The two of them finally got out of bed.
The process was anything but smooth.
Ophelia wrapped herself in the covers and refused to come out, so Klein simply lay beside her and waited.
After about five minutes, a muffled voice came from beneath the blankets: "You go out first."
Taking the hint, Klein rolled out of bed and took his clothes to the next room to change.
By the time he finished dressing and returned, the bedroom was already empty.
The covers were folded neatly, and the pillows were arranged with meticulous precision. Half of the window was open, and the morning breeze caused the curtains to billow and fall.
Ophelia's sword was no longer on the wall.
She had gone to train.
Klein stood at the bedroom door and looked down at the floor—she had left in quite a hurry. Her boots had left two faint scuff marks on the wooden floor, heading in a straight line toward the end of the hallway without the slightest hesitation.
He let out a chuckle.
Beating a hasty retreat.
Using those words to describe a Knight of the Empire didn't seem quite right, no matter how one looked at it.
But facts were facts.
Whatever.
Klein went up to the third floor.
He pushed open the door to the laboratory, where the scent of potions from the previous day still lingered in the air.
He tightened the cap on an ink bottle, switched to a new pen, and continued writing from where he had left off yesterday.
With periods of writing and pausing, time passed quickly.
The light outside the window shifted from east to west. The shadows in the laboratory changed direction. Klein went downstairs for lunch in the middle of the day and then returned to continue his work.
In the afternoon.
The nib of his pen scratched across the paper, the sound exceptionally clear in the quiet room. Just as Klein was finishing the recording of the last set of data, footsteps echoed in the third-floor hallway.
It was Raymond.
A rhythmic knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Klein said without looking up, setting his pen down beside the ink bottle.
The door opened.
Raymond stood at the doorway, his posture as impeccable as ever. His back was straight, his hands were folded in front of him, and his gray hair was combed without a strand out of place. He wore the black steward's uniform he had used for who knew how many years, the silver buttons at his collar polished to a shine.
“Young Master.”
Klein looked up. “What is it?”
“A visitor has arrived.”
“A visitor?” Klein set down the recording sheets and leaned back against his chair. For someone to show up at this time and for Raymond to announce it personally meant it wasn't an ordinary person.
“Mr. Eric Sol of the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce.” Raymond paused for a beat before adding, “He says he was sent by President Nelisa. He has brought a letter with him, specifically addressed to be delivered into your hands.”
Klein blinked, searching his memory.
Eric, the man in charge of the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce's inland operations.
He was the one who had brought their business over from the west coast in the first place.
Though looking at it now, Nelisa had been the one behind it all along.
With him coming here now, it seemed there was new movement from the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce.
Klein stacked the documents on the desk and pushed them to the side, covering the miniature cube with a cloth as he did so.
“Where is he?”
“He has been invited to the guest hall on the first floor. Tea has just been brewed.”
Klein stood up and stretched. Sitting all afternoon had made his waist a bit stiff. He cracked his neck a few times and walked toward the door.
He paused for a step as he passed Raymond.
“Where is Ophelia?”
“The Young Madam is still in the backyard.” Raymond’s expression remained unchanged.
Klein thought for a moment. “Go tell her to come join us if she’s free. She should hear about the business with the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce as well.”
“As you wish.”
Klein straightened his collar and headed downstairs.
...
When Klein reached the first floor, Eric was sitting on a single-seater sofa in the guest hall, drinking tea.
The scene was completely different from their first meeting.
Back then, Eric had two guards standing behind him with their hands never leaving their hilts, and his entire aura screamed, “I am ready to retreat at any moment.”
Now, things were much better. He hadn't brought any guards, he had already finished half a cup of tea, and his sitting posture was far more relaxed.
He leaned back against the chair with his legs crossed, looking for all the world like he was just visiting a neighbor.
As Klein walked in, Eric set down his teacup and stood up.
The two men shook hands.
Klein took a seat opposite him. Raymond brought over a fresh cup of tea and then silently retreated to stand by the door.
The usual pleasantries were exchanged.
Whether the journey was smooth, whether the accommodations were settled, how the weather was, and apologies for the poor condition of the manor’s roads—every required courtesy was spoken.
Eric handled it all with poise. He had a particular way of speaking: he didn't waste words, but he never let the conversation grow cold either.
He responded to every remark perfectly, neither making it feel like he was being perfunctory nor making it seem like he was in a rush to get to the main point.
After chatting for a few minutes, the topic naturally wound down.
Eric took a letter from his leather bag. The envelope was sealed with dark blue sealing wax, pressed with the crest of the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce.
“A personal letter from the President, addressed to you.”
Klein took it but didn't rush to open it.
He turned the envelope over in his hand.
The wax was intact, and the seal showed no signs of being tampered with.
The texture of the paper was excellent—sea salt paper, produced only on the west coast. It was moisture-resistant and anti-corrosive, ideal for long-distance transport.
He set the letter on the coffee table and took a sip from his own cup.
Eric glanced at the unopened letter but said nothing.
“There is something I’m curious about.” Klein set his cup down, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “While magic communication devices aren't common on the market, with the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce’s connections, it shouldn't be hard to get a few. For Lady Nelisa to specifically have you make this trip—the distance from the west coast to the inland isn't short, is it?”
He looked at Eric.
“Is Mr. Eric just ‘passing by’ again this time?”
The words were blunt but not offensive. Klein’s tone carried a natural curiosity, sounding less like an interrogation and more like a passing thought mentioned during a chat.
Eric set down his teacup and tapped his finger against the rim.
“A communicator is indeed convenient,” he said, not avoiding the question. “But some matters are not suitable for discussion through magic artifacts. What is written in the letter is one part of it; what isn't written in the letter is the other.”
He paused.
“Though the President didn't say it explicitly, I believe you understand—we value this matter very highly.”
Klein didn't interrupt, waiting for him to continue.
Eric shifted his sitting position and leaned forward slightly.
“Furthermore, the President gave me another task.”
“What is it?”
“To confirm the situation on your end with my own eyes.”
Klein arched an eyebrow. “Confirm what?”
“Your research progress.” Eric’s phrasing was very direct. “The President still hopes to see results from you.”
He spoke with an honesty that was almost uncharacteristic of a merchant.
Klein leaned back against his chair, his thumb unconsciously stroking the edge of the envelope.
“Thank you for your hard work.” He smiled. “Then you can report back to Lady Nelisa—the man is still alive, the place is still standing, and the cooperation is going fine.”
Eric smiled as well. It was a reserved smile, but it was clear he was truly relieved.
Footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway. They weren't heavy, but the rhythm was steady.
Klein didn't look back; he simply picked up the envelope from the coffee table and used his fingernail to slice along the edge of the sealing wax.
Rate on N.U.
