Chapter 19 | Has the Empire's Sword Who Married to the Countryside Fallen Today?

Clear and steady footsteps echoed from the stairs, the wooden steps responding with a slight creak.

Ophelia’s figure soon appeared.

She was still wearing that light gray long-sleeved shirt and the deep brown knee-length skirt, but her right sleeve had been carefully rolled up to her elbow, revealing a small portion of her fair arm.

Perhaps because she had just used that "refreshing" tooth powder, her expression held a bit more crispness than usual, and her golden eyes shimmered like two pieces of translucent amber in the morning light.

She took her seat opposite Klein.

The clatter of cutlery hitting porcelain made a crisp sound.

There was no conversation between the two; only the aroma of food and the sunlight streaming through the window flowed quietly across the long table.

When Ophelia cut into her fried sausage, her movements were slower than usual. The sound of her knife and fork sliding across the porcelain plate was exceptionally clear in the quiet dining room. She glanced up at Klein, then quickly lowered her gaze again.

Today was Daisy’s wedding...

She was going to the wedding of someone she didn't know at all, and her identity was... Klein’s wife.

The thought made her hand tighten slightly around her cutlery. It wasn't that she hadn't attended various functions before; she had been to knighting ceremonies in the army, post-war victory banquets, and even private royal dinners.

But in those situations, her identity was clear—the Guardian of the West Coast, the war hero of the Empire, the First Knight Ophelia.

And now...

Her gaze unconsciously fell upon Klein, who sat opposite her.

He was focused on the food on his plate, his movements elegant and composed, as if today were just an ordinary day.

...

The last piece of fried sausage was cut, and the last sip of milk was finished.

When Klein set down his silver knife and fork, the slight clatter served as the final note to this silent breakfast.

He looked up and toward Ophelia.

She had already set down her cutlery, her back held ramrod straight as she quietly watched the patches of light projected onto the tablecloth from the window. Her posture was as upright as ever, yet it carried an... imperceptible tension.

Klein’s gaze lingered on her for a moment.

"Do you want to rest for a bit, or should we leave now?"

Ophelia shifted her gaze away from the light and met his eyes without the slightest hesitation.

"Let's leave now."

Her voice was steady, but Klein noticed that as she said this, her right hand unconsciously smoothed her skirt—an extremely subtle movement, as if she were confirming her attire was proper.

Klein didn't ask further. He turned his gaze toward Raymond, who was standing not far away.

The old steward seemed to have been waiting for this moment.

He bowed slightly, his voice as stable as ever.

"The carriage is ready."

...

Unlike the cramped two-seater carriage from last night, the one Raymond had prepared today was much more spacious.

At the very least, there wouldn't be another embarrassing situation of knees touching and breaths mingling.

However, the bumpy parts were still bumpy.

Klein braced himself against the interior wall of the carriage, feeling the vibrations as the wheels rolled over the gravel road.

Ophelia sat opposite him, looking out the window. The light inside the carriage flickered with the swaying shadows of the trees, falling across her profile in alternating brightness and dimness.

Her expression was calm, but Klein noticed her hands were folded over her knees, her fingers tightening slightly.

"Nervous?" he suddenly asked.

Ophelia turned her gaze back to meet his.

"...No."

"Really?" Klein arched an eyebrow slightly. "But your hands haven't loosened since we got into the carriage."

Ophelia looked down at her folded hands, fell silent for two seconds, and then admitted frankly: "...A little."

"Why?" Klein asked. "It’s just an ordinary wedding."

"I know," Ophelia said. "It’s just..."

She paused.

Klein didn't rush her; he just waited quietly.

"...I’m not very good at these kinds of occasions," Ophelia finally said. "As..."

She didn't continue, but Klein understood what she meant.

As Klein’s wife.

This was the first time she would appear at a relatively important event with this identity.

Klein was silent for a moment, then reached out his hand.

Ophelia looked at his extended hand, slightly stunned.

"Give it to me," he said.

Ophelia hesitated for a second, then placed her right hand into his palm.

Klein’s hand was warm and dry as it gently squeezed hers.

"Don't be nervous," he said. "You just need to be yourself."

Ophelia looked at him, a flash of complex emotion crossing her golden eyes.

"...Be myself?"

"Mm-hmm." Klein nodded. "Ophelia, former Guardian of the West Coast, the First Knight of the Empire, and now my wife—all these identities are you, but they won't bind you. You only need to do what you want to do and say what you want to say."

He paused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Besides, they’re just a group of ordinary maids, not high-ranking officials. You aren't even afraid of sea monsters on the battlefield; are you really afraid of the gazes of a few young girls?"

Ophelia was amused by his words.

The smile was extremely faint, only lingering at the corners of her eyes and brows for an instant, but Klein still caught it.

"...You’re right," she said.

Fortunately, the journey wasn't too long. About fifteen minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of an open clearing.

Klein pulled back the curtain and hopped down from the carriage.

The wedding venue was right before them.

A few long wooden tables had been pushed together, covered with linen cloths that had been washed until they were pale.

The tables were set with simple food—rye bread, cured meat, cheese, and a few jars of what looked like inexpensive ale.

The area was decorated with wild flowers and green vines, swaying gently in the morning breeze.

Klein swept a glance over it and understood.

Daisy was just a maid in the manor, and her fiancé, Big Tom, was only an apprentice at the town bakery. This level of arrangement was already respectable enough for them.

If Raymond hadn't lent a helping hand, they probably wouldn't have even been able to pull together these few tables of decent food and drink.

But that didn't matter.

A wedding wasn't about how big the scene was; it was about the people.

Klein turned around and reached out to help Ophelia down from the carriage.

The palm of her right hand rested in his, her grip light and steady. When she landed, her skirt fluttered slightly before settling, her movements clean and efficient.

Once she stood firm, her gaze swept over the venue, lingering for a moment before she whispered: "...It’s very heartwarming."

Klein glanced at her, somewhat surprised she would give such an evaluation.

Noticing his gaze, Ophelia explained: "I’ve attended many banquets, but most were for social obligations. Something like this... purely for the sake of giving blessings, is actually quite rare."

Raymond was the last to get off. He adjusted his sleeves and scanned the area, seemingly confirming if there were any omissions.

A commotion came from a distance, breaking the morning silence.

It was the maids from Klein’s manor.

They were gathered in groups of three or five, busy with the final preparations.

Someone was adjusting the flower bouquets on the tables, someone was counting the cutlery, and another was carrying several jars of freshly delivered ale.

They got along well on normal days; otherwise, Klein wouldn't have granted them leave to organize and attend Daisy’s wedding.

Today wasn't a workday, so they had all changed into their own clothes—though most were cotton dresses washed pale, they were at least clean and tidy, and a few girls had even pinned a wild flower to their collars.

Noticing the arrivals, the maids' movements paused.

The first to react was the older Margaret. She set down her work and led the way toward Raymond, bowing respectfully.

"Mr. Raymond, everything is ready."

The other maids followed suit, reporting on the preparations in a flurry of voices.

Then, their gazes shifted in unison toward Klein.

More accurately, they shifted toward the woman with the extraordinary aura standing beside him.

A light gray shirt, a deep brown long skirt, and long golden hair shimmering with a soft luster in the morning light.

There was no extra expression on that exquisite face, but simply by standing there, she made it impossible for anyone to look away.

Whispers began to spread through the crowd.

"Who is that..."

"I’ve never seen her before. Is she a lady from some family?"

"She looks so imposing... Could she be a noble?"

"Wait, look where she’s standing... She’s so close to the Master..."

"Could she be the Master’s... girlfriend?"

"Heavens, when did the Master get a girlfriend? Why didn't we know?"

"Do you think the Master was inspired by Daisy and wants to get married too?"

The voices were kept very low, yet they didn't exactly avoid Klein’s ears.

After all, Klein treated them well and didn't put on airs, so they weren't particularly afraid of him.

Sure enough, one bold girl was the first to break the deadlock.

Martha—the tall girl who was always the first to speak—wiped the sweat from her forehead and approached with a grin.

Her gaze moved back and forth between Klein and Ophelia, finally settling on Klein’s face, her eyes flashing with curious light.

"Master, this lady is...? A friend of yours?"

Klein felt Ophelia beside him shift slightly, as if waiting for his answer.

He didn't keep them in suspense. He spoke with a composed expression, his tone even carrying a hint of natural calmness.

"My wife."

The air seemed to freeze at that moment.

Martha blinked, her mouth hanging slightly open.

Her brain seemed to need a few seconds to process the amount of information contained in that sentence.

One second.

Two seconds.

"Ehhh?!!"

That exclamation jumped several octaves, and the rag in her hand hit the ground with a smack.

The expressions of the other maids instantly became spectacular—

Some widened their eyes as if they had seen something impossible;

Some reflexively covered their mouths, making muffled "mmph" sounds;

Others instinctively took half a step back, as if afraid they had misheard something they shouldn't have and wanted to keep their distance from this "dangerous information."

Their boldest guess was that Master Klein had found a girlfriend and the extraordinary lady before them might be the manor’s future mistress.

Who would have thought she already was?!

And a wife, at that?!

Which meant... the Master was already married?!

Martha was the first to snap out of it.

She bent down to pick up the rag, her movements a bit stiff, and then swallowed hard, her voice full of disbelief:

"Master... We—we only took enough time to organize a wedding for Daisy, and you... you went and got married too?!"

As soon as these words came out, the other maids nodded one after another, their eyes filled with the sentiment of "Exactly, that’s exactly what we mean!"

Klein nodded, his expression as composed as if he were confirming that the weather was nice today.

He had known what kind of reaction these words would cause.

One could even say he did it on purpose.

He chose this moment to reveal Ophelia’s identity because, for one, a wedding was a suitable occasion—joyous, lively, and crowded. Secondly, he wanted to use the most natural way to let the people in the manor know that an important person had joined his life.

Rather than letting them speculate and spread rumors in private, it was better to be direct.

Sure enough, in the next second, all eyes fell on Ophelia.

Curiosity, scrutiny, probing, surprise, and even a few hints of cautious reverence—various gazes intertwined into an invisible net, surrounding her in the center.

Ophelia stood where she was, her back straight and her expression calm.

She was no stranger to such gazes.

In the army, on the battlefield, and at royal banquets, she had seen too many looks like these.

Only back then, she was a colonel, a guardian, a war hero.

And now...

Her gaze moved inconspicuously across the faces of these girls—young, simple, carrying a bit of restraint, yet unable to hide the curiosity and goodwill in their eyes.

She took a deep breath.

Then, she nodded slightly, her tone calm and polite:

"It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Ophelia."

Her voice wasn't loud, yet it reached everyone’s ears clearly.

The maids were stunned for a moment, then quickly realized and scrambled to bow.

"G-Good morning, Madam!"

"Greetings, Madam!"

The scene was a bit chaotic for a moment; someone bowed halfway, realized their posture was wrong, and started over, while someone else was so nervous they nearly stepped on the person next to them’s skirt.

Martha was the first to regain her footing. She took a deep breath and flashed a smile again:

"Madam, welcome! My name is Martha. I—I’m a maid in the manor... Ah, no, you probably already knew that..."

She grew more nervous as she spoke, her voice even stuttering a bit.

Ophelia looked at her, suddenly remembering her own embarrassment in the bathroom this morning when she used that jar of tooth powder for the first time.