Chapter 169 | Has the Empire's Sword Who Married to the Countryside Fallen Today?

The negotiation took place inside the cabin.

Diancie’s private meeting room was small but well-equipped. It featured an oak long table bolted to the floor, three chairs on either side, and nautical charts and blank documents spread across the surface. Oil lamps hung on the walls, swaying gently with the ship’s movement.

The adjutant was left outside.

Only Klein, Ophelia, and Diancie remained in the room.

The Princess personally pulled out a chair—not for herself, but for Klein.

Klein raised an eyebrow and took his seat.

Diancie sat across from him, her hands folded on the table.

“Mr. Klein, I’ll start with a few prerequisites.”

“Please.”

“First, the contents of this negotiation are military secrets until the Empire officially announces them.”

“No problem.”

“Second, the Empire requires the finished potion, not the formula.”

Klein tilted his head slightly.

That was interesting.

Diancie wasn't asking for the formula. As an imperial princess with military resources at her disposal, her first instinct upon meeting the inventor of a limb regeneration potion wasn't to “seize the formula for mass production by imperial alchemists,” but rather to “buy the finished product.”

This revealed two things.

First, she was well aware that forcibly demanding the formula would instantly destroy their cooperative relationship. You didn't want to offend an alchemist who could casually say something like “it isn't particularly difficult.”

Second—she wasn't stupid.

Whether the imperial alchemists could even replicate the formula once they had it was a huge question mark. Rather than taking that risk, it was better to secure the source.

“I can accept that.”

Diancie’s shoulders relaxed slightly. Just a subtle movement.

“Then—what is your quote?”

Here it comes.

Klein leaned back against his chair, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the table.

The amount the Empire spent annually on wounded soldier pensions and veteran resettlement was, by conservative estimates, an astronomical figure. If even thirty percent of that could be saved—

Klein could easily set a price that would make Diancie wince but force her to accept.

But he had no intention of doing that.

It wasn't just because he was kind. Well, kindness was part of it. But the bigger reason was—it wasn't necessary.

Money was only useful up to a certain point. He already had his partnership with the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce, so his supply chain for alchemical materials was secure. Demanding an exorbitant price now would do nothing but make him rich in the short term while pushing him into a very uncomfortable position.

A position where the Empire would view him as someone “looting a burning house.”

That wasn't the kind of relationship he wanted.

“Princess Diancie, I have no special requirements regarding the price.”

Diancie blinked, stunned.

“...What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” Klein said, spreading his hands. “The cost of materials plus a reasonable profit will suffice. You can have your adjutant calculate the specific figures; I’ll provide the list of materials.”

Diancie remained silent.

She stared at Klein, her back ramrod straight, motionless for a long while.

The person across from her was likely frantically searching for an answer to “what is this guy really after?”

“You don't want money.” Diancie’s statement ended with a hint of a question.

“I want money,” Klein corrected. “I just don't plan on asking for an outrageous amount.”

“Why?”

Klein thought about it and decided to tell the truth.

“Because this task really isn't difficult for me.”

Diancie fell silent.

“Modifying the formula might take some time,” Klein continued, “but there are no technical bottlenecks. Since there are no bottlenecks, I have no reason to use this to hold the Empire hostage. Furthermore—”

He paused.

“Your starting point is a good one, isn't it?”

Silence descended upon the meeting room, broken only by the occasional creak of the ship’s hull.

Diancie stared at the table, her fingers tightening and then relaxing. She did this twice.

Then, she looked up.

“Mr. Klein.”

“Yes?”

“You’re making things very difficult for me.”

Klein tilted his head.

“If you had asked for a high price, I would know how to handle it—haggling, back-and-forth, eventually reaching an agreement to be written into an official document for my father. The process would be clear.”

Diancie leaned back against her chair.

“But you’ve offered a price that is practically a gift. Do you know what that means?”

“What does it mean?”

“It means the Empire owes you a favor. A very big favor.” Diancie tapped her index finger on the table. “I don't like owing people things.”

Klein couldn't help but chuckle.

This girl was serious.

An imperial princess wasn't worried about the price being too high—she was worried about it being so low that the favor the Empire owed would be impossible to repay.

“If Your Highness really feels bad about it,” Klein said after a moment’s thought, “I do have a small request.”

Diancie immediately sat up straight.

“Speak.”

“Help me obtain a batch of alchemical materials.”

Klein pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and pushed it across the table.

“Here is the list. They aren't particularly rare, but sourcing them individually is a bit of a hassle. Using the Empire’s procurement channels would save me a lot of trouble.”

Diancie took the paper and unfolded it to take a look.

Then, she looked at Klein again.

Her gaze was a complex mix of “is that it?”, “are you serious?”, and a small amount of inexplicable irritation.

She likely felt belittled.

I am a princess of the Empire, and you want me to be your errand girl for materials?

“The items on this list,” Diancie said, her voice low, “can be gathered by my adjutant in half a day.”

“That would be perfect.”

“...”

Diancie folded the paper back up, placed it on the table, and pressed her palm over it.

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

Silence. A full ten seconds of silence.

Then, Diancie stood up. Her chair legs made a short, sharp scraping sound against the floor.

“Mr. Klein.”

“Yes?”

“You are a person—” she paused, “—who is very unsettling.”

Klein tilted his head.

“You aren't greedy for money, you don't crave power, and you don't make unreasonable demands.” Diancie walked to the porthole of the cabin, her back to him, hands clasped behind her. “A person like that is either a saint or is playing a very long game.”

“Which one do you think I am, Princess?”

The sunlight from outside poured in behind her, cutting a sharp silhouette of her figure.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “But my father once told me something.”

“What was that?”

“‘When a person voluntarily hands you the hilt of a knife, either they have a second knife in their hand, or—’”

Diancie stopped.

She finished the second half of the sentence word by word.

“‘—or they don't need a knife at all.’”

The meeting room fell silent once more.

Ophelia had been sitting to the side, mostly remaining quiet.

Klein looked at Diancie for a second, then two.

“Princess, your father is right.”

He didn't say which category he belonged to.

Diancie waited for a moment, realizing he truly didn't intend to elaborate.

This guy—

She took a deep breath. It wasn't out of nervousness, but to suppress her irritation. Talking to this man felt strange; every punch felt like it was hitting cotton. You guarded against him, but he didn't attack. You tested him, and he just smiled. You laid your cards on the table, and he complimented your father’s wisdom, and then—nothing.

Truly, nothing.

Diancie suddenly felt a bit ridiculous. She had spent so much effort trying to guess a person’s motives, when those motives might really just be “this isn't hard for me, I’ll just help out.”

—Who was like that?

It was absurd.

And yet, she couldn't find a single fault in him.

Diancie stood tall again. The chair legs scraped against the floor once more.

“Mr. Klein.”

“Yes?”

“I truly— am impressed.”

Klein blinked.

Her tone—how should he put it—didn't sound like an insult, but it certainly wasn't a compliment either. It was somewhere between “impressed” and “wanting to grit her teeth.”

Ophelia coughed lightly.

Diancie glanced at her. The female knight, who had been excessively quiet the whole time, finally made a move.

“Your Highness needn't overthink it,” Ophelia said. Her voice was steady, just loud enough for the three of them to hear. “He is simply that kind of person. It’s only exhausting if you try to find more to it.”

Klein turned to look at Ophelia. Are you helping me or insulting me?

Ophelia ignored him.

Diancie’s expression softened slightly. Just a little.

Then, she extended her right hand.

“It has been a pleasure, Mr. Klein.”

To his surprise, it was Ophelia who returned the handshake protocol.

She stood up, walked to Klein’s side, and extended her right hand to firmly grasp Diancie’s.

Diancie was taken aback for a moment before she understood. Her gaze swept over Ophelia’s face; her lips moved as if to say something, but she ultimately remained silent.

The moment they let go, Diancie’s fingertips trembled slightly.

It wasn't nervousness.

A mass supply of limb regeneration potions for the imperial military. If this actually succeeded, Diancie Julius would no longer be just the Emperor’s youngest daughter. She would be the one who made it all happen. The cold shoulders she had endured in court, the dismissals that “the Princess needn't worry about military affairs,” the days when she had to invent seven or eight excuses just to travel—all of that could be left behind.

This achievement alone would be enough.

She pressed all of those emotions into her fingertips and pulled her hand back, clenching it into a fist.

“Regarding the material list, I’ll have someone deliver them to the dock before you disembark.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

“For what?” Diancie looked away. “They’re all worthless trifles anyway.”

Her tone was hard to read—somewhere between polite and dismissive.

Klein didn't say anything more. He pushed open the meeting room door, and the sea breeze, thick with the scent of salt, rushed into the corridor.

Aphros was sitting on a nearby wooden box, her legs dangling and swinging slightly. When she saw Klein come out, she tilted her head, a strand of hair sliding over her shoulder.

“Are you done talking?”

“We’re done.”

“You talked for a long time.”

“Did we?”

Aphros nodded and hopped down from the box, landing on the deck without making a sound.

The ship was swaying quite heavily.

As Aphros landed, her feet slipped, and she began to tilt to the right. Ophelia was quick, grabbing her arm and steadying her before she could hit the deck.

Aphros stood firm, looking down at her feet and then at the deck with a very serious expression.

“I thought I had practiced for a long time.”

Ophelia let go. “The ground back there didn't move.”

“...” Aphros processed this for a second. “So it’s the ship’s fault?”

“Essentially.”

Aphros sighed, a sound filled with an indescribable sense of grievance. Klein heard it and turned to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I finally learned how to walk,” Aphros said, her vertical slit pupils narrowing in the sea breeze as her gray-green eyes swept across the deck, “only to end up in a place that moves.”

Klein reached out and patted her head.

“Endure it for a while. We’ll be back on land eventually.”

Aphros didn't speak; she just fixed her gaze on her toes for a few seconds, as if confirming those legs still belonged to her.

The deck rose and fell beneath them.

In the distance, a layer of thin mist hung over the sea, gray and hazy, blurring the boundary between sky and water into a fuzzy band of color. Klein turned around and only then realized—the ship had already set sail while he was talking with Diancie.

The coastline they had departed from was now just a thin gray line, almost broken, clinging to the edge of his vision.

In a little while, even that line would vanish.

There was nothing but sea in every direction.

The wind came from the port side, carrying a salty, fishy scent that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. The canvas billowed overhead, and ropes occasionally struck the masts with a rhythmic thud.

Klein looked around.

A small movement came from behind him.

He looked back.

Aphros was standing there, her hands resting on the ship’s railing. She turned her head left, then right, then left again—her movements, speed, and rhythm almost identical to how he had just surveyed their surroundings.

She had even replicated the slight narrowing of his eyes.

Klein watched her for two seconds.

“What are you looking at?”

Aphros stopped, her gray-green vertical slit pupils meeting his.

“I don't know.”

“...”

“I’m just learning from you all.”

Klein couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Aphros tilted her head. She didn't quite understand the meaning of the laugh, but she didn't press him. In her limited pool of accumulated knowledge, she knew that when Klein laughed, she usually didn't need to worry.

Ophelia stood nearby, her gaze flickering over Aphros’s lingering posture—hands on the railing, body leaning slightly forward—before she looked away, her lips pursing slightly.

The movement was barely noticeable.

But Klein caught it in his peripheral vision.

—You want to laugh too.

Ophelia ignored his gaze.

The sea breeze gusted again, stronger this time.

Aphros’s attention returned to the restless deck beneath her feet. Every few seconds, she would adjust her center of gravity, her movements clumsy but earnest.

Klein withdrew his gaze and looked back out at the sea.

He suddenly spoke.

“Aphros.”

“Yes.”

“Looking at this ocean,” he said, “what do you think of?”

The question was asked very casually.

So casual that it didn't feel like a test, but more like a passing remark in a conversation.

Aphros turned her head and looked out where he was pointing.

The ocean.

Gray-blue, undulating, endless. The swells merged into a slow-rolling pattern in the distance, and the white foam cut by the hull dispersed on both sides, only to be quickly swallowed by the following waves.

She looked for a long time.

Then, she shook her head.

“It’s just the sea.”

There was no unusual flicker in Aphros’s vertical slit pupils. Her gray-green iris remained as calm as ever; her pupils didn't contract, didn't dilate, and didn't unconsciously track any particular direction.