The front hall returned to silence, with only the afterglow of the sunset casting dappled light and shadows on the carpet through the glass windows.
Ophelia watched Klein quietly.
He was looking down, properly storing the finely processed medicinal powder into a jar.
His movements were neither fast nor slow, exuding a composure unique to him—as if nothing in this world could truly make him panic.
She stepped forward, her gaze falling on his slightly wrinkled collar.
It had likely been turned over when he leaned down to organize the medicinal ingredients just now.
Almost instinctively, she raised her hand to straighten the folded collar for him. Her fingertips lightly brushed along the stitching of the neckline, her movements careful to the point of being cautious.
The two were very close, close enough that she could smell the faint scent of a potion on him—a clean herbal fragrance. It wasn't strong, but it was refreshing, just like the man himself.
This was originally a very common gesture for a wife to make, but coming from the former honorary knight of the empire, it carried a touch of unfamiliar earnestness—like someone who had just learned to hold a pen, tracing unfamiliar characters on paper stroke by stroke.
“When do you plan to start on that thing?”
She spoke up suddenly, a trace of solemnity flashing in her golden eyes. Her voice was calm, but the warmth that had lingered on her fingertips from straightening his collar hadn't had time to dissipate yet.
Klein stopped his movements and looked up. Their gazes met in mid-air.
“The Siren?”
Ophelia nodded, her right hand instinctively touching her left hand through her clothing—the hand covered by a specialized glove.
Even through the thick leather, that cold, viscous, and terrifying aura belonging to the deep sea was already being suppressed deep within her bones by her powerful battle qi. However, the sensation in her memory, as if her soul were being dragged into an abyss, remained vivid enough to make one shudder.
“Preparations are almost complete.”
Klein saw the flash of tension in her eyes. He didn't say much, only reached out naturally and took her left hand.
He didn't use much force, nor did he hesitate in the slightest because it was a contaminated hand. It was as if, in his eyes, this hand was no different from any other ordinary hand in the world—it was hers, and that was enough.
The warm pad of his thumb gave her fingertips a reassuring squeeze.
Ophelia’s eyelashes fluttered slightly.
That gentle warmth seemed to seep through the leather, bit by bit, into her cold palm.
Klein led her to sit at the table and turned to pour two glasses of warm water, everything as natural as if they had done it a thousand times.
“However, there’s a change in plans.”
Klein pushed one of the water glasses toward her, his tone relaxed.
“I’ve changed my mind. Directly researching the Siren body carries uncontrollable risks.” He took a sip from his own glass without even a frown. “That thing is likely directly related to an evil god of the deep sea; I don’t want to cause a tsunami in my own manor.”
Ophelia’s movement of holding the water glass paused slightly, and she looked up at him. “So?”
“So, we’ll research the box first.”
Klein’s slender fingers tapped twice on the solid wood tabletop, like knocking on an invisible door.
“The cube the sage used to seal it. Think about it—to be able to lock a monster of that level inside, the construction of the box itself has immeasurable research value.”
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes shining with a scholar’s pure desire for knowledge.
“As long as we figure out the underlying logic of the seal, even if something goes wrong in the future, we can lock it back up exactly as it was. Learn how to lock the door before considering opening it. That’s the proper way to go about it.”
Ophelia’s tense shoulders relaxed visibly.
The corner of her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly—Klein wasn't a madman who would recklessly court death for the sake of curiosity and ambition.
There was something in his nature that made people feel at ease. It wasn't power, but a sense of proportion.
—Though he did have his “mischievous” moments occasionally.
“Are you confident?”
“The essence of alchemy is nothing more than disassembly and reassembly,” Klein smiled gently. “Give me some time; I’ll eventually see how it works.”
Ophelia didn't respond.
She lowered her eyes, staring at the slightly rippling water in her glass. The afterglow of the sunset reflected on the surface of the water like a broken gold coin.
After a long while, she suddenly set the glass down and stood up.
The chair slid back half an inch silently on the carpet.
Those brilliant golden eyes met Klein’s directly, with something burning inside them—not anger, but a knight’s will that was harder to shake than any fury.
“When you research the seal, you must take me with you.”
Klein opened his mouth, about to explain that this was just a preliminary analysis of the shell and wasn't dangerous—
“When it comes to things from the deep sea, there is no such thing as ‘foolproof.’”
She cut him off bluntly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.
At this moment, she was no longer the wife who would blush from trying on clothes, nor the woman who had been carefully straightening his collar just now.
She was the knight who had drawn her sword and charged into the tides when facing sea monsters on the west coast.
“We made an agreement that this research can only be conducted when both of us are present.” She looked down at her husband sitting in the chair, her exquisite face exuding an undeniable heroism. “Researching the shell counts as research, too.”
She paused.
Her tone softened slightly, like a drawn sword finally being retracted half an inch—yet it remained poised there, its light cold and sharp.
“Don’t think about leaving me behind to act alone, Klein. This is what we agreed upon.”
Seeing her assertive manner, the smile in Klein’s eyes deepened instead.
That smile held no trace of being offended or suppressed; there was only a pure, heartfelt admiration—and a bit of doting that he couldn't quite hide.
He cooperatively raised both hands in a standard gesture of surrender.
“Of course, I’ll listen to you.”
Ophelia looked down and studied those raised hands.
The fingers were long and fair. From years of holding test tubes and engraving knives, there were thin callouses on the pads and the web of the thumb. The position of the callouses was completely different from that of a sword-wielding knight—not on the palm and the base of the index finger, but concentrated on the side of the thumb and the first joint of the middle finger.
These were the hands of a caster and a scholar.
—They shouldn't touch that filthy deep-sea corruption.
She studied them for two seconds, a flash of softness appearing in her eyes before being covered by her usual composure. She nodded slightly as a sign of approval of his attitude, and the tension in her shoulders finally relaxed completely.
He had passed.
Klein lowered his arms and stretched upward, the bones in his shoulders and back making a light cracking sound—a common ailment for those who sat for long periods.
He stood up from the chair and straightened his collar again—the collar Ophelia had just fixed had been messed up again by his own movements.
He started walking toward the stairs.
“I’m going to the laboratory for a while.” He waved his hand with his back to her, his tone lazy. “Remember to call me when it’s time to eat.”
“You just promised not to touch the seal; what are you going to do now?”
Ophelia called out to stop him. She asked bluntly, without even changing her sitting posture, only turning her head to look at his back. Her tone wasn't harsh, but it carried a faint “I’m watching you” vibe.
Klein stopped by the door and looked back at her, his expression as open as could be.
“Brewing medicine. Making some inhibitors.”
Hearing those words, Ophelia instinctively rubbed the glove on her left hand with her right.
“Karen’s current state is too poor.” Klein leaned against the doorframe, his tone becoming steadier. “The moonseed flower and soul-quieting grass Lyra sent are of good quality and can be put to use. I haven't fully decoded the logic of the will of the deep sea's pollution yet, so I can't cure him for the time being—”
He tilted his head slightly, as if rapidly flipping through an invisible notebook in his mind.
“But I’m fairly confident I can concoct something to suppress his auditory hallucinations and keep him from losing his mind as often. At least it will make things a bit easier for Lyra.”
He paused here.
His gaze passed through the golden dust floating in the front hall and landed very gently on Ophelia’s left hand.
The hand that was always gloved.
“By the way—”
He slowed his tone, his voice as gentle as a spring breeze brushing past the ear, carrying a tenderness she couldn't refuse.
“I can also try researching some formulas for you. Although the residual aura on your hand is suppressed by your own battle qi, it will eventually become a hidden danger over time.”
“It would be a good thing if I can provide even a little relief now.”
The front hall went quiet for a moment.
The last ray of golden light from the sunset was slowly sliding off the edge of the window frame, and the entire room was about to be swallowed by the gentle twilight.
Ophelia looked at the man leaning against the doorframe.
He was leaning there so casually, his posture relaxed and his expression peaceful, as if what he had just said was a trivial matter—as natural as saying “I want to eat stew for dinner.”
But she could hear it.
That “by the way” wasn't just an afterthought.
It was something he had planned long ago, perhaps even earlier than researching Karen’s inhibitors. He had simply saved it for last, using a “by the way” to mention it lightly so she wouldn't feel too much of a burden.
—He was always like this.
She stood up and walked toward him.
Her footsteps echoed in the quiet front hall—neither fast nor slow, steady and resolute—the stride of a knight.
“Do you need me to give you a hand?” she asked.
Klein stood up straight and turned his head to look at her as she came before him. The twilight drifted in from behind her, casting a faint copper-colored glow over her golden hair.
He smiled.
“Of course, my Knightess.”
He made a gesturing motion.
“I’d be glad to.”
One after the other, they walked up the spiral staircase leading to the third-floor laboratory. Their footsteps, one light and one heavy, alternated and echoed in the empty corridor.
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