Chapter 1017: Dragon Scale Ink

The restaurant Scathach chose was in a quieter part of Asgard, away from the main market and far enough from the large avenues that the noise of the city reached them only as a murmur. It was not particularly luxurious, but the food was good, the tables had plenty of space between them, and no one seemed inclined to interrupt the two of them after recognizing Strax. They had managed to get a table near a window, from where they could watch part of the streets illuminated by magical crystals as the night went on. Scathach was still wearing the small hair clip Strax had placed in her hair earlier, now properly adjusted by her, while the enormous tiger plush sat in an empty chair beside them like an extremely inconvenient third person at the table.

Strax was finishing a portion of roasted meat while Scathach watched him over the rim of her glass. Ever since he had mentioned the possibility of engraving runes directly into his body, she had spent most of the walk to the restaurant quieter than usual. She did not look frightened, exactly, but thoughtful. For someone like her, who knew more about draconic tradition than practically anyone else available in Asgard, the simple fact that she had not dismissed the idea immediately already said a lot.

After several minutes of silence, Scathach finally set her utensils down on the plate.

"How exactly do you intend to do it?"

Strax raised his eyes.

"The runes."

"Ah."

"Don’t say ’ah’ like you haven’t spent the last hour thinking about it."

He took a drink before answering. "In the end, runic language is still a language, right?"

Scathach frowned slightly. "Dangerous simplification, but continue."

"A language exists to record meaning. Draconic runes do that through energy, authority, and concepts, but they still need some form of inscription. If I can draw a rune in the air, on stone, or on a weapon, then there should be a way to engrave it into myself."

Scathach remained quiet, allowing him to continue.

Strax rested one arm on the table. "It could be ink. Some material capable of carrying draconic energy without falling apart when it comes into contact with me. If that doesn’t work, it can be marked directly into the skin. And if skin is too superficial..."

He shrugged.

"...carve it into the bones."

Scathach continued staring at him.

Strax kept eating as though he had not just suggested cutting open his own body to write symbols into his skeleton.

"You said that very calmly," she commented.

"Because I’m calm."

"You’re talking about mutilating your own skeleton."

"I regenerate."

"That isn’t the point."

"It helps."

Scathach crossed her arms. For several seconds, she seemed to search for an appropriate way to ask the question without turning the conversation into a lecture. In the end, she decided to be direct.

"How far are you planning to go to become more powerful?"

Strax stopped.

The question did not offend him, but it clearly made him think. He set his fork down and stared at his own hand for a few seconds before slowly shaking his head.

"That’s not it."

"No?"

"I’m not some lunatic obsessed with power."

Scathach raised an eyebrow.

Strax noticed.

"Fine. From the outside, maybe it looks a little like that."

"You ate Hades’s heart."

"That was strategic."

"You melted the Helm of Darkness."

"I improved it."

"You want to write runes into your bones."

"Research."

Scathach stared at him.

"You are not helping your own defense."

Strax let out a small laugh, but his expression soon became serious again. "I’m not doing this because I want to wake up tomorrow stronger than everyone else. If that were all I wanted, I’d probably already be hunting down whatever ancient creature I could find just to devour its energy. I want to become stronger because I’ve seen too many times what happens when something appears above the level we’re prepared to face."

He looked through the window.

Asgard continued living outside. People were returning home, merchants were closing their shops, and groups of adventurers crossed the streets after finishing their missions. That normality was exactly what Strax had been trying to preserve.

"I have a lot of people to protect now," he continued. "Not just my wives. Vex. Asgard. People who chose to stay close to me because they believe I can keep this place standing. Every time something new appears, the scale gets bigger. Monarchs became gods. Creatures became Titans. Now there are people after the Planetary Core."

Scathach did not interrupt.

"So no," Strax concluded. "I don’t want more power just because I like the feeling of it. I want to make sure no one I love has to pay because I stopped moving forward when I decided I was already strong enough."

Her expression softened slightly.

Scathach knew that part of him. Maybe she had not been with Strax for most of his life, but she already understood enough to know that his apparent obsession with always growing stronger was accompanied by something else. The more people he accepted as his own, the harder it became for him to tolerate any vulnerability.

"That doesn’t make the idea any less dangerous," she said.

"I know."

"But at least it makes it less stupid."

"Thank you."

"That was a compliment."

"It was terrible."

Scathach returned to her thoughts. "If you really intend to do something like this, you can’t just take ordinary ink, mix mana into it, and start writing on your chest. Your body would probably expel most of the material before the inscription could establish a bond."

"That’s why I thought about demonic draconic energy."

Scathach looked at him immediately.

Strax continued. "My energy isn’t purely draconic anymore. It isn’t demonic in the ordinary sense either. My body fused the two a long time ago. If I can condense that energy into ink, maybe I can create a material my body recognizes as part of itself instead of an intruder."

"How do you plan to stabilize the energy inside a liquid?"

"I don’t know yet."

"Finally, a sensible answer."

"I was thinking about blood first."

Scathach shook her head almost immediately. "Too unstable. Blood works well for quick rituals because it is already tied to identity, but it ages, coagulates, deteriorates, and reacts too strongly to the state of the body. A permanent inscription needs something less variable."

Strax slowly nodded.

"Then?"

She stared at him for a few seconds before leaning slightly over the table.

"Scales."

Strax frowned.

"Mine?"

"Preferably."

"Why?"

"Because they’re already you."

That answer got his attention.

Scathach picked up the napkin and drew an imaginary line over the fabric with one finger. "Dragon scales carry much more than physical resistance. They absorb energy while growing, record part of the body’s magical signature, and keep holding onto it even after being removed. That’s why materials made from true dragon scales are so valuable."

"So I tear some off."

"Yes."

"Grind them."

"Until they become an extremely fine powder."

"And turn that into liquid."

Scathach nodded. "Mix it with an alchemical agent that doesn’t interfere with the energy, then slowly inject your own mana. If it works, you’ll have an ink made from your own body, fed by your own energy, and stable enough to maintain a runic form."

Strax became thoughtful.

That sounded far more promising than simply using some external material.

"You’ve seen it work?"

"Not exactly like this."

"Of course."

"But I have seen inscriptions made with pulverized scales. Ancient Dragons used that method to create marks on eggs, family weapons, and structures that needed to recognize a specific bloodline. The principle is similar."

"And on flesh?"

Scathach made a small grimace.

"I’ve seen it."

Strax noticed.

"It worked."

"It worked."

"Then why that face?"

"Because I’ve also seen it go wrong."

He smiled.

"That’s part of it."

"That shouldn’t make you excited."

"I’m not excited."

"You are."

Strax ignored her. "Then I start with ink. If that doesn’t work, we think of something else."

Scathach pointed at him. "Do not immediately jump to the bones."

"I make no promises."

"Strax."

"Fine. I’ll try very hard before that."

She let out a resigned sigh, but she knew that was probably the maximum amount of caution she was going to get from him at that moment. "I’ll help prepare the mixture. Don’t do it alone. We need to test it first on a small area, preferably somewhere without a direct connection to important organs."

"Arm?"

"Maybe."

Strax nodded and went back to eating.

"So tomorrow?"

"First, I’m going to teach you how to construct the runes correctly."

"Fair."

"Then we decide which ones can even be used this way."

"Fair."

"And you are not engraving anything without me checking it first."

Strax went quiet.

Scathach narrowed her eyes.

"Strax."

"Fine."

"Why did that sound so difficult?"

"Because too many rules ruin research."

"You’ve been spending too much time with Frieren."

"Probably."

Scathach returned to eating with a much calmer expression now that there was at least some kind of method standing between Strax and the possibility of carving symbols into his own skeleton. He, meanwhile, had already begun imagining how different runes could interact with his own structure. If it really worked, they would not be spells he needed to build during combat. They would always be there, integrated into his body and perhaps even capable of evolving with him.

It was exactly the kind of path he was looking for.

...

Frieren had been bent over a workbench for so long that she no longer knew exactly how many hours had passed.

Her personal laboratory was considerably smaller than the main homunculus facility, but also much more disorganized. Crystals were scattered between open books, three containers held growing artificial tissues, pieces of experimental cores lay around, and a series of diagrams floated in the air. At the center of it all, Frieren was working on a small demonic structure removed from one of the homunculi for testing.

Since visiting the Congregation, she had modified parts of the project.

Selene had provided far too many ideas.

Some were excellent.

Others were absurd.

Naturally, Frieren was testing both.

A small spiritual matrix rotated above the artificial core while she adjusted the amount of mana passing through each layer. The intention was to create an interface capable of receiving a true soul without forcing it to immediately connect to every function of the body. If it worked, it would drastically reduce the possibility of rejection during the first moments.

Frieren was so focused that she did not notice footsteps in the corridor.

Two knocks sounded at the door.

Knock. Knock.

"Frieren?"

The elf jumped slightly.

The crystal in her hand almost slipped from her fingers.

She caught it at the last second and quickly turned toward the door, her eyes slightly wide.

Monica was standing there.

And smiling.

Frieren noticed immediately.

"Don’t laugh."

Monica covered her mouth with one hand.

"I’m not laughing."

"You are."

"You jumped."

"I was concentrating."

"I noticed."

Frieren carefully placed the crystal on the workbench, trying to recover her dignity as Monica entered. "You should make more noise when you walk."

"I knocked."

"After you got here."

"That’s how doors work."

Frieren looked away, slightly embarrassed at having been caught so off guard. The small reaction seemed to amuse Monica far more than it should have, mainly because Frieren rarely showed any obvious surprise.

"Anyway," the elf said, crossing her arms. "What happened that made you come here personally?"

Monica’s smile gradually disappeared.

She was carrying a thick folder under one arm.

Frieren looked at her.

Then at the folder.

"That looks like trouble."

"It is."

"Strax?"

"Surprisingly, not directly."

"Then it’s serious."

Monica sighed and walked over to an empty workbench. She placed the folder on it and ran a hand through her hair, clearly tired of thinking about the subject.

"Do you know about trees?"

Frieren blinked.

"Trees."

"Yes."

"You came all the way to my laboratory to ask if I know about trees."

"I wanted to talk to a Witch first."

Frieren tilted her head.

Monica continued. "The problem is that I realized Selene left without giving us any practical method of communication. I don’t have a crystal, magical frequency, portal address, or any other way to call that woman."

Frieren thought for a few seconds.

"She really didn’t leave one."

"Exactly."

"I could try reconstructing the portal signature."

Monica looked at her.

Frieren realized that was not the answer she wanted.

"Or I could answer the question about trees."

"I’d prefer that."

Frieren rested one hand on the table. "I was an elf, Monica. Of course I know about trees."

Monica raised an eyebrow.

"How much?"

"Depends on the tree. Ordinary ones, magical ones, spiritual ones, mana trees, some conscious species, forest parasites..." Frieren began counting mentally. "I also know some ancient plant structures that use roots to form underground networks."

Monica’s expression became progressively less comfortable.

Frieren noticed.

"Why?"

Monica opened the folder.

"I need you to look at something."