. What are we doing?"
"We're building a boat!"
"...What?"
Rowell was dumbfounded. By the time he snapped out of his daze, he was already lashing logs together alongside Roan.
"Tighten that side a bit more! It'll be a pain if it comes loose!"
"Right, right..."
Rowell was being dragged along completely at Roan's pace. Belatedly coming to his senses, he threw the rope to the ground.
"What do you think you're doing right now?!"
"Huh? What's wrong?"
"There's no reason for us to go to that island! First your eyes start glowing, and now you suddenly want to build a boat! What on earth are you thinking?!"
"Ah, right. I guess I didn't explain it properly."
Roan stopped what he was doing and slung an arm around Rowell's shoulders.
Whirrr... Rowell's armor let out a low, trembling hum of fear. If his armor—which was practically his true self—was terrified, Rowell's own reaction was painfully obvious.
Of course, Roan had absolutely no intention of scaring him. He decided to explain things in a way that would be most appealing to Rowell.
"If the person I want to recruit is actually over there, everything is going to go incredibly smoothly for us."
"F-for you, maybe. Isn't that your goal anyway? Gathering comrades."
"That too, but it'll be great for you as well. She's a blacksmith. The most talented blacksmith I've ever known in my life."
If we can get that blacksmith on our side, you might be able to get whatever weapons or gear you want, Rowell.
Gulp. The sound of Rowell swallowing hard echoed in the air, his interest thoroughly piqued. There was no need to say anything more.
"You have to get me custom gear too. Got it?"
"Of course! I'll gather plenty of materials and ask her myself!"
Assuming she's actually on that island, of course. And assuming we eliminate whatever threat is lurking there first.
With a newly motivated Rowell, they quickly finished the log raft. Making full use of their makeshift oars, they somehow managed to reach the island.
"...It definitely would have been dangerous for a large ship," Rowell muttered. "There are too many hazards in these waters."
Chunks of iron that had failed to become part of the island were scattered everywhere. Even with their small raft, they had to use sheer physical strength to steer around them. It was easy to see why the sailors refused to come here.
"Still, we made it. Though it feels more like a massive reef than an island."
Screeech...
"Del Roan, be careful. There are sharp objects all over the ground."
Rowell warned as he surveyed the island. There was not a trace of dirt or sand to be found.
Discarded iron plates barely served as the ground, and even those were highly unstable.
Hills of scrap metal sharp enough to slit a throat loomed around them. The ocean breeze blowing through the gaps carried the heavy stench of rust and iron instead of refreshing sea air.
Combined with the metallic clanging of waves crashing against the iron shards, the entire place felt overwhelmingly artificial.
"Del Roan."
"Yeah? What is it?"
Rowell spoke, though he didn't look at Roan directly, fearing his anxious expression might give him away.
"This person you're trying to recruit as a comrade... are they insane?"
It was a blunt, direct question.
"Yes."
But Roan didn't deny it.
"All the comrades I'm looking for—and the ones I've already found—are crazy in their own way. Everyone has something missing."
Including myself, of course.
"That's not what I meant. Well, actually, it is, but..."
Rowell touched a sword protruding from a nearby mound of scrap.
Shhhk. The blade was still razor-sharp. It was a sword of such exquisite quality that it could easily be considered a masterpiece.
"It makes no sense to mass-produce weapons of this caliber as if they were cheap toys. It's almost inhuman."
"Huh? Well, she isn't human."
"...What is that supposed to mean?"
"She's a half-dragon. A normal human's stamina could never—"
CLANG!! CLANG!!
The ringing sound of a hammer drowned out the rest of Roan's sentence. Instantly, Roan bolted toward the interior of the island.
Deep inside the island, he found her. "She really is here."
Hard scales stretched from her hands up to her elbows. Her messy, unkempt hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. Her pupils slit sharply in the glow of the flying sparks.
Despite these draconic traits, she moved on two arms and two legs, maintaining a human silhouette.
Basilen Zaraxia. A half-dragon, and the sixth member of the Expedition Party.
"Seeing her alone in a place like this, she must be quite the eccentric," Rowell whispered. "We should approach slowly so we don't trigger her guard—"
"Zaraxia!!!"
"You crazy bastard!" Rowell yelled, trying to hold him back.
Roan charged forward immediately, with Rowell desperately trying to stop him. However, the blacksmith had noticed them long ago.
"...Huh? Who are you people?"
Zaraxia, who had been completely absorbed in her hammering, finally acknowledged them. She hadn't even noticed intruders entering her tiny island until now—a true artisan's focus.
"Be my comrade!" Roan shouted, thrusting his hand out toward her.
Naturally, Zaraxia had no reason to take the hand of a complete stranger.
Would she demand an item like Jane? Would they have to go through an ordeal together like with Belgard? Would he have to help upgrade her equipment like Rowell, or save her life like Charbun? He expected some sort of condition—
"...Comrades? Sure, why not."
She accepted without a second thought.
Zaraxia readily gave Roan's hand a firm shake, then immediately turned her attention back to her anvil.
"Now, could you please leave? Having people around is distracting, and it'll only delay my work."
She clearly didn't care about the concept of comrades at all. Zaraxia waved her hand dismissively, shooing them away.
In her hand, she held something resembling a holy grail.
Hummmm... As if recognizing its target, the piece of iron tucked inside Roan's pocket began to vibrate violently.