Chapter 9 | Has the Empire's Sword Who Married to the Countryside Fallen Today?

Contrary to Ophelia, after the lights in the laboratory went out during the first half of the night, Klein quickly drifted off to sleep.

His notebook remained open on the desk, the ink bottle cap forgotten and unsealed, and the quill leaned against its stand. The pages recorded today's alchemical experiment data, though the handwriting on the final line was somewhat scrawled, as if he had been too tired to keep his eyes open while writing.

But during the latter half of the night, something invaded his dreams.

Seawater.

A massive volume of seawater.

It surged from all directions, silent and without warning, submerging him entirely. Klein initially wanted to struggle, only to find that he did not need to breathe in the dream. However, his previous movements still allowed the seawater to rush into his mouth.

The water tasted incredibly salty—bitterly so—as if all the salt in the entire ocean had been concentrated on the tip of his tongue. There was also a strange, fishy stench that reminded him of the sea monsters samples shipped from the west coast on his laboratory table—those severed limbs soaking in formalin, emitting the same nauseating scent.

He sank into the water, losing control of his body. His limbs felt bound by invisible ropes, and every struggle was a futile churning of the surrounding currents.

The surrounding seawater turned from deep blue to dark green, and finally to a pitch-black void.

The further he sank, the lower the temperature became. The icy touch seeped through his skin into his marrow, and Klein could even feel his fingers growing stiff. Sensation in his fingertips vanished bit by bit, as if they were being frozen solid.

Then, he heard singing.

It was far away, yet very close.

It seemed to come from the deepest part of the seabed, yet sounded as if it were ringing right in his ear. The melody had no regularity, and the pitch shifted up and down, but it inexplicably made one want to draw closer. The voice carried a certain enchantment, as if calling for something, yet also mourning something.

Obscure words flashed through Klein's mind—mermaids, sirens, or other creatures from ancient legends that used song to bewilder sailors.

The song was too complex, featuring tones that no human vocal cords could produce. It sounded as if countless voices were layered together, each layer singing a different melody, yet remaining eerily harmonious. There were female voices, male voices, and some voices whose gender could not be distinguished at all; they intertwined to form a chord that transcended human understanding.

He turned around, wanting to find the source of the sound.

There was nothing in the seawater.

No fish, no light, and not a shadow of any living creature. There was only the boundless darkness and the song whose source could never be found.

Klein's vision pierced through the darkness, looking toward deeper places.

There was nothing there.

Yet the song came from that very spot. It grew clearer and clearer, as if something were approaching.

Klein wanted to look away, but found he could not.

His body drifted uncontrollably in that direction, as if pulled by an invisible force. That power was gentle yet irresistible, much like a mother's hand lightly pushing against his back.

The distance grew shorter.

The song suddenly stopped.

The entire ocean fell into a deathly silence. Even the sound of the currents vanished, leaving only the thumping of Klein's own heart echoing in his chest.

Then, he saw a pair of eyes.

Huge, golden eyes.

They were exactly the same as Ophelia's eyes.

Those eyes suspended themselves in the deep sea, without a face or a body, consisting only of the eyes themselves. The pupils were vertical, like those of a reptile, yet carried a human-like spirit. They stared at Klein without blinking, as if scrutinizing him, as if waiting.

Klein wanted to flee, but his body would not move.

Those eyes began to approach.

Closer and closer.

Until they occupied his entire field of vision.

...

Klein snapped his eyes open.

His heart was hammering in his chest, as if it were about to burst through his ribs. Cold sweat soaked the nightshirt on his back, the fabric clinging to his skin with a greasy discomfort.

The wood grain on the ceiling was clearly visible. It was already bright outside, with morning light filtering through the gaps in the curtains, casting long strips of light onto the floor. Dust motes floated in those beams, rotating slowly.

He lay on the bed without moving, staring at the ceiling for several seconds.

His breathing had not yet steadied, and his chest rose and fell violently.

Klein raised his hand and pressed his temples. His fingertips could feel his blood vessels pulsing, beat by beat, synchronized with the frequency of his heart.

"It was just a dream,"

He told himself this.

But those golden eyes were still imprinted on his retinas, lingering. Every time he closed his eyes, those eyes would surface and stare at him, as if trying to look through his soul.

Klein woke up much earlier than usual.

The salty taste of seawater still remained in his mouth, and the dream felt like a thin mist that wouldn't dissipate. He could feel the bitterness at the root of his tongue and the stinging pain deep in his throat from choking on seawater—it was just a dream, yet it was terrifyingly realistic.

Klein rolled over, staring at the light filtering through the curtains for a while before finally giving up on the idea of going back to sleep. The eerie song still echoed in his mind, making sleep impossible. Those tones seemed carved into his brain, refusing to fade.

Klein got up and dressed, tidying his appearance in front of the mirror. The face in the mirror was somewhat pale, with faint dark circles under the eyes. He frowned and splashed his face with cold water. The icy water hitting his face cleared his head slightly, but the sense of unreality still hadn't completely vanished.

He stopped in front of Ophelia's door.

He knocked twice.

There was no response.

He waited a few more seconds, but it was still quiet.

Klein turned toward the stairs.

She had likely gone to the courtyard to practice her swordplay again; the Knightess's obsession with training reached an extreme level. From yesterday until now, aside from eating and sleeping, she had spent almost all her time swinging her sword. That focus made Klein feel a bit of admiration, as well as some confusion—what kind of experience could make a person so thirsty for strength?

The wooden stairs made a slight creaking sound beneath his feet.

He crossed the entrance hall and pushed open the door leading to the courtyard.

The morning light had completely filled the courtyard, and dew still hung on the grass. The air carried the fresh scent of greenery, similar to the scent of the soothing incense in the room last night. Klein took a deep breath, letting his lungs fill with fresh air, attempting to thoroughly dispel the salty, fishy smell of seawater from his dream.

Ophelia stood by the clothesline.

She was wearing that black-and-white maid uniform, the hem of the skirt swaying slightly in the morning breeze. In her hand, she held a washed inner garment, hanging it over the line. The fabric was still wet, water droplets trickling down the edges and falling onto the grass at her feet, shimmering in the morning light.

Klein stood at the door, watching this scene, feeling a bit dazed for a moment.

Her golden hair was scattered across her shoulders, now completely dry and gleaming faintly in the sunlight. It overlapped with those golden eyes from his dream, giving him an indescribable sense of dissonance. It was a strange feeling, as if the boundary between dreams and reality had become blurred.

Her movements were practiced, as if she had done this many times before—flattening the clothing, smoothing out wrinkles, and then securing them to the line with wooden clips. Every motion was fluid, without any redundant pauses.

The cuffs of the maid uniform tightened at her wrists, revealing a section of her arm. Her skin was very white, but some small scars could be seen, appearing to be marks left from years of training. Some scars had already faded significantly, becoming almost invisible, while some were still quite new, showing a faint pink in the sunlight.

Ophelia turned around, preparing to take the next item from the basket.

She saw Klein standing at the door.

The two of them made eye contact for two seconds.

Klein subconsciously wanted to avoid those golden eyes, but felt that doing so would be too impolite. Those eyes appeared exceptionally bright in the morning light, looking too much like the eyes in his dream, making his heart beat faster once more.

"Good morning," Klein said, his voice calmer than expected.

Ophelia nodded. "Morning." She paused, her golden eyes lingering on his face for a moment. "You do not look well."

"I didn't sleep well," Klein answered briefly. He didn't want to explain the dream in detail, especially the fact that eyes exactly like hers had appeared in it.

"A nightmare?"

"...Something like that," Klein hesitated for a moment.

Ophelia did not press further. She bent down to take another inner garment from the basket, turning to continue her hanging. But Klein noticed that her movements were a bit stiffer than they had been a moment ago.

Klein walked into the courtyard and stopped by the clothesline. The dew on the grass dampened his shoes, bringing a chill that cleared his brain a bit more. The icy sensation traveled up from his soles, dispelling the lingering feeling of the dream.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

Ophelia did not stop her movements.

"...I am used to it. I can handle these things myself," she said, her voice calm.

Klein stood in place, not stepping forward to help.

Washed clothes were personal items after all; he knew he should maintain his distance. Furthermore, Ophelia's tone carried a kind of unquestionable persistence, making him feel that intruding would only make her uncomfortable.

He simply watched as Ophelia hung the remaining items from the basket onto the clothesline one by one.

The morning light shone on the fabrics, the white inner garments swaying slightly in the wind. Water droplets gathered at the edges of the fabric and then fell to the grass, making a faint sound. Those sounds were very light, but exceptionally clear in the quiet morning.

Klein's gaze unintentionally fell on one item.

It was a long strip of cloth, looking like some kind of medical bandage.

The fabric had been washed and was still wet, water dripping from its edges. The texture of the cloth looked very soft but possessed a certain elasticity, different from ordinary bandages.

Ophelia flattened it and hung it over the line, her movements no different from when she hung the other clothes. Her expression was natural, without any discomfort or embarrassment.

Klein stared at that strip of cloth for two seconds.

Several thoughts flashed through his mind.

"Are you injured?" he asked, his tone carrying concern.

Ophelia stopped her movements and turned to look at him.

Her golden eyes held confusion, as if she didn't understand what he was talking about at all. She followed Klein's gaze to the strip of cloth, then looked back at him, her eyes even more puzzled.

Klein met her gaze for a moment.

Her expression was too pure, without a trace of concealment or embarrassment. That confusion was genuine, not faked.

Then he suddenly realized what it was.

The temperature in his face rose instantly.

"...It's nothing." Klein cleared his throat, looked away, and stared at the hedge on the other side of the courtyard. "I meant... if you really are injured, you can tell me. There are medical supplies in the manor."

He forced himself to add a sentence, trying to make the topic less awkward.

The tips of his ears were a bit hot. He could feel the heat spreading from his neck all the way to his ears, as if he were being scorched by a fire.

Ophelia looked at him for two seconds, seemingly understanding something.

"I am not injured," she said calmly, then turned back to her work.

She neither explained the purpose of the cloth strip nor showed any sign of discomfort. Her movements remained fluid, as if the previous conversation had never happened.

On the contrary, Klein stood there feeling like an idiot.

He cleared his throat and decided to change the subject. "Was the incense helpful?"

"It was," Ophelia answered. "I slept well last night." She paused. "I have not slept that soundly in a long time."

"That's good," Klein felt a sense of relief. "If you run out, tell me. I can prepare more."

"Thank you."

A brief silence fell between the two of them.

There was only the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze and the sound of dripping water. There was also the chirping of birds from afar, crisp and melodious.

Ophelia finished her work and stood up straight.

Only then did Klein realize his previous judgment of her height had been slightly off.

Martha was already considered tall among the maids, but standing next to Ophelia, Klein estimated that the Knightess was still half a head taller.

Klein's gaze unconsciously drifted down from her shoulders, stopping on the black-and-white maid uniform.

The length of the skirt reached just to the middle of her calves, a bit shorter than when Martha wore it. The exposed calf lines were smooth, showing the muscle definition left from years of training, yet they still appeared slender.

The cuffs were tight at her wrists, but the fabric was clearly a bit too taut; when she moved her arms, the sleeves would slide up. He could see that the stitching at the cuffs was tight, as if it might snap at any moment.

The waistline was also not quite right; the sash was tied higher than normal to manage a decent fit. This made the proportions of the entire outfit look a bit strange, though he couldn't quite say where the problem lay.

Klein suddenly felt a bit fortunate that this maid uniform retained that old-fashioned loose cut—it was a style passed down from his mother's youth, untainted by the messy fashion trends that came later.