Karl pulled his reins tight, and the horse let out a low whinny, its hooves treading restlessly.
"Keep moving."
His voice echoed in the night, cold and hard, but if one listened closely, a slight tremble could be heard hidden within it.
"Slower."
The cavalrymen exchanged glances but said nothing. They followed behind Karl, the sound of hoofbeats moving slowly through the night.
But unease was written on every face.
"Do you think... it's really that person?" a young soldier asked in a small voice.
"Shut up," an old veteran beside him rebuked in a low voice, though his own voice was shaking. "Don't talk nonsense."
"But..."
"I said shut up!"
The troop fell into a strange silence.
Only the sound of hoofbeats echoed in the night, heavy and slow.
Morris rode on his horse, watching Karl's back.
He could see Karl's shoulders tensing slightly, see his fingers rubbing repeatedly against the reins, and see his back looking exceptionally rigid under the moonlight.
Morris lowered his head, his fingers tightening around the reins.
He didn't know what would happen next.
But he knew tonight would not be peaceful.
The town drew closer.
The lights in the windows flickered in the night like warning signals, or like eyes in the darkness, quietly watching the troop.
Karl stared at those lights, his gaze gloomy.
His hand was pressed against his hilt, and sweat had already seeped into his palm.
The dark red gemstone embedded in the hilt glinted with a dim luster under the moonlight, like congealed blood or some ill omen.
The sound of hoofbeats echoed in the night.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
The Stonebridge Town inn was right before them.
Karl pulled the reins, his breathing becoming rapid and his chest heaving violently.
"Is it there?" His voice was very low, carrying a hint of suppressed trembling.
Morris nodded.
"Yes, my lord."
Karl took a deep breath and then slowly let it out.
He dismounted, his feet hitting the ground with a dull thud.
The soldiers behind him also dismounted one after another, but no one dared to step forward.
They stood in place, hands pressed against their hilts, their eyes uneasy.
Karl stood at the inn entrance, lost in thought for a long time.
Then, he strode toward the inn's front door.
Every step was heavy.
...
Morris led Karl and the others to the inn door.
Karl raised his hand and made a gesture.
The soldiers behind him immediately dispersed, their movements swift and silent.
They circled around the sides of the inn, blocking the back door and windows.
Several silhouettes flashed under the moonlight, quickly disappearing into the shadows.
Karl only brought three men with him.
He pushed open the inn door.
The door hinges let out a faint creak, which sounded exceptionally piercing in the night.
The front desk was empty.
An oil lamp sat on the counter, its flame flickering in the breeze and casting swaying shadows.
The air was thick with the smell of wood and dust, along with a faint scent of mold.
Morris walked in front, his footsteps very light. His palms were covered in sweat, and he looked back at Karl from time to time.
Karl's face was terrifyingly gloomy, his eyes glinting coldly in the dim light.
Morris swallowed hard. He knew what Karl was thinking.
The bandit leader who had been killed by Ophelia with a single sword stroke was Karl's only brother.
He pointed toward the stairs.
Karl nodded.
They went upstairs.
The wooden stairs let out a subtle groan under their feet. Every step seemed to remind them that something was waiting ahead.
Karl's hand was pressed against his hilt, and his fingertips could feel the vibration of mana flowing through the blade. That was his sword, which had once drunk the blood of countless men and beasts.
The hallway was narrow, with closed doors on both sides. A few faded paintings hung on the walls, their subjects indistinguishable.
Morris stopped in front of a door.
He turned his head to look at Karl, his eyes filled with silent pleading.
Karl ignored him. His hand was pressed against his hilt, and his palm was already soaked. He could feel his heartbeat, thudding against his chest one beat at a time.
A desire for revenge burned in his heart, but at the same time, an indescribable unease was also spreading.
The Sword of the Empire, Ophelia.
That name was known to everyone in the Western Border of the Empire. Legends said she had killed hundreds of sea monsters on the west coast with just herself and her sword. Those monsters, which had polluted countless knights and caused them to go mad and mutate, were like mere weeds before her.
But his brother was dead.
Killed by her.
Karl's fingers tightened around the hilt.
He took a deep breath and then raised his hand.
Knock, knock, knock.
Three knocks, neither light nor heavy.
Footsteps came from inside the room.
Quickly.
The door opened.
Standing at the door was a man.
Young, about twenty years old. He wore the long robes common to an alchemist, with signs of wear on the cuffs and collar.
His hair was a bit messy, but his features were regular, and there was an indescribable temperament in his eyes.
A noble.
Karl recognized it instantly.
That kind of poise cultivated from childhood, that composure deep in the bones, could not be faked.
Furthermore, the man's gaze was very calm, so calm that it didn't seem like the reaction of someone visited in the middle of the night.
He instinctively tried to look inside the room.
But the man's frame blocked his line of sight. The room was dark, and only the outline of a bed and several pieces of luggage by the window could be seen.
There was no one else.
At least, no one visible.
The scent of incense filled the room, but Karl detected something unusual.
It wasn't ordinary incense, but the scent of some alchemical potion.
This made his throat tighten.
He couldn't help but hold his breath.
"Is something the matter?"
The man's voice was very calm, carrying a hint of inquiry.
Karl forced a smile.
"Hello..."
He wanted to address the other person but realized he had no idea how to begin.
The man looked at him, a flash of realization crossing his eyes.
"Klein."
He offered his name, his tone as relaxed as if he were greeting a friend in a tavern.
Karl immediately reached out his hand.
"Karl Vincent, it is an honor..."
Klein took a step back.
He did not shake hands.
As if he were on guard.
Karl's hand froze in mid-air and then slowly lowered.
A sense of humiliation surged in his heart.
He was the Vice Commander of the Patrol Division, the heir to the Vincent family; when had he ever been played with like this?
But he suppressed his anger.
Karl only felt his heartbeat quicken.
"Are you staying here alone?"
There was a hint of probing in his voice.
Klein shook his head, the smile on his face becoming more obvious.
"No, I am here with my wife."
When he said this, there was a subtle note of pride in his tone.
Karl's pupils contracted slightly.
Wife.
Karl's fingers tapped lightly against the hilt.
"Your wife..."
He paused, a flash of complex emotion in his eyes.
"What is her name?"
Klein looked at him, his gaze calm, but the curve of his lips deepened.
He seemed to be enjoying this conversation.
"Ophelia."
He spoke very slowly, articulating every syllable clearly.
Karl's breathing stopped for a moment.
His fingers tightened around the hilt, his knuckles turning white.
Ophelia.
That name echoed in his mind like a curse.
He stared at Klein, trying to see something in the other's face.
He hoped Klein was lying.
He hoped to find... fear? Tension? Or at least a hint of unease on that face?
But Klein's expression did not change at all.
Calm, composed, even carrying a hint of light confusion. No, not just confusion, but also a sense of understanding that saw through everything.
Karl's throat felt dry.
"Ophelia..."
He repeated it, his voice very low.
"The Sword of the Empire, Ophelia?"
Klein nodded, the smile on his face receding slightly, but his gaze remained calm.
"Yes."
He paused and tilted his head.
"Why, does the Vice Commander know my wife?"
Karl's heart nearly jumped out of his chest.
He turned his head to look at Morris.
Morris kept his head down, not daring to look at him. His forehead was covered in sweat, and his hands were trembling slightly at his sides.
Karl turned back to look at Klein.
"Of course."
"Who in the Western Border wouldn't know of that knightess?"
"So... is she in the room now?"
There was a hint of trembling in his voice.
Klein did not answer.
He simply stood at the door, looking at Karl with a calm gaze.
There was a sense of scrutiny in that gaze, as if he were looking at prey that had walked into a trap.
Karl's fingers rubbed repeatedly against the hilt.
He could feel his palms sweating, his breathing quickening, and his heartbeat echoing in his ears.
If she were really here...
If she were really Ophelia...
Then what should he do?
Revenge?
With what?
It was true that he was a magic swordsman and considered the top expert in the Patrol Division Third Battalion.
But that was the Sword of the Empire.
Karl's gaze drifted back and forth between Klein and the room.
His fingers clenched even tighter.
Klein stood at the door, looking at Karl with a calm gaze.
"Does this have something to do with you?"
His tone was very flat. But in that indifference, there was a sense of pressure.
Karl's throat tightened. He gave a couple of dry laughs, his voice somewhat stiff.
"I heard from the magistrate that you captured a group of bandits." He paused, his fingers tapping lightly on the hilt. "And killed their leader. So... I wanted to come meet you and express my thanks."
He stepped aside, revealing Morris behind him.
Morris gave Klein a couple of bitter smiles as a greeting. His face looked very poor, with fine beads of sweat seeping from his forehead.
Klein said nothing.
He just stood there, his gaze moving back and forth between Karl and Morris.
Then, he smiled.
Another person's voice came from inside the room.
"Is that so?"
A female voice.
Cold and clear like a winter wind or the bright moon.
It was like a sharp sword, directly piercing Karl's heart.
Karl's fingers suddenly tightened around the hilt. He could feel his palms sweating and his breathing quickening.
He couldn't muster any strength.
The hilt felt slippery in his palm, as if he were holding a dead fish.
Karl forced himself to look up, and through the gap left when Klein had just taken a step back, he saw the person in the room clearly.
She stood right there.
Moonlight poured in from the window, plating her body in a layer of silver radiance.
Her golden hair was tied in a high ponytail, cascading down the back of her head.
The bracers on her arms glinted with a dim luster under the light.
Her features were exquisite, with a touch of feminine heroism within that exquisiteness.
In the dim light, her golden eyes were like two pools of burning fire.
Although she was wearing a knight's outfit that wasn't very formal, one could tell at a glance from her temperament that she was a knight.
No, not just a knight.
A warrior.
A killer.
A legend.
From this alone, Karl already believed she was Ophelia by more than half.
His heart was pounding so hard it nearly leaped out of his chest.
Karl no longer had any other thoughts.
Whether for revenge or to apologize.
He didn't want to stay here for another second.
As a magic swordsman, his intuition told him that the knight before him was actually a monstrous beast in human form.
That kind of aura, that kind of pressure, was something he had only felt when facing high-level magic beasts on the battlefield.
No, it was even more terrifying.
Because magic beasts only killed by instinct.
But the one before him was rational, calm, and... was scrutinizing him.
Karl took a step back.
"Then... I won't disturb you further." His voice was very low, carrying a hint of trembling. "It's getting late, and we still have patrol duties."
He turned around, preparing to leave.
"Your Excellency has visited so late at night, clearly not just for a glimpse of us, right?"
Klein's voice rang out from behind.
Karl's footsteps stopped.
He turned his head, about to make an excuse.
"Lord Vice Commander of the Patrol Division Third Battalion." Klein's voice was very calm, but every word was like a nail driven into Karl's heart. "Your soldiers are all waiting outside."
He paused, the corners of his mouth curving upward.
"Six at the back door, five under the windows, and outside the front entrance... hmm, there should be seven more?"
Karl's pupils contracted.
He stared at Klein, his fingers rubbing repeatedly against the hilt.
"You..." His voice was very low, with a hint of suppressed trembling. "How do you know?"
Klein did not answer. He just stood there, looking at Karl with a calm gaze.
Then, he raised his hand and pointed to his own ear.
"I heard them." Klein's voice was very calm. "The sound of hoofbeats, footsteps, and even your breathing."
—Strictly speaking, he hadn't heard them; of course, if one considered the magic circle an extension of Klein's senses, it was the same thing.
But Klein had no intention of telling Karl that.
Karl's fingers clenched even tighter.
He stared at Klein, a flash of complex emotion in his eyes.
"So what?" His voice was very low, carrying a hint of suppressed anger. "I am the Vice Commander of the Patrol Division; I have the right to be on guard against any suspicious persons."
"Suspicious persons?" A flash of realization crossed Klein's eyes. "You mean us?"
He tilted his head, the smile on his face deepening.
"...You think someone who kills a bandit leader is suspicious?"
Karl did not speak.
His breathing became rapid.
"Or rather..." Klein paused, his gaze moving back and forth between Karl and Morris.
His voice was very light, but every word was like a heavy hammer striking Karl's heart.
"Are you here for revenge?
"For that scumbag brother of yours?"
The air in the hallway seemed to freeze.
Morris's face turned deathly pale.
Karl's fingers gripped the hilt so hard that his knuckles let out a cracking sound.
He stared at Klein, his eyes filled with pure rage.
Rate on N.U.
