Chapter 158 | Has the Empire's Sword Who Married to the Countryside Fallen Today?

Nelisa cleared her throat.

It wasn't loud, but it was enough. The timing of that cough was precise—falling exactly when the two guards were still sizing Klein up with complex gazes, and Klein was wondering what expression he should wear.

“Your Highness, isn't it about time everyone sees what you’ve brought?”

Diancie blinked, momentarily startled.

“Right—” She turned and waved toward the ship, her voice rising, “Bring the box down!”

Two guards descended the gangway, carrying a wooden box between them. The box wasn't large, about two feet in length and width and less than a foot high. It was reinforced with iron plating and fixed with rivets at the corners, looking quite ordinary overall.

But Klein noticed the guards' gait.

For two men to carry such a small box, their steps were heavy. It wasn't because of the weight—judging by the way their arm muscles were tensed, the box's actual weight wasn't exaggerated. It was their mindset that was heavy. Every step was cautious, and they maintained a fixed distance from the box, neither getting too close nor relaxing their guard.

The box was placed on the stone slabs of the dock.

Diancie walked over and took something from her waist—a palm-sized, oval object, dark gold in color. At first glance, Klein thought it was an emblem, but after two seconds, he dismissed that judgment. The surface of the object had patterns, not decorative engravings, but functional ones—the flow of the lines, the intersection points, and the way the edges tapered all pointed to a single purpose.

A storage medium.

And a high-tier one at that.

Klein’s gaze lingered on the oval for a few more breaths. Space-time magic. Within the entire known system of spells, the spatial branch had always been recognized as the ceiling. It wasn't just the high difficulty—though it was certainly difficult—but the resource threshold was absurd.

He had seen theoretical literature on the spatial branch. A few fragments had circulated in academic circles, written with such obscurity that one had to digest three prerequisite works just to understand the annotations. But as for the physical object—a functional, currently-in-use spatial storage item—this was the first time he had seen one with his own eyes.

Diancie pressed the medium into a groove in the center of the box lid.

The moment mana was poured in, Klein sensed a change in the air. It wasn't temperature or humidity, but rather—the density of space itself underwent a brief fluctuation. The sensation was hard to describe, as if the ground he stood on had sunk an inch and then immediately snapped back.

The lid did not open.

Instead, the air above the box began to distort.

A pale gold film of light spread outward from the groove, stopping when it reached about three feet in diameter. The space inside the light film underwent some kind of folding—and then, something fell out from within.

To be precise, it didn't fall. It was "pushed" out.

A living creature.

It slammed onto the stone slabs of the dock, kicking up a splash of water. Seawater surged out from nowhere along with it, forming a thin layer that soaked the shoes of everyone present.

Klein’s gaze should have immediately fallen on the creature.

But it didn't.

His eyes were still fixed on the dark gold oval medium in Diancie’s hand. Spatial folding, material transport, and living storage—three functions layered into a single palm-sized tool. The array structure of this thing, the choice of materials for the medium, the craftsmanship...

“Klein,” Ophelia whispered to him.

Klein snapped out of it.

Fine. He could study the storage item later. If Diancie could take it out to use once, she could take it out a second time; he would have plenty of opportunities.

First, he had to see exactly what the Princess had transported across the sea.

He looked down.

The puddle of seawater on the stone slabs was spreading outward, and in the center of the puddle lay a—

Klein’s brow furrowed.

A human torso. A fish tail.

At first glance, it bore some resemblance to Aphros. But only at first glance.

This creature’s build was more than a size larger than Aphros’s. The scales on its tail were darker, more densely packed, and sharper at the edges, with the tips of each scale slightly upturned, reflecting a cold, metallic luster under the sunlight.

There were also differences in the human-like upper body. Tiny scales were scattered across the sides of the neck and the collarbone, rather than the clean transition Aphros had—human above, fish tail below.

The ears. Klein took a closer look. The tips were elongated, ending in translucent soft fins so thin they could let light through. Behind the ears, there were faint traces of gill slits, pulsing open and closed.

A sea folk.

“Careful.” Diancie took two steps back, her voice tensing up.

The sea folk on the ground moved.

She—judging by the physical traits, it was female—suddenly pushed off the ground with both arms, her upper body snapping up from the stone slabs. The movement was fast, with incredible explosive power, completely unlike a living creature that had just been spat out of a spatial fold.

Her wet, dark long hair whipped in an arc, droplets nearly splashing Klein in the face.

Then, she let out a cry.

The low growl squeezed out from deep in her throat, low in frequency but extremely piercing. Klein’s eardrums were jolted—not in a physical sense, but in the way the sound waves carried something beyond the normal frequency, acting directly on his perception.

Intimidation.

Her eyes swept over everyone present. Her pupils were vertical, and the iris color was extremely pale, almost a transparent grayish-white. There was no intent for communication in that gaze—she wasn't looking at "people," she was assessing "threats."

Both guards simultaneously rested their hands on their hilts.

Ophelia’s right hand also moved, but she didn't grip her sword, merely resting her fingers on the pommel.

The sea folk’s gaze lingered on Ophelia for an extra beat. Her vertical slit pupils contracted—she sensed something on Ophelia. Whether it was the battle qi or the residual sea monster aura from the scales on her left hand, this single look caused her low growl to drop by half.

But it only dropped by half; it didn't stop.

She propped herself up with her arms again, and her fish tail slapped the ground—leaving a shallow mark on the stone slab.

Klein looked toward Diancie.

“Your Highness, where did you fish this up from?”

Diancie’s expression was a bit complex. It was a mix of excitement, caution, and a hint of embarrassment from being startled by the growl but absolutely refusing to admit it.

“The North Channel,” she cleared her throat. “We encountered an abnormal maritime fluctuation on the way and sent a diving squad down to investigate. They found her on the seabed. At the time, she was trapped in a crevice formed by a collapsed coral reef and had external injuries.”

“So you rescued her?”

“It took quite a few people.” Diancie paused. “She bit three divers.”

Klein glanced at the corner of the sea folk’s mouth—the line of her lips wasn't quite right; her upper lip was shorter than a human's, revealing a hint of sharp teeth.

“So she wasn't 'brought over,' she was 'escorted over,'” Klein summarized.

Diancie didn't deny it.

“Mr. Klein, do you think this creature has research value?”

Klein didn't answer immediately.

He crouched down, closing the distance between himself and the sea folk on the ground.

The moment he drew near, a heavy scent of the sea hit him—that salty, bitter smell brought up from the deep layers, mixed with minerals and organic matter.

The sea folk’s vertical slit pupils immediately locked onto him, and another low growl rolled out of her throat.

But Klein didn't move. He just looked into those nearly transparent grayish-white eyes, doing nothing.

Three seconds. Five seconds.

The sea folk’s low growl gradually weakened.

She was confused.

She was thinking.

Klein stood up and patted the water stains on his knees.

That was enough.

Clearly, this sea folk was also a creature capable of communication and possessed sufficient intelligence.

This realization itself caused Klein’s train of thought to take a turn.

He thought of Aphros.

Both were individuals born from the biological information of sirens, yet Aphros’s level of intelligence was higher—she could speak, understand language, and even express her needs. That wasn't strange.

What was strange was something else.

The pollution on Ophelia’s left hand came from the will of the deep sea. The essence of that thing was a composite of concepts, a collection of all concepts related to the "sea."

And sirens themselves were one of the concepts encompassed by the will of the deep sea. Logically speaking, any creature born from siren information should naturally have a tendency to react to the residual aura of the will of the deep sea—like iron filings being drawn to a magnet, it was a physical necessity.

A wet, sliding friction sound came from the ground. The sea folk adjusted her orientation, her fish tail scraping across the stone slabs with a series of tiny sounds. Her face turned in another direction.

Klein’s gaze followed.

The sea folk was looking at Ophelia.

The facts confirmed it. This sea folk’s reaction to Ophelia was the perfect example. She had immediately sensed what was on Ophelia, and her growl had dropped by half—that wasn't fear, but a deeper, almost physiological recognition.

Every creature born from sirens should have this reaction to Ophelia.

But Aphros didn't.

When this thought surfaced, Klein’s back tensed slightly. It was light and brief, like someone had flicked his spine.

From beginning to end, Aphros’s behavior in front of Ophelia was no different from her behavior in front of him. No rejection, no attraction, no recognition. She was perfectly clean, as if the layer of black scales on Ophelia’s left hand didn't exist at all.

Why?

Was Aphros’s perception not good enough? Klein barely entertained that possibility. Her intelligence was clearly higher than this sea folk’s; there was no reason for her perception to be duller. Instinct told him that path was a dead end.

Had she intentionally hidden her reaction? He lingered on this thought for two seconds. It was possible. Though Aphros was like a blank sheet of paper, a blank sheet didn't mean she lacked instincts. Deliberately hiding a natural tendency—could she do it? Perhaps. But what was the motive? Why would a blank sheet of paper hide something? He couldn't think of a reason for now, so he set it aside.

Or—was her method of birth fundamentally different from other abnormal creatures, causing her to lack the tendency toward the will of the deep sea from the very beginning?

This hypothesis was what truly caught Klein’s attention.

Klein’s mind raced, but his face showed nothing.

This question couldn't be raised here. There were too many people present—Diancie, Nelisa, the guards—and Ophelia was standing right there. Since it concerned the pollution on her left hand, he didn't want her to worry along with him before he had a definitive conclusion.

“Mr. Klein?” Diancie called out again.

Klein snapped back to reality and gave her a nod.

“It has value,” he said. “A great deal of it.”

Diancie’s eyes lit up.

She seemed happy just to be able to do these things.

“In the future, if Your Highness encounters cases like this, the more the better,” Klein added. “Living specimens are best. Dead ones will do, but living ones provide far more information.”

“That’s easy.” Diancie clapped her hands, that excitement she had been suppressing at the bow surfacing again. “I’ve already had observation points set up along the North Channel. If we encounter more in the future—”

“Highness,” one of the guards behind her reminded her in a low voice.

Diancie’s words cut off, and she swallowed the rest. It likely involved the deployment details of the royal fleet, which shouldn't be discussed in front of outsiders. She coughed and regained her composure.

But the corners of her mouth were still upturned; her attempt at being serious wasn't very successful.

Klein pretended not to notice anything.

“For now, we’ll keep this creature in my alchemical workshop.” He turned to Nelisa. “We’ll need a container that can hold water. It doesn't need to be huge, just enough for her to stretch out. Also—make it sturdy.”

He looked down at the shallow mark on the stone slab where the sea folk had slapped it.

“That tail has quite a bit of strength.”

Nelisa nodded. “I’ll have it arranged within half an hour. As for security, I’ll assign two teams to rotate shifts. You won't need to worry, Mr. Klein.”

“Access to the workshop is only for me and Ophelia,” Klein added. “If anyone else wants to enter, I must be present.”

Nelisa didn't ask why, merely giving a crisp acknowledgment.

Efficiency. This was something Klein had always been satisfied with regarding the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce.

Diancie listened to the arrangements from the side without interfering, merely crossing her arms slightly.

The sea folk on the ground was much quieter now, no longer growling, but her vertical slit pupils were constantly fixed in Ophelia’s direction.

That gaze wasn't hostile, nor was it entirely curious—it was closer to an uncontrollable tendency. Like the tide toward the moon, it required no reason or consciousness; the body would simply turn that way on its own.

Klein watched those vertical slit pupils for several seconds.

“That’s all for today’s research,” Klein said, his tone natural. “I have a half-finished project in the fish tank that needs finishing, and I need to organize the data. The earliest I can start formally studying her will be tomorrow.”

Diancie looked at him and had no objections.

Nelisa was even more direct, already waving for the chamber’s people to come over and prepare for the transport.

Ophelia didn't ask anything. But when her gaze moved away from the sea folk, it lingered on Klein’s face for a moment—so briefly that others wouldn't notice.

There was a lot in that look. There was the realization of "you were just spacing out" and the inquiry of "what are you thinking about," but no intent to press for answers. She was waiting for him to tell her himself.

Klein met her gaze and gave a microscopic shake of his head.

Don't worry, it's nothing.

Ophelia withdrew her gaze and didn't ask further.

As the two walked back side by side, the sea breeze on the dock happened to change direction. The air blowing toward them carried the characteristic chill of evening, mixed with that salty, wet scent from the distant sea.

In Klein’s coat pocket, the white porcelain jar rattled slightly with his steps. He instinctively pressed his hand against the pocket.

He still had to give her what he’d promised. The matter of Aphros was one thing, but he couldn't forget what he’d promised Ophelia just because another sea folk had appeared.

He had one more thing to do. But the tasks already at hand—the bipedal experiment for Aphros and the treatment for Ophelia—hadn't decreased by a single one.

He looked up at the sky. The sun was already low in the west, and the clouds were hanging low, staining the distant sea a vast, dark bronze. At the horizon where the sea met the sky, there was a bright line, like the last of the day’s stock being gathered up bit by bit.