Ophelia looked down at her left hand, her battle qi moving beneath her skin like tiny currents of electricity traveling through her veins.
A blue light flashed and then vanished, leaving only a fleeting shimmer at her fingertips.
Her palm returned to normal, not even a scar remaining.
She turned her wrist over and examined it carefully; the skin was intact and her palm lines were clearly visible, as if nothing had happened just moments ago.
Only the blue bloodstain on her skirt stubbornly remained as a reminder of what had just occurred, its dark luster shimmering under the candlelight like a living thing that breathed as it slowly seeped deep into the fabric fibers.
Klein stared at her hand for several seconds before shifting his gaze to the bloodstain.
The blue blood was not a pure liquid but had a certain translucent graininess to it, like a product of ore powder fused with flesh and blood; it spread slowly across the cloth, tiny ripples appearing at its edges as if something were swimming inside.
Klein’s fingers tapped twice on the tabletop.
"Does it affect you in any way?" he asked, his voice tighter than he had expected.
Ophelia put the dagger away and looked down at her skirt.
The bloodstain had already spread, its jagged edges looking like ink soaked in water; she raised her hand and pressed her fingertips against the blue, trying to wipe it away.
The fibers of the fabric were already saturated.
Her fingers rubbed against it twice, but the blue only seemed to darken as if pressed deeper into the material; she stopped, placing her palm flat against the skirt and feeling the slight chill of that area.
Where her fingertips touched, tiny ripples appeared on the surface of the fabric—light and shallow, like wind brushing over the surface of water.
Ophelia stared at the bloodstain for a few seconds before finally withdrawing her hand and letting it remain there.
"It is nothing," she said, her tone nonchalant.
Klein’s brow furrowed even deeper, nearly twisting into a knot.
The answer was far too casual; it was not how someone contaminated by the blood of an evil god should sound.
Ophelia looked up, her golden eyes reflecting his expression.
She saw the worry in his eyes and the internal conflict of wanting to press for more while not knowing how to start.
She saw his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table—a habitual motion when he was thinking, though it seemed a bit hurried now.
She paused as if weighing her words, then added, "I do not sleep well."
"You do not sleep well?" Klein repeated, his voice laced with obvious unease. "Is that all?"
"Yes." Ophelia nodded, her tone still calm as if discussing a trivial matter. "The battle qi in my left hand becomes erratic sometimes. When I dream, I often see those things... I dream that I am still on the west coast, dreaming of sea monsters crawling out of the ocean, dreaming of—"
Her voice trailed off.
The remaining words caught in her throat, as if forced back down by something.
Klein saw her eyelashes tremble slightly—a rare moment of vulnerability.
But she quickly regained her composure, her golden eyes becoming clear and steady once more.
Klein did not need her to finish.
He could already imagine the scenes—the nightmares that replayed late at night, the fear that drifted between the edges of dream and reality, and the mornings when she would wake up drenched in cold sweat.
She spoke so calmly that it took Klein several seconds to truly grasp the meaning of her words.
Erratic battle qi. Mental pollution. Nightmares.
Any one of those was enough to endure.
Not to mention all three combined, endured day after day while she had to maintain her calm and composed facade during the daylight hours, even smiling at him and saying, "I am fine."
Ophelia sounded as if she were merely describing bad weather and the possibility of rain.
Klein felt as if something were blocking his chest, making it difficult to breathe.
An indescribable emotion surged within him, something like anger mixed with heartache.
"So you just..." He paused to find the right word, his voice dropping a few octaves. "Endure it?"
Ophelia tilted her head, her long golden hair sliding off her shoulder and shimmering softly in the candlelight.
She seemed not to understand the question, blinking as her golden eyes reflected his silhouette.
"It is alright," she said, the corners of her mouth curling into a faint smile. "I can accept it."
There was no self-pity in her tone, no tragic air or accusation; it was as if she were stating a common fact—that she ate bread today and might have porridge tomorrow.
Klein felt a dull ache beginning to throb in his temples, like someone was driving nails into his head.
He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what.
Words of comfort? That would be too hypocritical; she understood her situation better than anyone.
An angry interrogation? What would that change? He couldn't bear the pain for her.
Klein suddenly felt a surge of loathing for his own powerlessness.
Noticing his expression, Ophelia fell silent for a moment before thinking it over and adding, "Actually—the incense you gave me is very helpful."
She offered a small smile, the corners of her lips turning up only slightly, but her eyes crinkled into crescents.
The candlelight fell across her face, making that smile appear exceptionally gentle.
It was a smile meant to comfort him, as if telling him, "See? I am fine, you don't need to worry."
"It is much better now," she said, a trace of sincere warmth entering her voice. "I sleep very well here with you."
There was a hint of contentment in her voice, as if this were already the best possible outcome, a blessing to be grateful for.
As if simply getting a peaceful night's sleep were the greatest happiness.
Klein looked at her, suddenly at a loss for words.
His throat felt as though it were stuffed with something, making any words feel hollow and powerless.
The candle flame flickered between them, light and shadow dancing across Ophelia's face.
Shadows pooled beneath her cheekbones, revealing traces of exhaustion on her delicate face—marks left by her long struggle against the pollution, usually hidden so well but now visible under the flickering candlelight.
She sat perfectly straight, her back as stiff as if she were being inspected, ready to jump into the next battle at any moment.
The blue bloodstain on her skirt shimmered darkly in the candlelight like a silent warning, a reminder of the price paid for this tranquility.
Ophelia sharing her secret with Klein meant that the distance between them had shortened.
However, Klein could not bring himself to be happy about it.
He stared at the blue bloodstain for several seconds as the candle flickered and shadows danced over Ophelia's face.
The fluctuating light made her expression look blurred, yet Klein could still see it—
Her expression remained as calm as ever, as if she had just performed a minor task, or as if cutting her finger were merely to prove an inconsequential point.
It was less of a secret and more of a duty she carried.
The contamination from the sea monster god, the mental erosion, the nightly nightmares—Ophelia shouldered them all, yet she could still speak to him calmly, offer a comforting smile, and say she could accept it.
This couldn't be called strength; it was being accustomed to suffering.
She was so used to it that she didn't even view it as pain anymore, but just a part of life.
Klein took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady, though a suppressed tremor still leaked through.
"Is it not exhausting, doing this?"
Ophelia froze for a moment.
She seemed surprised that Klein would ask such a question.
She tilted her head, a flicker of confusion passing through her golden eyes as she pondered the answer; after a moment, she chuckled softly.
The smile was faint, but there was something more in her golden eyes now.
It wasn't mockery or helplessness, but more like nostalgia—as if a warm memory had been stirred, or a long-buried recollection had resurfaced.
"Klein," she said, her voice carrying a rare warmth as if speaking of a proud achievement, "I am a knight."
She paused, her fingers lightly brushing over her chest.
"And the reason I chose to become a knight..."
She looked up, her golden eyes meeting Klein's directly.
The candle flame danced in her eyes, making them look exceptionally bright, as if fueled by an unquenchable fire.
"It was not for honor, nor for fame. Those things are hollow; they fade with time, break in war, and will one day be forgotten entirely."
Her voice was calm, but every word carried weight, sounding like a vow or the statement of a belief she guarded with her life.
Klein asked instinctively, "Then what was it for?"
His voice was very soft, nearly drowned out by the sound of the burning candle.
Ophelia was silent for a second.
Then she smiled slightly.
There was tenderness in that smile, along with determination and something else indefinable—as if she were remembering an important period or the exact moment she decided to become a knight.
"For those who need protection."
Her voice was calm, but each word landed heavily, like an oath carved in stone.
The candle flame flickered between them, and the room fell silent for a few seconds.
The wind blew outside, rustling the leaves; the candlelight swayed with it, casting shifting shadows on the wall.
"So, whether it is exhausting or not," Ophelia said, her voice holding no tragedy, only the calm composure settled after enduring hardships, "is actually not that important."
Her fingers lightly traced the blue bloodstain on her skirt.
"What matters is whether those I protect are safe."
She looked up, her golden eyes meeting Klein's as the candlelight flickered within them.
"Whether you all are safe."
"...Whether you are safe."
Her tone was very calm, but Klein could hear the weight behind it.
It wasn't some grand, tragic declaration or forced comfort.
She was simply saying that some things were worth doing.
Regardless of exhaustion, pain, or the price to be paid.
Because some things were more important than one's self.
Truly a great person, Klein thought.
She didn't seem like someone who belonged in this mortal world.
This world was too foul, too selfish, and too cold, yet she was like a beam of light stubbornly burning, illuminating those around her even if she were to be swallowed by the darkness.
As soon as the thought occurred to him, Klein couldn't help but smile.
It was a self-deprecating smile, tinged with bitterness and helplessness.
He suddenly realized that it was only today that he had truly come to know this "Knightess."
And this Knightess, his wife in name, was clearly enduring pain he couldn't imagine, yet she turned around to comfort him instead.
Ophelia’s gaze fell upon his face.
"What is it?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly.
"It is nothing." Klein shook his head, his throat tight. "I was just thinking..."
He stopped and looked up.
The candlelight danced on Ophelia's face, the shadows beneath her cheekbones giving her delicate features a softer contour.
"Someone like you," Klein said, his voice so soft it was as if he were afraid of disturbing something, "deserves to be treated better."
Ophelia was stunned.
She blinked, some emotion flashing through her golden eyes—surprise, or perhaps something else; then she smiled, her lips curving wider than before as her eyes crinkled into crescents.
"Currently," she said, her voice warming as if speaking of something happy, "I am already being treated very well."
She looked at Klein, her golden eyes reflecting his silhouette as the candlelight danced within them.
"Because I met you."
Klein’s breath hitched.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat felt blocked; those words landed on his heart with more weight than any oath.
The candle flame wavered, appearing unstable.
Klein’s heartbeat became just as unstable.
He could hear the sound of his own heart beating—thump, thump—as clear as a drum echoing in his ears.
The room was excessively quiet, leaving only the slight crackling of the candle and the occasional sound of wind from outside.
The air still carried the faint fragrance of Ophelia's hair.
He felt his face growing warm.
What should I say?
His mind was a mess; the usual alchemy formulas and magic theories had vanished, replaced by a complete blank.
Klein instinctively cleared his throat, trying to sound normal. "That... it is, it is getting late."
His voice cracked the moment he spoke.
Klein cursed himself inwardly, paused, then added, "You should go rest. Your health is important."
As soon as he said it, he felt it sounded incredibly stupid.
What did "your health is important" even mean? It sounded like he was caring for a patient, rather than...
Rather than what? A thought flashed through Klein's mind, but he immediately suppressed it.
Ophelia watched his awkwardness, her eyes crinkling as she let out a laugh.
The laugh was light, like silver bells clinking in the wind, yet it was exceptionally clear in the quiet room.
Her shoulders trembled slightly as she clearly tried to stifle her laughter, though she failed in the end.
There was no mockery in it; she simply found it amusing—this man who could spend all day in an alchemy laboratory and face the most dangerous materials without flinching was now unable to even speak clearly.
"Alright." Ophelia stood up, her skirt swaying gently with her movement.
She walked to the door and placed her hand on the knob, but did not push it open immediately.
Her hand lingered there for a few seconds, her slender fingers tracing the brass handle.
Then she turned back, her golden eyes shimmering in the candlelight like two pieces of ignited amber.
"Goodnight, Klein."
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