Chapter 100 | Has the Empire's Sword Who Married to the Countryside Fallen Today?

The wedding was, naturally, lighthearted and pleasant.

The shock brought by the sage was pressed deep into the hearts of Klein and Ophelia by mutual, silent agreement. When the two returned to the banquet, the expressions on their faces shifted seamlessly—Klein remained the smiling groom, and Ophelia remained the dignified and reserved bride.

No one noticed anything unusual.

The wedding banquet remained lively from early morning until dusk.

Martha had three glasses of fruit wine and started banging on the table, telling embarrassing stories about her father’s youth. If the old blacksmith were here, he’d surely be chasing her with a hammer.

Margaret sighed as she wiped up the spilled wine beside her, her expression looking exactly like she was looking after a troublesome younger sister.

Karen was indeed in good spirits today.

He sat quietly in the corner, occasionally looking up at the crowd. Lyra sat beside him, a cup of tea in her hand that she barely drank. Most of her attention was on Karen, but a few times, Klein noticed her looking at him and Ophelia, her gaze holding something hard to describe.

Not envy. More like—expectation.

Klein didn’t think much of it. Today was not the day to dwell on such things.

Even Raymond couldn’t help but relax, having a few drinks.

As the sun began to sink in the west, the atmosphere of the banquet reached its peak. The main contributor was Martha—she had somehow dug up an old guitar, played two chords before a string snapped, and then very calmly remarked, “There’s something wrong with this instrument.”

Margaret took the guitar from her hands.

“You should drink some water,” Margaret said.

“I’m not drunk!”

“The noise you’re making could be produced by a spatula.”

Martha opened her mouth, but the retort died in her throat and she swallowed it. After two seconds, she muttered softly, “I thought it sounded quite nice.”

No one echoed her sentiment.

Klein shook his head with a smile, his gaze instinctively sweeping to the side.

Ophelia happened to be looking over as well.

The expression on her face hadn't changed; she still looked as dignified as ever. But the curve of her lips was a bit wider than usual—likely thanks to Martha.

Their eyes met.

Neither looked away first. Nor did they linger. They naturally held eye contact for less than a second before each withdrew.

By evening, it was time for things to wind down.

The manor hands began to clear the tables, chairs, and the remains of the cups and plates. The air still held the mixed scent of food and fruit wine, partially dispersed by the evening breeze, while a new layer wafted from the kitchen—Margaret was brewing tea.

Klein stood by the window of the second-floor corridor, looking down at the courtyard for a while.

The setting sun cast long shadows across the manor. The flower trellises set up during the day hadn't been taken down yet, and ribbons swayed gently in the wind.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

He didn’t need to look back to know who it was. Ophelia’s stride was very recognizable—unhurried, with almost equal distance between every step.

Ophelia walked up to his side and also glanced out the window.

She was still wearing that white wedding dress. The high-neck design complemented the lines of her neck beautifully. After a whole day, there wasn't a single wrinkle on the garment—it was hard to tell if it was the quality of the fabric or her own disciplined posture.

The two of them stood side by side for a while.

It was very quiet.

But it was different from the silence in the garden that morning. That morning had been because there was too much to process. This time, it was because both of them knew exactly—

What came next.

Klein spoke first.

“Are you hungry?”

Ophelia turned her head to look at him.

The look on her face clearly said: You’re asking me if I’m hungry at a time like this?

“...I was just asking,” Klein said.

He himself felt that the question was incredibly stupid.

But someone had to say something to break the silence, otherwise they would be standing in the corridor until dark.

Ophelia ignored the nonsense.

Her gaze drifted away, looking out the window again.

At the end of the corridor, Margaret came up carrying a tray.

On the tray were a pot of tea and two cups.

She walked up to the two of them and bowed.

“The master bedroom has been prepared.”

After Margaret said that, she paused.

The pause wasn't long, but it was enough to make the air turn subtle.

Klein felt his ears grow warm.

“...Thank you,” he said.

Margaret bowed again and turned to leave.

Her steps were steady, though one could say she walked a little faster than usual.

The two of them were left alone in the corridor again.

Klein looked down and poured a cup of tea. He took a sip.

The tea was lukewarm.

He poured another cup and handed it to Ophelia.

When Ophelia took it and her fingers brushed against his, neither of them pulled away.

“Um...”

Klein just started to speak when he realized he didn’t know what to say.

Ophelia waited for three seconds with the cup in her hand.

“If you have something to say, just say it.”

“I was thinking.”

“You’ve been thinking for this long and still haven’t come up with anything?”

Klein glanced at her.

Ophelia’s expression was very calm—so calm it almost seemed deliberate.

The surface of the tea in her cup rippled slightly—the pressure from the fingertips of her right hand holding the cup was uneven.

Oh.

Klein suddenly wasn't nervous anymore.

The moment he realized she was nervous too, he felt grounded.

It was a strange feeling. It was like confirming something—he wasn't the only one whose heart was racing.

He finished the remaining tea in his cup and set it on the windowsill.

“Let’s go.”

Two very simple words.

Ophelia’s fingers paused on the side of the cup for a moment.

Then she set the teacup down.

The corridor was long.

The evening wind blew in from the open windows, making the flames on the candlesticks flicker.

Their shadows were stretched across the floor, overlapping, then separating, then overlapping again.

They walked side by side.

There was about half an arm’s length of distance between them.

Klein’s hand hung at his side.

After a few steps, the back of his hand brushed against Ophelia’s fingers.

She didn’t pull away, nor did she take his hand. Her fingers merely brushed against the back of his hand once before they separated again due to the difference in their strides.

With the next step, they touched again.

This time, Klein took her hand.

Ophelia’s step faltered—just for a moment, so brief it was almost imperceptible.

Then her pace returned to its original rhythm.

Her fingers curled slightly in his palm before becoming still.

The bedroom door was at the end of the corridor.

The door was closed.

Warm yellow light seeped from the crack under the door—Margaret had lit the candles.

Klein reached out and gripped the doorknob.

The brass handle was chilled by the cool breeze in the corridor.

But his palm was warm. The warmth from holding her hand just now still lingered in the lines of his palm.

He turned to look at Ophelia.

Ophelia was looking at him too.

She stood very straight, but her eyelashes were trembling incessantly—the movement so slight that if he weren't so close, he wouldn't have noticed at all.

Klein’s heart skipped another beat.

He pushed the door open.

The room wasn't large.

Or rather, by the standards of the manor, it was medium-sized.

Margaret had arranged everything perfectly—the sheets were fresh, an extra pillow had been added, and the curtains were mostly drawn, leaving only a sliver of the final twilight to peek through.

A clay jar sat on the nightstand, holding a few sprigs of nameless white flowers, likely cut from the courtyard.

Three candles were lit.

One on the nightstand, one on the vanity, and another by the windowsill.

The flames were steady; there was no wind.

Slight noises drifted up from downstairs—the sound of chairs being moved, footsteps, and then the sound of a door being closed.

A series of them.

Raymond was clearing the building.

Those sounds grew distant and faded one by one.

After the final sound of a door closing, the entire main building fell completely silent.

It was so quiet that the faint crackle of the candle wicks burning could be heard.

The others had left the main building entirely to the newlyweds.

Klein closed the door.

The lock clicked into place.

The sound was exceptionally crisp in the quiet corridor.

His hand lingered on the doorknob for an extra second.

It wasn't hesitation. He was waiting for his heartbeat to slow down.

It didn't.

When he turned around, he saw that Ophelia had already walked to the side of the bed.

She didn't sit down immediately. First, she looked down at the sheets—white and folded neatly. Then she leaned over, using her right hand to tidy the skirt of her wedding dress, gathering the excess fabric to one side before sitting down properly.

Her movements were very formal. Almost too formal.

Her left hand rested on her lap, her fingers unconsciously bunching the fabric of her skirt before letting go.

The sleeve of that hand was pulled very low, almost covering the base of her fingers.

Klein suddenly wanted to smile.

Not because it was funny. It was that feeling of his chest softening.

He walked over and stopped in front of her.

The distance between them was less than a step. This was the same distance they had maintained all day during the banquet in front of everyone.

But now that there were only the two of them in the room, that same distance felt completely different.

Ophelia looked up at him.

Those golden eyes seemed a shade deeper in the candlelight.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed while he was standing, so his gaze was directed downward.

The candlelight reflected in her pupils as tiny points of light, like shattered gold.

Klein leaned down.

He braced one hand on the bed beside her while the other reached up, his thumb brushing against her chin.

Ophelia didn't pull away. Her eyes narrowed slightly—not out of resistance, but more like... a natural instinct to close one's eyes when the light is too bright.

Except the light in the room wasn't bright at all.

Klein kissed her.

It was very light at first.

Lips pressed against lips, with a hint of testing.

He could feel Ophelia’s breath hitting his upper lip. It was warm.

Then he deepened the kiss.

Ophelia’s right hand gripped the front of his shirt.

She gripped it quite tightly.

But she didn't push him away.

The kiss lasted a long time. So long that both of their breathing rhythms were about to be thrown into disarray.

Klein’s right hand slid from her chin to the back of her neck, his fingertips touching the edge of the high-neck collar—beneath that fabric was warm skin.

His fingertips paused at that edge for a moment.

But as his hand was about to move further down, Ophelia’s shoulder twitched.

Klein pulled back a short distance.

Their noses were still touching, their breaths intermingling.

He saw that the tips of Ophelia’s ears had turned red, a flush spreading from the lobes to the rims, the color vivid in the candlelight.

“You—” Klein started to speak.

Ophelia suddenly turned her face away.

She raised her right arm, her forearm blocking most of her face.

From Klein’s angle, he could only see a small section of her ear and her temple, along with the red flush that had already spread to her neck.

“Blow out the candles.”

Her voice was muffled, coming from behind her arm, much lower than usual.

Klein didn't move.

“...Please?”

A second later, she added a word.

Her voice was even lower.

Klein stared at the exposed section of her ear for two seconds. It was incredibly red.

He didn't say anything more.

Straightening up, he first walked to the windowsill and leaned over to blow out the first candle.

Then the one on the vanity.

As he passed, he caught a glimpse of the mirror, which reflected Ophelia’s silhouette sitting by the bed. Her arm had lowered, and she was looking in his direction.

He walked to the nightstand.

The flame of the final candle flickered in the breath he exhaled.

“Ophelia,” he called her name.

There was no verbal response in the darkness. But he heard the faint rustle of fabric—she had turned her head.

Then he blew out the last candle.

The room fell into darkness.

The sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtain crack onto the floor was only enough to outline the furniture.

In the darkness, nothing could be seen clearly.

But Klein knew where she was.

The sound of breathing, the faint rustle of the sheets, and that subtle scent in the air that belonged to her.

He walked back to the bedside in the dark.

Then he did something.

He didn't reach for her face or her shoulder first.

He reached out, fumbled in the darkness for a moment, and took her left hand.

Ophelia’s entire body stiffened for an instant.

His thumb stroked the back of her hand.

His thumb brushed against those fine scales—a rough, cold sensation, a texture completely different from her right hand. Her fingers instinctively tried to pull back.