Has the knight lady who married into the countryside fallen into depravity today?

Karl tightened the reins, and the horse let out a low neigh, pawing restlessly.

"Keep going."

His voice echoed in the night, cold and hard, but if you listened carefully, you could hear a slight tremor hidden within it.

"Slow down."

The cavalrymen exchanged glances but remained silent. They followed behind Karl, their horses' hooves making a slow, resounding thud in the night.

But everyone's face showed unease.

"Do you think... it could really be that lord?" a young soldier asked in a low voice.

"Shut up," the veteran beside him hissed, though his own voice trembled. "Don't talk nonsense."

"But……"

"I told you to shut up!"

An eerie silence fell over the group.

Only the sound of horses' hooves echoed in the night, heavy and slow.

Morris, mounted on his horse, watched Carl's retreating figure.

He could see Karl's shoulders slightly tense, his fingers repeatedly rubbing the reins, and his back looking particularly stiff in the moonlight.

Maurice lowered his head, his fingers tightening around the reins.

He didn't know what would happen next.

But he knew that tonight would not be peaceful.

The town is getting closer.

The lights in the windows flickered in the night, like a warning signal, or like eyes in the darkness, silently watching the team.

Carl stared at the lights, his eyes dark and brooding.

His hand rested on the hilt of the sword, his palms already sweating.

The dark red gemstone inlaid on the hilt gleamed with an eerie luster under the moonlight, like congealed blood, or perhaps some kind of ominous premonition.

The sound of horses' hooves echoed in the night.

step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

The hotel in Shiqiao Town is right in front of us.

Karl pulled on the reins, his breathing became rapid, and his chest heaved violently.

"Is that the place?" His voice was low, with a suppressed tremor.

Morris nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Karl took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled.

He dismounted, his feet slamming onto the ground with a dull thud.

The soldiers behind them dismounted one after another, but no one dared to step forward.

They stood there, their hands on their sword hilts, their eyes filled with unease.

Carl stood at the hotel entrance, lost in thought for a long time.

Then, he walked toward the hotel door.

Every step felt heavy.

……

……

Morris led Carl and the others to the hotel entrance.

Karl raised his hand and made a gesture.

The soldiers behind him immediately dispersed, their movements swift and silent.

They went around the side of the hotel and blocked the back door and windows.

Several figures flashed by in the moonlight and quickly disappeared into the shadows.

Karl followed behind with only three men.

He pushed open the hotel door.

The door hinges made a slight creaking sound, which was particularly jarring 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 filled with the smell of wood and dust, and a faint musty odor.

Morris walked ahead, his steps light. His palms were sweaty, and he glanced back at Carl every now and then.

Karl's face was terribly gloomy, and his eyes gleamed coldly in the dim light.

Maurice swallowed hard. He knew what Carl was thinking.

The bandit leader who was killed by Ophelia with a single sword strike was Karl's only brother.

He pointed to the stairs.

Carl nodded.

They went upstairs.

The wooden stairs creaked softly under their feet. Each step seemed to remind them what awaited them ahead.

Karl's hand rested on the hilt of the sword, his fingertips able to feel the tremors of magic flowing through the blade. It was his sword, a weapon that had drunk the blood of countless men and beasts.

The corridor was narrow, with closed doors on both sides. Several faded paintings hung on the walls, their contents illegible.

Morris stopped in front of a door.

He turned to look at Karl, his eyes full of pleading.

Karl ignored him. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his palms already soaked with sweat. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest.

A desire for revenge burned within him, but at the same time, an inexplicable unease was also spreading.

Ophelia, the Sword of the Empire.

That name was known to all in the western borders of the empire. Legend had it that she, alone with her sword, slew hundreds of sirens along the western coast. Those monsters that had corrupted countless knights, driving them mad and mutating them, were nothing but weeds before her.

But my younger brother died.

She killed him.

Karl's fingers gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

He took a deep breath and then raised his hand.

Knock on the door.

"Knock knock knock."

Three sounds, neither too light nor too heavy.

Footsteps came from inside the door.

soon.

The door opened.

A man was standing at the door.

He appeared to be young, around twenty years old. He was wearing a robe commonly seen on alchemists, with some signs of wear on the cuffs and collar.

Her hair was a little messy, but her features were well-proportioned, and her eyes and brows exuded an indescribable charm.

noble.

Carl recognized him instantly.

That kind of demeanor cultivated from childhood, that kind of composure in one's bones, cannot be faked.

Moreover, the man's eyes were very calm, a calmness that seemed out of place for someone being visited late at night.

He instinctively looked into the room.

But the man's figure blocked his view. The room was dark; he could only see the outline of a bed and a few pieces of luggage by the window.

nobody else.

At least we can't see it.

The room was filled with the scent of aromatherapy, but Carl sensed something was wrong.

That wasn't ordinary aromatherapy; it smelled like some kind of alchemical potion.

This made his throat feel a little tight.

He couldn't help but hold his breath.

"What's up?"

The man's voice was calm, with a hint of doubt.

Carl forced a smile.

"Hello……"

He wanted to address the other person, but found himself completely at a loss for words.

The man looked at him, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Klein."

He introduced himself, speaking as casually as if he were greeting a friend in a bar.

Carl immediately reached out his hand.

"Carl Vincent, it's an honor..."

Klein took a step back.

He did not shake hands.

It's like they're on guard.

Karl's hand froze in mid-air, then slowly lowered.

A sense of humiliation welled up inside me.

He was the deputy battalion commander of the patrol division and the heir of the Vicente family. When had he ever been mocked like this?

But he suppressed his anger.

Carl felt his heart race.

"Do you live here alone?"

His voice carried a hint of probing.

Klein shook his head, his smile widening.

"No, my wife and I are here."

He said this with a subtle hint of pride in his voice.

Karl's pupils contracted slightly.

wife.

Karl tapped his fingers lightly on the hilt of his sword.

"Your wife..."

He paused, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.

What's her name?

Klein looked at him, his eyes calm, but the curve of his lips deepened.

He seemed to enjoy the conversation.

"Ophelia."

He spoke slowly, pronouncing each syllable clearly.

Karl's breathing paused for a moment.

His fingers gripped the sword hilt tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Ophelia.

That name echoed in his mind, like some kind of curse.

He stared at Klein, trying to read something from the other man's face.

He hoped Klein was lying.

He hoped to find in that face... fear? tension? or at least a hint of unease?

But Klein's expression remained unchanged.

Calm, composed, even with a hint of doubt. No, not just doubt, but also a profound understanding that sees through everything.

Carl's throat was dry.

"Ophelia..."

He repeated it, in a very low voice.

"The Sword of the Empire, Ophelia?"

Klein nodded, his smile fading slightly, but his eyes remained calm.

"Yes."

He paused, then tilted his head.

"What, does the deputy battalion commander know my wife?"

Karl's heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

He turned his head and looked at Maurice.

Maurice kept his head down, not daring to look at him. His forehead was covered in sweat, and his hands trembled slightly at his sides.

Karl turned back and looked at Klein.

"certainly.

"Who in the Western Regions doesn't know that knight?"

"So...she's in her room now?"

His voice trembled slightly.

Klein did not answer.

He simply stood at the doorway, looking calmly at Karl.

There was a scrutinizing look in his eyes, as if he were looking at prey that had walked right into his trap.

Karl rubbed his fingers repeatedly on the hilt of the sword.

He could feel his palms sweating, his breathing quickening, and his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

If she really is here...

If she really is Ophelia...

What should I do?

revenge?

What will you use to exact revenge?

He is indeed a magic swordsman, and he can be considered the number one expert in the Third Battalion of the Patrol Division.

But that is the sword of the empire.

Karl's gaze darted back and forth between Klein and the room.

His fingers clenched even tighter.

Klein stood in the doorway, looking calmly at Karl.

"What's it to you?"

His tone was calm, but there was a sense of pressure beneath that calmness.

Carl's throat tightened. He gave a dry laugh, his voice somewhat stiff.

"I heard from the sheriff that you arrested a group of robbers." He paused, tapping his fingers lightly on the hilt of his sword. "And you even killed their leader. So... I wanted to come and see you to express my gratitude."

He turned to the side, revealing Maurice behind him.

Morris gave Klein a wry smile as a greeting. Klein looked unwell, with fine beads of sweat on his forehead.

Klein remained silent.

He just stood there, his gaze shifting back and forth between Carl and Morris.

Then he smiled.

Another person's voice came from inside the room.

"Is that so?"

A woman's voice.

It was as sharp and cold as the bright moon and the cold wind.

It was like a sharp sword that pierced Karl's heart.

Karl's fingers gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. He could feel his palms sweating and his breathing quickening.

He couldn't muster any strength.

The sword hilt felt slippery in my hand, like holding a dead fish.

Karl barely managed to lift his head, and through the gap left by Klein's step back, he could clearly see the people in the room.

She was standing there.

Moonlight streamed in through the window, bathing her in a silvery glow.

Her long, golden hair was tied into a high ponytail and hung down the back of her head.

The wristband on the arm gleamed with a dark sheen under the light.

Her face was exquisite, with a touch of feminine strength.

In the dim light, the golden pupils looked like two burning flames.

Although she was dressed in a rather informal knight's outfit, her demeanor made it immediately clear that she was a knight.

No, not just knights.

It's a fighter.

He is a killer.

It's a legend.

That alone was enough for Karl to believe that she was really Ophelia.

His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to jump out of his chest.

Carl had lost all interest in anything.

Whether it's revenge or an apology.

He didn't want to stay here any longer.

As a magic swordsman, his intuition told him that the knight in front of him was actually a humanoid beast.

That aura, that sense of oppression, was something he only felt when facing high-level magical beasts on the battlefield.

No, it's even more terrifying than that.

Because Warcraft only kills on instinct.

The person in front of him was rational, calm, and... scrutinizing him.

Karl took a step back.

"Then... I won't bother you any longer." His voice was low, trembling slightly. "It's getting late, and we still have patrol duties to perform."

He turned around, ready to leave.

"Your visit so late clearly isn't just to catch a glimpse of us, is it?"

Klein's voice sounded from behind.

Karl stopped in his tracks.

He turned his head, about to make a pretext.

"Deputy Battalion Commander of the Third Battalion, Patrol Division." Klein's voice was calm, but every word was like a nail, piercing Karl's heart. "Your soldiers are all waiting outside."

He paused, a smile curving his lips.

"Six at the back door, five under the windows, outside the hotel's main entrance... um, there should be seven more?"

Karl's pupils contracted slightly.

He stared at Klein, his fingers repeatedly rubbing the hilt of his sword.

"You…" His voice was low, trembling slightly with suppressed emotion. "How did you know?"

Klein did not answer. He simply stood there, looking calmly at Karl.

Then he raised his hand and pointed to his ear.

"I heard it," Klein said calmly. "The sound of horses' hooves, footsteps, and your breathing."

— Strictly speaking, it wasn't about hearing, but of course, if you consider the magic circle as an extension of Klein's senses, then it's the same thing.

But Klein didn't intend to tell Carl this.

Carl clenched his fists even tighter.

He stared at Klein, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.

"So what?" His voice was low, tinged with suppressed anger. "I'm the deputy battalion commander of the patrol division; I have the authority to be wary of anyone suspicious."

"Suspicious people?" A knowing glint flashed in Klein's eyes. "You mean us?"

He tilted his head, his smile deepening.

"...Do you think the person who killed the bandit leader is suspicious?"

Carl did not speak.

His breathing became rapid.

"Or perhaps..." Klein paused, his gaze shifting back and forth between Karl and Morris.

His voice was soft, but every word was like a heavy hammer blow to Karl's heart.

"You've come for revenge?"

"For your scumbag brother?"

The air in the corridor seemed to freeze.

Morris's face turned deathly pale.

Karl's fingers gripped the sword hilt tightly, his knuckles making a "crackling" sound.

He stared at Klein, his eyes filled with anger.