Accompanied by the sound of Klein's irrepressible low laughter, Ophelia finally stopped her pace, tilted her head, and shot him a glare with those golden eyes.
Of course, given her usual expressionless face, it wasn't so much a "glare" as it was an exceptionally solemn stare.
But Klein still accurately picked up on the hint of annoyance within it—the light in those golden pupils was a bit sharper than usual, like a blade drawn from its sheath with an imperceptible edge.
"I have only... been the recipient of blessings," she spoke, her voice very soft, as if defending herself or perhaps just stating a simple fact. "I have never blessed others."
Her eyelashes lowered slightly, concealing a flash of unease deep in her eyes.
Klein's laughter subsided a bit. He pondered for a moment and soon understood the meaning behind her words.
As the sharpest Sword of the Empire, her past life likely consisted of nothing but training, campaigns, and homecomings.
For those who treated her as a weapon, the blessings they gave her were naturally of only one kind.
"May your fortunes in battle be prosperous"—these were probably the six words she had heard most in her life.
As for blessing others? That kind of warm, tender scene of life had never belonged to a god of slaughter on the battlefield.
The smile on Klein's lips had not yet fully vanished, it simply became gentler. "You'll get used to it."
Ophelia looked up, genuine confusion in her golden eyes. The evening breeze blew a few strands of hair across her forehead, which shimmered with a faint golden luster under the sunset's afterglow.
Get used to what?
Klein's gaze shifted past her shoulder toward the distant meadow, warmed by the sun. It seemed to have been infected by the wedding's atmosphere—scattered wildflower petals, trampled grass, and the scent of ale still lingering in the air.
His voice became gentle and distant, as if he were painting a picture she had never seen before.
"In the future, you will say blessings to many people. Perhaps it will be a wish for a newborn to grow up safely, or perhaps a wish for a newlywed couple like Daisy and her husband to grow old together."
He paused, his gaze returning to her face. The light in his eyes was warmer than the evening sun and more penetrating, as if he could look directly into her heart.
"And what you hear in return will no longer be limited to 'may your fortunes in battle be prosperous.'"
That gaze seemed to have temperature, falling on her with an undeniable warmth that made her subconsciously want to flee.
Ophelia's heel ground into the grass as her body reacted before her will, taking two steps back. She created a safer, yet more conspicuously empty distance between them.
Her right hand rose instinctively, pressing against her chest.
From within her chest came a dull, rapid pounding, one after another, like a siege hammer. It shattered the steady rhythm she was accustomed to. Each heartbeat was so heavy it felt as if it would break through her ribs, making her eardrums numb with the vibration.
She remembered the end of certain training sessions, when her physical limits were pushed to the extreme and she would collapse to her knees in exhaustion; her heart would pound and roar in her ears just like this. Back then, her lungs would burn, her limbs would be weak, and she would barely have the strength to hold a sword.
But now, she was not exhausted, nor was she wounded.
She was simply standing there.
Simply... standing on this sun-warmed grass, standing before him, listening to him speak of a future she had never imagined in a tone so gentle it felt like she might drown in it.
The feeling was unfamiliar, so unfamiliar it almost made her want to draw her sword—at least then she would know how to respond.
Yet the man before her took a step forward with a look of slight confusion, his brow furrowed with genuine concern as he asked:
"What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"
His hand rose, seemingly wanting to touch her forehead.
Ophelia's throat moved imperceptibly. The hand pressed against her chest tightened, gripping the fabric of her clothes.
She took a full breath, forcing herself to focus on the rhythm of her breathing—inhale, exhale, just as the instructors demanded during training.
She forcibly suppressed the wild beast rampaging in her chest, reining it in with the harness of logic.
When she looked up again, those golden eyes had returned to their usual stillness, as if that moment of losing control had never happened.
"It is nothing."
Her voice was as calm as ever, even a bit colder than usual, as if she were deliberately encasing something in frost.
Klein stared at her for a moment, a thoughtful light flashing in his deep eyes. But he did not press her, simply nodding slightly as he withdrew his half-extended hand.
"That is good then," he said, a nearly imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I was worried I had said something wrong."
...
The wedding's bustle gradually subsided as the guests departed, leaving only the manor's staff to help clear the final remains of the celebration.
The sunset's afterglow painted the horizon in a warm orange-red, and the clouds were gilded with gold, looking as if someone had spilled a jar of honey across the sky. Night was quietly unfurling, and the first star was already faintly visible on the eastern horizon.
Raymond checked the time and walked to Klein's side, bowing slightly. "Master, Madam, it is getting late. I will arrange the carriage to take everyone back now."
Klein nodded, his gaze still fixed on the distant sky reddened by the sunset.
However, it wasn't long before Raymond returned. His brow was slightly furrowed, and the expression on his face was somewhat awkward.
"Master, there are not enough carriages."
He reported in a low voice, his tone carrying a hint of frustration. "There were many guests today, and most of the town's carriages have been hired. The one we brought cannot fit everyone at once. If we make two trips, the sky will be completely dark by the time we finish."
Martha and several other maids heard this and immediately stopped their work, looking over in unison with worried expressions.
Raymond's solution was almost instantaneous. "You and the Madam should take the carriage back first. We can wait for the next trip, or even walk back—"
"No need for such trouble," Klein interrupted him, his voice relaxed and casual.
He glanced at Ophelia, who was standing quietly beside him, and then smiled at Raymond. That smile held an indescribable sense of pleasure. "You all take the carriage first. Ophelia and I will walk back."
"That won't do!" Raymond's voice rose a few notches, his composure as a steward nearly breaking. His eyes widened as if he had heard something scandalous. "It's nearly dark, and the road is not easy to walk. Besides, there is no logic in having you and the Madam go on foot while we servants take the carriage!"
This was a total breach of protocol! If word got out, people would wonder how he was running things as a steward!
"Protocol or not, it doesn't matter." Klein waved his hand dismissively, the smile on his face deepening. "Think of it as a stroll to help digest. I ate too much at the feast; a little activity is just what I need."
He paused, turning his gaze toward Ophelia, his deep eyes filled with a tender smile. He did not lower his voice; instead, he spoke in a clear and frank tone, ensuring everyone present could hear his next words.
"Besides, I want to spend some alone time with my wife."
The air went silent instantly.
Even the evening breeze seemed to hold its breath.
All the words Raymond had left were stuck in his throat, unable to be uttered. He froze in place, his expression as vivid as if a freezing spell had been cast on him.
"Oh!"
Martha was the first to react. She covered her mouth in an exaggerated fashion, her eyes wide as saucers. She frantically poked her companion with her elbow, her voice trembling with excitement despite being hushed. "Did you hear that? Did you hear that? The Master said he wants alone time with the Madam! Oh my goodness! The Master is... he's..."
She was so excited she couldn't even speak properly, only fanning herself with her hand as if to vent the shock in her heart.
The cheeks of several young maids instantly turned crimson. They wanted to look but didn't dare, so they could only lower their heads and giggle behind their hands, their shoulders shaking.
Now, forget waiting for a second trip; they wished they could fly away immediately to leave this space entirely to their newlywed masters!
"Then, then, then... Master! We're leaving! Right now!" Martha reacted the fastest, ushering the others as she scrambled onto the carriage with incredible speed. "You and the Madam take your time! Don't rush! Stay safe on the road!"
"Yes, yes! Walk slowly!" The other maids chimed in, competing to squeeze into the carriage.
The group piled into the carriage, dragging the still shocked and speechless Raymond along with them.
The driver hadn't fully processed what was happening before he was urged by the people behind him to set off immediately.
"Go, go! Don't interrupt the Master and Madam's private world!" Martha shouted from the carriage, her voice full of excitement.
The carriage wheels turned with a creak, and it soon vanished at the end of the country road, kicking up a cloud of dust and taking the last of the noise with it.
The bustling crowd receded like a tide, leaving only Klein and Ophelia standing side by side on the darkening country road.
The evening breeze blew, carrying the scent of grass and soil from the fields, mixed with the smell of woodfire from distant farmhouses. The last trace of orange-red on the horizon was gradually fading, replaced by a deep twilight blue. The first star was now fully visible, twinkling with a faint light in the sky.
Ophelia remained silent, simply watching all of this happen. Her golden pupils, under the darkening light, looked like two pieces of amber veiled in mist, reflecting the final glow of the sky.
Her fingers unconsciously curled and then relaxed, a subtle movement she repeated several times.
Klein was the first to start walking. He didn't reach out to hold her hand as before, but maintained a subtle, neither-far-nor-near distance, with about half an arm's length between their shoulders.
He tilted his head, his voice light in the rising evening breeze yet clearly reaching her ears.
"Let's go," he said, the gentle smile still on his lips, the light in his eyes brighter than the stars. "The road is long; we'll walk slowly."
He paused, then added: "It's a good chance to look at the sunset here. You probably... haven't seen it much before, have you?"
Ophelia's steps faltered slightly.
The sunset?
She looked up at the sky, which was dyed in orange and gold.
The clouds were layered, looking as if they had been meticulously painted. Every stroke of color was slowly changing, transitioning from a bright gold to a deep purplish-red.
She indeed... had rarely looked at such a scene seriously.
In those years, she had seen countless sunsets, but every time was on a battlefield, amidst corpses and blood. The afterglow of the setting sun would shine on armor and bloodstained blades; that light wasn't a warm orange, but a piercing, cold crimson.
A sunset this quiet, this gentle, without a hint of killing intent, existed only in her nearly faded childhood memories.
"Mm," she responded softly and began to walk.
The two of them walked side by side on the country path. Beneath their feet was the dirt road that still held the warmth of the sun's day-long embrace.
From the distance came the cries of birds returning to their nests and the crackle of firewood from farmhouses preparing dinner.
Twilight deepened, and the road ahead was still long.
Rate on N.U.
