Klein and Ophelia set out on the road home.
The cobblestone path glowed with a pale, bluish-white light under the moon, and the houses on both sides were already dark with extinguished lamps. The sound of their footsteps echoed with exceptional clarity in the quiet street—Klein's leather boots made a light tapping sound on the stones, while Ophelia's iron boots were steady and rhythmic.
After walking for a while, Ophelia suddenly spoke.
"Do all country taverns sell such things?"
Klein glanced sideways and saw that she was still looking at the road ahead, the moonlight tracing a cold, sharp outline on her profile.
"What things?"
"Ale, roasted meat, and..." Ophelia paused, her voice dropping slightly, "desserts."
Klein smiled. "It wasn't like this before."
Ophelia turned her head, her golden eyes watching him in the moonlight with an indescribable curiosity.
"Because I like it," Klein shrugged, his tone carrying a hint of natural pride. "So the tavern owner started making them that way."
Ophelia's brow furrowed slightly as if she were pondering a question she couldn't quite understand. She stopped walking and tilted her head. "Just because you like it?"
"That's right," Klein also stopped and turned to face her. "I am the lord here, after all."
"The lord..." Ophelia repeated the word, her gaze sweeping over him—from his alchemical robes stained with mysterious marks to his singed cuffs and his messy hair.
Klein noticed her gaze and couldn't help but laugh out loud.
He pointed to his own disheveled appearance. "Don't look at me like this; I am a noble regardless—and one who is quite popular with the people, at that."
After saying this, Klein puffed out his chest and the corners of his mouth tilted up even higher. His stride even grew a bit more buoyant as he walked, looking like a proud peacock.
Ophelia stared at him for a few seconds, a flash of confusion passing through her golden pupils.
Klein hummed a little tune as he continued forward, the sound drifting in the night wind. After walking a dozen steps, he suddenly realized there was no sound of footsteps behind him.
He looked back; Ophelia was still standing where she was, the moonlight stretching her shadow long.
"What is it?" Klein asked.
"Are you..." Ophelia's voice was very soft, nearly scattered by the night wind, "very popular?"
Klein was taken aback and scratched his head. "Well, I wouldn't say especially popular, it's just that... everyone here quite likes—" He paused and cleared his throat. "Ah, they adore me. They adore me."
Ophelia looked at him, some emotion flickering in her golden eyes. Her lips pursed slightly as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she didn't speak.
A moment later, she began walking and came to Klein's side.
"Let us go," she said.
The two continued forward. The night wind blew past, carrying the scent of fresh grass from the distant fields.
Perhaps some chord had been struck by Ophelia, for Klein's talkative nature was unleashed.
"Speaking of which," he suddenly began, "I wasn't always like this when I was a child."
Ophelia turned her head to look at him.
"My mother was a very gentle person," Klein's voice took on a tone of nostalgia. "I was always messing things up when I was little—I blew up the kitchen chimney, burned a giant hole in the garden, and once even blasted off half the roof of the manor."
"...Half?" Ophelia showed a rare hint of surprise.
"Yes, half," Klein gave a bitter smile. "At the time, I was researching a new alchemical formula and miscalculated the ratio of materials. When the explosion happened, my mother was just downstairs drinking tea."
He paused, his voice growing softer. "She never scolded me; she just helped me clean up the mess. Every time I got into trouble and ran to her, she would check if I was injured first before looking at the things that had been destroyed."
The cobblestone road extended beneath their feet, Klein's shadow and Ophelia's shadow overlapping.
"My father was different," Klein smiled. "He was very strict, but everyone in the territory respected him. Every time I messed up, he would call me into his study and make me explain for myself exactly what I had done wrong."
"Did he punish you?" Ophelia asked.
"He did," Klein nodded. "But it wasn't by hitting or scolding; he made me help repair the things I broke. If I blew up a house, I had to work with the craftsmen to fix it; if I destroyed a field, I had to go down and work the land."
He looked up at the moon, his voice drifting far away. "They always told me to be a proper lord."
"What is a proper lord?" Ophelia asked, her voice filled with genuine curiosity.
Klein thought for a moment. "Probably... making the people's lives a bit better? My father said a noble's responsibility is not to be high and mighty, but to let the people on this land live with peace of mind. He said if the people can't even afford sweets, then what is the meaning of a lord's existence?"
Ophelia fell silent for a moment.
"So I try my best to do that," Klein shrugged. "Even though I prefer researching alchemy, the things that need to be done still must be done. Repairing roads, clearing water channels, mediating disputes—these things are actually quite troublesome, but seeing that everyone is doing well makes it worth it."
He paused and turned to look at Ophelia, his tone becoming cautious. "What about you? Your parents... did they teach you these things as well?"
"They are dead," Ophelia said. "They died very early."
Klein's smile froze. The air seemed to solidify for a split second.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know—I didn't mean to—" He waved his hands in a panic.
"It is fine," Ophelia interrupted him, her tone remaining as calm as if she were stating someone else's story. "It was a long time ago. So long that I can barely remember what they looked like."
Klein opened his mouth, wanting to say something comforting, but all words felt pale and powerless at that moment. In the end, he said nothing and simply slowed his pace to walk side-by-side with Ophelia.
The night wind blew past, and the stray hairs on Ophelia's forehead rose and fell. The moonlight cast light shadows across her face.
Klein stole a glance at her and naturally didn't press any further.
He cleared his throat and deliberately switched to a lighter topic. "Right, I tell you, I recently researched a new alchemical formula—"
"What formula?" Ophelia asked, a hint of life returning to her tone.
"A potion that can briefly soften metal," Klein grew energized, gesturing with his hands. "Think about it: if you use it during forging, you wouldn't need to reheat the metal repeatedly, and—"
He talked as he walked, his voice becoming more and more excited. "The key to the formula is the root of the moonlight grass, but not just any moonlight grass; it must be harvested on the night of a full moon. You also have to add silver powder, and the purity can't be off by even a little bit. The hardest thing to find is a type of blue moss that only grows in marshlands—"
Ophelia listened quietly, nodding occasionally. The moonlight shone on her profile, her golden eyes reflecting Klein's excited appearance.
Klein spoke with increasing enthusiasm. "The hardest part is temperature control; it must be precise within a single degree. I tried seventeen times before I succeeded—no, it was eighteen times; one time the lab bench exploded and turned the whole room black, I forgot to count that one."
"Exploded?" Ophelia's eyebrows rose slightly.
"Yeah," Klein scratched his head awkwardly. "It even burned a hole in the roof. The steward was so angry he didn't speak to me for three days; he'd just look at me with a stiff face."
The corner of Ophelia's mouth twitched as if she were trying to hold back a smile.
"But I was successful in the end," Klein said proudly. "Even though that potion isn't very useful right now—since blacksmiths are more used to traditional methods and my potion's cost is too high—who knows, it might come in handy later."
He moved on to another experiment about how to use magic to ripen crops. "If we can shorten the growth cycle of crops, the people can harvest an extra season of grain. I used all sorts of methods—mana infusion, growth potions, I even tried summoning spring spirits—"
Halfway through, Klein suddenly stopped.
"What is it?" Ophelia asked.
Klein looked ahead; the gate of the manor had already come into view. The light from the wall lamps cast down from the gate pillars, illuminating the stone perimeter wall and the tightly closed gate.
"Ah," he sighed, his tone carrying obvious regret. "We're home."
Ophelia followed his gaze.
"I hadn't even finished yet," Klein spread his hands. "About the magic ripening experiment, I later found that if you add moonlight stone powder, it can keep the crop's original taste so it doesn't become unpleasant due to rapid growth. I also wanted to tell you about a new variety of wheat I cultivated last month—forget it, let's talk another day."
He walked toward the gate and reached out to push the handle.
The door didn't move an inch.
Klein was taken aback, thinking he hadn't used enough strength, and tried pushing again with his other hand.
It still wouldn't open.
"Huh?" He looked down at the handle, then up at the lintel, his brow furrowing.
Suddenly, the expression on his face froze.
Klein remembered—when he had gone out, he had specifically locked the door tight.
He turned around stiffly, glanced at Ophelia behind him, then turned back and began fumbling through the pockets of his alchemical robes.
Left pocket: empty.
Right pocket: a few pieces of broken stone and half a broken test tube.
Inner pocket: a small bag of herbs stuffed in who-knows-when and a few crumpled experimental notes.
Klein searched every single pocket and even took off the robes to shake them.
Nothing fell out.
His hand stopped in mid-air, the expression on his face truly a sight to behold.
"Um..." Klein turned his head and gave Ophelia, who was standing behind him, a smile that looked more painful than crying. "Did you bring a key?"
Ophelia tilted her head, looking at him.
"What I mean is," Klein reached into his pockets to fumble one last time in a final struggle, "it seems... possibly... probably... I left the key inside the house."
By the last few words, his voice was as quiet as a mosquito's buzz.
Ophelia stared at him for a few seconds, then stepped forward, gripped the handle, and gave it a gentle twist.
The door remained locked, not moving at all.
She let go, took a step back, and looked directly at Klein with her golden eyes.
The air was quiet for several seconds.
"I can force it open," Ophelia said, her tone serious. "Do you want to try?"
Klein was stunned and coughed once, trying to maintain his dignity as a lord as he crouched down in front of the door to inspect it closely.
He tapped the door panel, pressed his ear against it to listen, and then lay on the ground to look through the gap at the bottom before standing up and brushing the dust off his hands with a solemn air.
"It is indeed locked," he said seriously. "And it's locked very securely."
Ophelia didn't speak, simply watching him.
The moonlight shone on both of them, and the light from the wall lamps cast down from the gate pillars, stretching their shadows long.
Klein looked up at the height of the manor's wall—it was about three meters tall.
He was silent for a few seconds and swallowed hard.
"How about..." Klein spoke with difficulty, "climbing over the wall?"
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