Klein laughed.
"So what?"
His voice was light, but it carried an air of nonchalance.
"Are you trying to say we should have let those bandits ransack the caravan, kill everyone, and then leave quietly?"
He paused, his pale gold eyes looking at the magistrate calmly.
"Or should we have knelt and begged the bandit leader for mercy, then obediently handed over our own money as well?"
"They knew where to draw the line..."
The magistrate tried to justify it.
"Is there much of a difference? Once they lose their money and means of making a living, wouldn't their families be ruined just as easily?"
Klein asked in return.
The magistrate was speechless.
He opened his mouth, but he couldn't find any words to retort.
Ophelia walked to the desk.
"We have handed the men over to you."
Her voice remained calm, her golden eyes showing not a single ripple of emotion.
"The rest is your responsibility."
She turned to walk out, the hem of her dark blue vest cutting a sharp arc in the air.
Klein followed behind, looking back at the magistrate before leaving.
"By the way, my name is Klein. If the people from the Patrol Division want to cause trouble, they are welcome to come."
His tone was relaxed, as if he were saying, "You're welcome to visit."
"We'll be staying at the town inn for the night."
With that, he turned and left.
The magistrate sat in his chair, about to let the two leave, but suddenly thought of something and stood up abruptly.
"W-wait!"
His voice was thick with anxiety.
Klein and Ophelia stopped and turned around.
The magistrate took a deep breath, the expression on his face complex to the extreme.
The magistrate stared at the two figures, his fingers lightly tapping on the table.
Once, twice, three times.
The rhythm was slow, as if he were counting something.
He thought for a long time.
The sunset outside the window was about to set, and the orange-red light spilled in through the window, dyeing the room in warm colors.
But this warm light could not dispel the chill in his heart.
Finally, he spoke.
"Have you... really thought this through?"
His voice was low, carrying a trace of exhaustion and undisguised anxiety.
Klein turned back, his eyebrows arching.
"Thought what through?"
The magistrate took a deep breath, stood up, and walked to the window.
The afterglow of the sunset spilled in, casting mottled shadows on his face.
The lines of his profile were rugged, but at this moment, they showed an unspeakable weariness.
"I am not a good man."
He said, his voice tinged with self-deprecation.
"I've been in this position for over ten years; when I should turn a blind eye, I never look twice. The tributes I should receive, I never take less of."
He paused and turned around, looking at Klein and Ophelia.
"But I also consider myself not a completely bad man."
His gaze was complex, as if he were looking at two young people who didn't know how high the heavens were, or as if he were looking at two warriors about to go to their deaths.
"If I report this, the Vice Commander of the Third Battalion of the Patrol Division will definitely come looking. At that time, you two will surely suffer."
His tone became increasingly urgent.
"The vice commander's name is Karl Vincent, and he is a man who holds a grudge."
"This cousin of his was raised by him since childhood; they were closer than biological brothers."
"You killed his cousin; he will absolutely not let this go."
The magistrate walked to the desk, leaning forward with both hands braced on it.
"Karl Vincent has three hundred elite soldiers under his command, every one of them a veteran from the battlefield."
"He himself is a high-ranking knight who graduated from the Imperial Knight Academy; his strength is absolutely not to be underestimated."
He stared at Ophelia and Klein, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes.
"Even if you have some strength, two fists cannot fight four hands. If he brings his men, you won't stand a chance."
Klein didn't speak, merely watching him quietly.
Fine beads of sweat broke out on the magistrate's forehead.
"But if I don't report it, I'm the one who suffers."
His voice trembled slightly.
"When Karl Vincent finds out his cousin is dead and that I concealed it, he'll have my whole family..."
It was as if a lump of cotton were stuck in his throat.
"So, I hope you leave as soon as possible, the farther the better. I will pick a suitable time to report this matter."
"As long as you go far enough, no matter how long Karl's reach is, he won't be able to catch you."
Having said this, the magistrate let out a sigh of relief.
It was as if this was the best solution he could think of to satisfy both sides.
The room fell silent for a moment.
Klein was about to speak, but Ophelia took a step toward the desk first.
Her footsteps were light, but every step was firm. Her dark blue vest shimmered faintly in the candlelight, and the knight's sword at her waist swayed slightly with her movements.
"No."
Her voice was calm, as if she were stating a fact.
The magistrate was stunned.
"What did you say?"
He even doubted if he had heard correctly.
"I refuse your proposal."
Ophelia's golden eyes looked directly at him, her gaze clear and firm, without a hint of wavering.
"If possible, I would like to ask you to report it as soon as possible."
She paused, her tone still calm.
"The sooner, the better."
The magistrate's eyes widened instantly, his eyeballs nearly bulging out of their sockets.
"Are you crazy?"
His voice rose several octaves, squeezed out of his throat in pure disbelief.
"Do you know what you're saying? The Vice Commander of the Third Battalion of the Patrol Division will send men to hunt you down! He won't let you off! He'll tear you into a thousand pieces!"
His finger trembled as he pointed at Ophelia.
"Who do you think you are? You think you can take on the entire Third Battalion by yourself?"
Ophelia did not back down.
She even took a step forward, her golden eyes flashing with a cold light under the candlelight.
"I'd like to see for myself."
Her tone was still calm, but every word carried an indisputable weight of resolve.
"Exactly what kind of person the Vice Commander of the Third Battalion is."
Her right hand rested on the hilt, her fingers lightly tracing the patterns on it.
"If he lets his subordinates pillage caravans so brazenly, then he himself must not be anything good."
The magistrate's face turned completely white, his lips trembling.
He opened his mouth, a few broken syllables escaping his throat, but he couldn't form a complete sentence.
Klein stood to the side, the corners of his mouth curving upward.
He should have expected this.
Ophelia was a knight.
A pure knight.
She would not run.
She would not hide.
Nor would she back down because an enemy was powerful.
Quite the opposite—a knight should punish evil and root out corruption.
This was who she was.
Klein walked to Ophelia's side and reached out to lightly pat her shoulder.
"I support you."
His voice was soft but firm.
Ophelia turned her head to look at Klein.
A hint of softness flashed in her golden eyes, and the corners of her mouth curved into a nearly invisible arc.
"Mm."
She nodded.
The magistrate's hands were braced on the desk, his fingers trembling slightly, his knuckles white from the pressure.
"You... you two really..."
He couldn't go on.
Looking at these two people, a surge of complex emotions rose in his heart.
Was it admiration?
Helplessness?
Or despair?
He couldn't tell himself.
Ophelia turned and walked out.
"Report it as soon as possible."
Her voice echoed in the room, clear and firm.
"We will be waiting at the town inn."
She reached the door, paused, and looked back.
"By the way, if that Vice Commander does come, please tell him something for me."
Following Klein's lead, she announced her own name.
"Ophelia is right here."
She paused, her tone as calm as if she were talking about the weather.
"If he wants to avenge his brother, then let him come."
The magistrate's body shuddered violently.
He stared wide-eyed at the young knight, his eyes filled with shock.
Ophelia—this name was known throughout the entire Western Border, if not the whole empire.
This knight had actually given that name.
And without any hesitation.
Could she really be her?
Klein followed behind Ophelia, looking back at the dazed magistrate one last time before leaving.
"Don't worry."
His tone was relaxed, even carrying a hint of a smile.
"We won't get you involved."
He paused.
"After all, we are the ones who actively asked you to report it. Even if Karl Vincent wants to find trouble with you, he won't have a reason."
"Of course, you can also give him some appropriate assistance. I won't mind."
The magistrate stood frozen in place.
He watched the two figures leave, his throat feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton, unable to make a sound.
The door closed with a creak.
Silence returned to the room.
The afterglow of the sunset spilled in through the window, shining on the bronze medal.
The surface of the medal reflected a dim light, the crest and words engraved on it clearly visible.
The magistrate stood by the desk, staring at the bronze medal for a long time.
His fingers lightly brushed the desktop, feeling the rough texture of the wood.
Outside the window, the sun had finally set completely.
Only a smear of dark red remained on the horizon, like congealed blood.
Finally, he let out a sigh.
"Lunatics."
He whispered, his voice thick with helplessness.
"They're all lunatics."
But a bitter arc unconsciously formed at the corner of his mouth.
How many years had it been?
How many years since he had seen people like this?
Unafraid of power, undeterred by threats, and steadfast in their justice.
People like this had nearly gone extinct in this era.
But... if it really was that knight, that Ophelia, then she would certainly do as she said.
He turned and walked to the cabinet, pulling out a sheet of paper.
He sat back in his chair and lit the candle on the desk. The candlelight flickered, casting swaying shadows in the room.
He picked up a quill.
The tip was dipped in ink and paused on the paper for a moment.
The ink slowly dripped from the tip, blooming into a small stain on the paper.
Then, he began to write.
His handwriting was neat, yet it carried a trace of stiffness. Every stroke was forceful, as if he were engraving the words rather than writing them.
"To the honorable Karl Vincent, Vice Commander of the Third Battalion of the Patrol Division:"
"The Magistrate of Stonebridge Town humbly submits."
"This afternoon, a caravan passing through the official highway of Stonebridge Town was attacked by bandits. There were thirteen bandits in total, led by one carrying a bronze medal of the Third Battalion..."
Writing this, he stopped and stared at the words on the paper.
The candlelight danced on the surface, making the script seem to come alive.
He took a deep breath and continued writing.
"...The leader was killed on the spot by a passing knight. The remaining bandits have been captured and are currently held at the Stonebridge Town Magistrate's Office."
"Respectfully reported."
"Morris Green, Magistrate of Stonebridge Town"
After writing the last word, he put down the pen.
The quill rolled a few times on the desk before stopping beside the inkwell.
Outside the window, the sky had turned completely dark.
Scattered lights flickered in the town like fireflies scattered in the darkness.
The magistrate—Morris Green—sat in his chair, looking at the parchment in his hand.
The words on the paper swayed slightly in the candlelight as if they were alive.
He folded the paper and sealed it with wax.
The wax melted under the candle flame, making a faint sizzling sound. The dark red liquid dripped onto the paper and solidified quickly.
He pressed his seal into it.
The pattern was clearly imprinted on the wax—a hawk with spreading wings.
It was exactly the same as the crest on that bronze medal.
Having done all this, he placed the letter on the desk, then stood up and walked to the window.
He looked at the night outside, at those scattered lights in the town.
Behind every light was a family.
They were the lives of ordinary people.
They did not know that a storm was about to arrive.
Morris took a deep breath, a faint sigh escaping his throat.
"I hope you really know what you are doing."
He whispered, his voice echoing in the empty room.
"And I hope you... really are that legendary knight."
He turned around and looked at the letter on the desk.
The candlelight shone on the letter, the wax seal reflecting a dark red glow.
A footstep sounded outside the door.
A guard poked his head in, asking cautiously:
"My lord, about those bandits..."
"Lock them up."
Morris's voice was calm, having regained its usual authority.
"Hold them separately and allow no visitors."
He paused.
"Send men to the highway to recover the body. Move quickly; it's not safe on the road after dark."
The guard was stunned for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes, my lord."
Just as he was about to retreat, Morris called him back.
"Wait."
The guard turned around.
Morris picked up the letter from the desk.
"Send this letter to the Patrol Division Headquarters in the city."
His voice was calm, but his gaze was complex.
"Use the fastest horse."
The guard took the letter, glanced at the crest on the wax seal, and his expression changed slightly.
"My lord, this is..."
"Just do as you're told."
Morris waved his hand.
The guard didn't dare ask more; he bowed respectfully and retreated.
Silence returned to the room.
Morris sat back in his chair, looking at the bronze medal on the desk.
The candlelight shone on the medal, making the hawk crest look as if it were in flight.
He reached out, picked up the medal, and held it in his palm.
The medal was heavy, carrying a cold touch.
"Karl Vincent..."
He whispered the name, a bitter smile curling his lips.
Outside the window, the night grew deeper.
A few barks of a dog came from the distance, sounding exceptionally clear in the quiet night.
Morris stood up and blew out the candle.
The room plunged into darkness.
Only the scattered lights outside the window still flickered in the dark.
Rate on N.U.
