Chapter 7 | Has the Empire's Sword Who Married to the Countryside Fallen Today?

Ophelia stood where she was, the moonlight falling across her profile.

Klein waited for a few seconds but heard no response.

Just as he was wondering if he should try another way, Ophelia had already walked to the edge of the wall and looked up to gauge its height.

"At this height," she said, "can you get up there?"

Klein walked over and craned his neck. The wall was about twice the height of a man, its surface made of smooth stone bricks with nothing to offer as leverage.

He looked at the wall, then at his alchemical robes.

"Uh..." He hesitated. "I... suppose I could try?"

The words had barely left his mouth when Ophelia took a few steps back.

Her movements were decisive: a short sprint, then a leap.

Her skirt armor flared in the air, revealing slender but powerful calves encased in long boots. Her fingers hooked onto the edge of the wall, and with a pull of her arms, her entire body vaulted up lightly.

The movement was so fluid it looked as if she had practiced it countless times.

Klein stood below, looking up at her.

Her silhouette traced an arc through the air, and she made almost no sound when she landed on the top of the wall. With knees slightly bent and back straight, she looked like a cat perched on a branch.

The moonlight spilled down from behind her, outlining her profile clearly. Her golden eyes glowed in the night, looking down at him.

Klein swallowed hard.

He suddenly realized that the Knightess wife he had married might be far more formidable than he had imagined.

Ophelia steadied herself on the wall and looked down at Klein below.

She remained silent for two seconds before she began to undo the buckle of her gauntlet.

The metal buckle made a faint sound in the night wind. She unfastened the bracer on her right hand and pulled off the gauntlet, revealing her wrist and palm.

Then, she reached that hand out.

The moonlight shone on her hand, revealing hard callouses at the web of the thumb and the base of her fingers; her knuckles were slightly flushed.

She said nothing, only watching him.

Klein was taken momentarily stunned, then quickly understood her intention.

He took her hand and used her strength to climb upward.

The sensation from her palm made him startle slightly.

It was rough.

Far rougher than he had imagined.

The web of the thumb and the base of her fingers were covered in hard callouses that felt like worn leather, even slightly abrasive against his skin. There was also a thin layer of callouses on her fingertips, likely the marks left by years of gripping a sword.

These hands were a complete mismatch for Ophelia's refined face.

Klein kicked off the wall, and with a pull from his arms, he vaulted onto the top of the wall in a few movements.

When he found his footing, his hand was still holding Ophelia's.

For some reason, Klein's fingertips unconsciously brushed against the callouses in her palm.

They were hard, yet they carried warmth.

Like a form of proof.

Proof that this seemingly indifferent Knightess had once experienced countless battles, shed blood, and suffered wounds, yet still stood here.

He looked up and found Ophelia watching him.

Moonlight was reflected in her golden pupils, along with his own face.

Klein's heart skipped a beat for no reason.

He immediately let go of her hand and steadied himself. The top of the wall was narrow, making it a bit crowded for two people to stand side-by-side; his shoulder almost touched hers.

"Thank you," he said, his voice lower than usual.

Ophelia nodded without speaking.

She turned to look inside the manor, her pale gold skirt swaying gently in the night wind.

Klein turned as well.

The night wind blew past, carrying the scent of grass and trees.

He rarely stood in this position to look at his own home.

The perspective from the wall allowed the entire manor to unfold before his eyes—the spires of the main building, the garden paths, and the old oak tree growing in the middle of the courtyard.

The moonlight fell on the roof tiles, shimmering with a faint silver light.

Klein's gaze drifted across the manor.

The window on the far left of the third floor was his laboratory. The curtains were still open, revealing the messy bookshelves and lab benches inside.

The room to the right was the study, the place his father had loved to stay in most when he was alive. That mahogany desk was still there, but no one sat there to review documents anymore.

Further down, outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the first-floor living room, the roses his mother loved should be blooming soon.

Klein stared at that window for a long time.

He couldn't remember the last time he had looked at the manor like this.

Perhaps when he was very young?

Back then, his father would carry him on his shoulders, pointing at the distant fields and saying they were their family's land, and that he would have to protect them in the future.

His mother stood nearby and laughed, telling him not to let the child fall.

Klein blinked, pushing those untimely memories back.

"Let's go," he said, his voice a bit raspy.

Ophelia glanced sideways at him but didn't speak.

She jumped down first.

Her silhouette traced through the air, her skirt armor rising and then falling. She made almost no sound when she landed, her knees bending slightly to absorb the impact before she straightened up and turned around.

The moonlight shone on her face.

She looked up and opened her arms, prepared to catch him.

Klein stood on the wall, looking at the posture below.

Her golden eyes watched him in the night, serious and focused.

Those hands that had been holding a sword just moments ago were now open, waiting to catch him.

Klein's throat felt a bit tight.

"No need," he said. "I'll do it myself."

With that, he also jumped down.

He didn't control his landing well; his heels hit the ground first, and he stumbled back half a step.

His soles made a dull thud against the ground, much louder than the sound Ophelia had made. A numb pain shot through his knees, and he grimaced.

Klein steadied himself and brushed the dust off his robes.

At least he hadn't fallen.

He looked up and found Ophelia still in her previous posture, her arms suspended in mid-air as if ready to support him at any moment.

The moonlight fell on her face, and a flash of... worry appeared in those golden eyes?

"I'm fine," Klein said quickly.

Ophelia watched him for a few seconds, and only after confirming he was indeed steady did she slowly lower her hands.

She turned and walked toward the main building, her pace remaining steady.

Klein followed behind her, his footsteps exceptionally clear in the night courtyard.

After walking a few steps, he couldn't help but look at the straight back in front of him again.

She had already put her left gauntlet back on, its buckles securely fastened.

Klein thought of the callouses he had just touched.

He was suddenly a bit curious about how many battles those hands had experienced to become like that.

When the two returned to the main building, the light from the wall lamps had already dimmed.

Klein looked at the clock on the wall; the hour hand pointed to ten-thirty. Dinner had been very late, and now it was already time to wash up and sleep.

He led Ophelia to the second floor, walking along the corridor to the very end.

Footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, and the wall lamps in the corridor lit up one by one as if welcoming the master back home.

The bathroom door was made of dark wood with a brass handle that shimmered with a warm light under the lamps.

"This is it," Klein pushed the door open. "The bathroom."

The room wasn't large, but it was kept very clean. A white porcelain bathtub stood against the wall, its edges carved with intricate patterns. Beside it was a wooden shelf with clean towels folded on it, along with a few bottles of essential oils for bathing.

In the corner was a brass faucet connected to a magic-driven water supply. This was a design Klein had improved himself, providing hot water at any time.

Ophelia stood at the door and looked inside.

Her gaze drifted between the bathtub, towel rack, and faucet, as if memorizing the location of everything.

"Do you know how to use them?" Klein asked. "These devices."

Ophelia shook her head.

Klein walked to the faucet and placed his hand on the knob. "This one is for cold water, turn it to the right. This one is for hot—"

"Cold water is fine," Ophelia said suddenly.

Klein's hand stopped in mid-air, and he turned to look at her.

"Cold water?"

"Yes."

Moonlight shone through the window, falling across Ophelia's profile.

Her expression was calm, as if she were stating something perfectly natural. There were no ripples in her golden eyes; she just looked at the faucet.

Klein stared at her for a few seconds.

"No," he said. "Use hot water."

His voice was a bit firmer than usual.

Ophelia turned to look at him.

"Bathing in cold water is bad for your health," Klein said. "You'll get sick."

"I won't—"

"You will," Klein interrupted her, his tone even more resolute. "No matter how powerful you are, you're human, not made of iron."

He walked up to her and looked into those golden eyes.

Ophelia looked back at him.

The moonlight shone between them, and the air was so quiet they could hear each other's breathing.

After a long moment, Ophelia opened her mouth and finally nodded.

"Fine," she said, her voice very soft.

Only then did Klein breathe a sigh of relief.

He turned back and continued explaining how to use the faucet. The right side was hot water, the left was cold, and they could be mixed to adjust the temperature.

"Turn the knob to this position," he demonstrated. "The water temperature is just right. Not too hot, and not too cold."

Ophelia listened, nodding occasionally.

"The towels are on the rack," Klein pointed to the wall. "Just put the used ones in the basket. You can add the essential oils to the water; they smell quite good. Is there anything else you don't understand?"