After dinner, the deduction work in the study finally drew to a close.
The core framework of the array suspended in mid-air had fully taken shape, its azure glow flickering slightly in the dim room, becoming more stable and profound than ever before, like a tamed, miniature patch of sea.
Now, only the final sets of key mana data remained to be filled in.
“Knock, knock, knock.”
Regular, steady, and without a hint of hesitation, the knocking sounded at the right time.
“Enter.”
Raymond pushed the door open, blocking the draft from the hallway behind him as he stepped inside.
“Master.” The old steward stopped three steps from the desk, back straight, and began his orderly report. “Karen's wounds have been treated. The healing agent you formulated took effect quickly; the rot at the edges of the deep-sea mana erosion has stopped. He is now settled and has fallen into a deep sleep.”
Klein did not look up. His quill moved rapidly across the parchment, making a faint rustling sound as it sketched the final, complex magic circuit.
“Additionally, word just came from Miss Lillian's Sewing House.” Raymond paused slightly, his stiff tone involuntarily softening a touch. “The Madam's wedding dress has entered the final stages of completion. Miss Lillian said that to ensure a perfect fit, the Madam can come for a personal fitting in two days.”
The fluid motion of Klein's pen came to an abrupt halt.
A drop of ink bloomed on the parchment, but he didn't care. These past few days, he had poured almost all his energy into deep-sea mana research and Karen's treatment, his mind filled with high-dimensional topology and soul matrices—but he had certainly not forgotten this.
Taking time to bring Ophelia for her wedding dress fitting was the top priority now.
Vivid images of his wife's dazzling golden hair and her golden eyes—usually cold and heroic, yet showing a hint of fluster and affection when facing him—involuntarily surfaced in his mind.
How beautiful would she be in that pure white wedding dress Lillian had poured her heart into?
When it came to her, he always had plenty of time.
“I see.”
Klein looked up, the fatigue from days of labor vanishing instantly, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “Raymond, arrange the schedule personally. Prepare the most spacious carriage beforehand and make sure the cushions are soft; I don't want her to feel any bumps on the road.”
“As you wish, Master.” Raymond bowed slightly.
Having finished with the pleasant personal matter, Klein noticed Raymond still standing there, not leaving immediately as usual.
“Is there something else?” Klein set down his pen and leaned back, casually rolling his stiff wrists until the joints let out soft pops.
Raymond bowed again, his tone returning to its stiff, rigorous state, as if reporting a difficult political matter. “Miss Lyra is currently waiting in the hall downstairs. She has been standing there since Karen fell asleep, not even taking a sip of water. She said she wants to see you no matter what, to speak with you in person.”
Klein picked up the parchment covered in complex waveforms, tapping his knuckles twice against the edge as he fell into brief thought.
“Let her up.” As the words left his mouth, he glanced at the dangerous alchemical reagents and the glowing arrays in the study and immediately changed his mind.
Tossing the parchment back onto the desk, he stood and adjusted his cuffs. “Never mind. The mana residue here is too heavy for an ordinary person to handle. I'll go down to see her.”
Raymond paused for half a beat, a flicker of approval for his young master's thoughtfulness crossing his eyes, then bowed and led the way with a magic lantern.
Only two wall lamps remained lit in the first-floor hall.
Lyra stood at the edge of the shadows near the stairs.
The dim light caught her thin profile, highlighting her sunken eyes and pale lips.
Her fingers tightly twisted the hem of her linen clothes, which were washed pale and fraying at the edges.
The silver anchor pendant at her neck rose and fell slightly with her hurried breathing.
Hearing steady footsteps on the stairs and seeing Klein descend, she stepped forward as if struck by lightning, curtsying awkwardly in a commoner's gesture she had clearly learned elsewhere.
“Master Klein.” Her voice was dry and hoarse, like she had swallowed a handful of coarse sand.
Klein walked to the center of the hall and sat in a heavy high-backed chair, pointing to the empty seat across the round table. “Sit. There's no need to be so formal. Karen's wounds have been properly treated; the dosage of the healing agent was precise. He's sleeping soundly now and won't be struggling in pain tonight.”
At the news of Karen's well-being, Lyra's shoulders trembled slightly, but she shook her head and stubbornly refused to sit.
She stared down at the tips of her old, mud-stained leather boots. After a long silence, she forced out the words that had been churning in her throat.
“Master... can I... can I do something? To help him?”
She looked up suddenly, her eyes so red they looked like they were bleeding. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, veins bulging on the backs of them.
“Upstairs today, his screams were so terrible... it felt like a knife scraping my bones.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back. “I don't know magic, and I don't know medicine. I believe you're saving him, and that this method was the only way. I just wanted to ask... is there any work I can do? Or... or is there any medicine to make him suffer less?”
She spoke rapidly with desperate urgency, afraid that stopping for even a breath would get her kicked out by this high-ranking noble master.
“As long as it makes him feel better, you can even drain my blood! My blood is very healthy. I do heavy labor all year round; I have a strong constitution...”
Hearing this, Klein couldn't help but press his aching brow.
Drain blood?
Klein sighed helplessly in his mind, almost amused by this primitive idea.
What did this girl think this place was? A witch doctor's shack in the countryside? Or some quack clinic that only knew how to scam people with bloodletting?
What he was doing now was snatching a shattered soul from the mental pollution of a deep-sea horror like a siren. It was equivalent to arm-wrestling an evil god across dimensions.
The complexity was such that not even a veteran knight like Ophelia—with her iron will—could help, let alone an ordinary commoner like Lyra. Ophelia's only role would be to stand guard with her sword to prevent him from being corrupted by the deep-sea whispers.
It was as absurd as asking a child who could only count on their fingers to help prove a mathematical problem involving high-dimensional topology and spatial folding.
What could she do? Hand him paper or grind ink? Even approaching the radiating alchemical materials would make her seriously ill.
But as Klein's gaze fell on Lyra, the rejection on the tip of his tongue was swallowed back down.
He saw a pair of bloodshot eyes that were as stubborn as a coastal reef.
Within them burned a flame that would protect a loved one even at the cost of being ground to dust.
He suddenly realized he couldn't just send her away.
If he told her, “You're too weak, you can't help, you'll only get in the way,” it would be a fatal blow to her crumbling mental state, which was currently held together by a single thread.
This resilient girl, who had struggled in the slums and endured countless cold glares while protecting her mad fiancé, didn't need condescending pity or hollow comfort.
What she needed was a tangible “sense of participation” she could cling to.
A feeling that “I am also fighting for Karen; I haven't abandoned him.”
This was the psychological anchor she needed to keep living.
Klein lowered his hand and leaned back into his chair, fingers interlaced over his stomach.
He looked at Lyra again, no longer as a pitiful beggar for help, but as a “part” that could be put to use in the alchemical workshop.
“There's no need for bloodletting. I don't perform such barbaric rituals in my laboratory.” He spoke slowly, his voice soft but carrying a reassuring power that allowed Lyra's tense shoulders to relax a fraction.
At least he hadn't kicked her out immediately.
“However,” Klein's tone turned serious, “I do have some tasks here that are desperately short-handed. They are... extremely tedious and repetitive, but they must be done with extreme care and patience. Any mistake would affect the final potency of the potion.”
Lyra's eyes lit up instantly. The light was like a candle flame suddenly fanned by the wind in the dark, bright enough to be startling.
“I can do it! Master, I can do anything! I have patience, and I'm... I'm very meticulous! I've picked the smallest bones out of fish for people in the slums; I won't break anything!” She promised incoherently, hands nervously wiping cold sweat onto her clothes, terrified he might change his mind.
Klein stood up and tilted his head toward her.
“Follow me.”
He didn't take Lyra to the third-floor study filled with complex arrays, deep-sea pollution, and dangerous reagents. Instead, he led her down the long first-floor hallway and into a storage room specifically used for processing basic materials.
As he pushed open the heavy oak door, the room was immediately filled with the dry scent of various herbs and minerals, carrying a hint of bitterness and fragrance.
On the shelves against the walls, wooden boxes and glass jars with detailed labels were neatly arranged, appearing mysterious and quiet under the magical glow.
Klein walked to the shelves, his gaze scanning the rows before he pulled down a wooden box and a small stone mortar and pestle.
“In here is moonseed flower.” He opened the box to reveal a pile of dried, silver-white petals. “Its powder has an excellent effect on soothing the mind and stabilizing soul fluctuations. It is one of the indispensable auxiliary materials I'll use to stabilize the matrix in the alchemical ritual for Karen.”
He pushed the wooden box and the heavy mortar onto the wooden table in front of Lyra.
“I want you to grind all these petals into the finest powder. Remember, there cannot be a single grain; it must be as fine as the highest-grade flour. Furthermore, to ensure the purity of the medicinal effect, you cannot use any magic or mechanical alchemy tools. It must be done entirely by hand, bit by bit, with this stone pestle.”
Then, he pointed to a glass jar nearby containing deep green, willow-shaped herbs.
“And this, soul-quieting grass. You need to separate every single leaf from the stems. The leaves and stems must be placed in different containers. You must not mix even one, nor can there be any damage, or the spirituality within the herb will leak out.”
Normally, these were the most basic, unskilled chores for an alchemy apprentice.
Under normal circumstances, with Klein's rigorous standards, he would even find such hand-processed materials insufficiently precise and would use a miniature wind-blade array for the cutting and grinding.
But right now, this was the most suitable work in the world for Lyra.
It would exhaust her physically, fill her time, and most importantly, soothe her terrified heart.
Lyra looked down at the materials on the table.
In her eyes, these weren't dried grass and flowers; they were priceless treasures that could pull Karen back from the abyss.
She rubbed the sweat from her palms onto her clothes and carefully picked up the stone mortar.
“I understand.” She didn't ask why, nor did she question whether this seemingly clumsy method was actually useful.
She simply looked up at Klein with eyes that were still red but had regained their focus.
She stood straight and spoke each word solemnly, like a vow. “Please rest assured. I will do it well. I won't waste a single leaf.”
“Good, I believe you.” Klein nodded gently and turned to leave the storage room, giving her the quiet space.
However, as he reached the door, he stopped and looked back at the thin figure already eagerly picking up the stone pestle.
“While these things are important, there's no rush. You can give them to me tomorrow at noon. Take care of yourself and get some rest soon. If Karen wakes up and sees you've collapsed, he'll likely go mad again.”
Lyra's movements with the mortar paused briefly. Her eyes welled up again, but she nodded vigorously.
Klein's hand rested on the doorknob. After a moment's hesitation, he added:
“Also, if you become interested in the principles behind these materials while processing them... you can ask Raymond tomorrow for a copy of 《Basics of Alchemy》. It has illustrations; you can try to learn a bit.”
With that, he softly closed the storage room door.
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