Six thousand square kilometers.
When the final figure was confirmed, King Peinance thought he had misheard.
He stood on the terrace at the highest point of the Royal Palace, clutching the survey report that had just arrived, its pages rustling in the morning breeze.
In the distance, what had once been ocean was now a stretch of silent, solid land.
It had risen from the sea like a sleeping behemoth slowly surfacing, carrying deep-sea silt and the lingering warmth of underground magma.
A full six thousand square kilometers.
His kingdom had nearly doubled in size within a month.
Peinance's hands were shaking.
When that silver-haired young man first appeared before him, he had been calculating what price he would have to pay-land? Taxes? Or a political marriage?
He had sat on this throne for thirty-six years and seen far too many merchants exploiting disasters, nobles seizing what they wanted through trickery and force, and powerful nations annexing territory under the banner of "aid."
No one helped you for no reason. That was the most important lesson he had learned in thirty-six years as king.
But that young man had asked for nothing. He had merely told him to prepare dinner and lodging.
Peinance closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
The morning air still carried the scent of the sea breeze, but beneath that familiar smell, something was different-the scent of earth.
The smell of fresh, damp soil drifted from the newborn land, like a spring rain tens of millions of years overdue.
He left the terrace without guards and without informing anyone.
Marine engineers had laid a road to the new land overnight-though calling it a road was generous. It was only a temporary passage made from gravel and sandbags, with construction materials that had not yet been