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

Carl made his move.

In his view, now that the pretense had been torn off, the undisguised coldness in Klein's eyes was a signal to start a war.

Therefore, the one who strikes first gains the upper hand, while the one who strikes last suffers the consequences.

Even if he was no match for that woman, as long as he could grab this seemingly harmless alchemist as a hostage for even a moment, he would have a chance to turn the tables!

Magic, like boiling magma, flowed down his arm and into the longsword, causing ominous dark red patterns to appear on its blade.

The air was torn apart, emitting a sharp whistling sound like the wailing of ghosts.

He drew his sword and stabbed the man in the throat.

Karl swore that this was the fastest, most ruthless, and most desperate sword strike of his life.

His sword tip was aimed directly at Klein's throat, so fast that even the trajectory of the flowing magic turned into a bloody afterimage.

However, just when he thought he was about to succeed, Klein's eyes remained calm, and even the corners of his mouth curled up in a barely perceptible smile.

A barrier, as thin as a cicada's wing and composed entirely of pure light elements, materialized out of thin air in front of Klein.

"Ding!"

A crisp sound, faint as ice shattering.

Karl's sword tip was still half a foot away from the light barrier, but it could not go any further.

The next instant, he felt a chill on his right shoulder, and then he saw a scene he would never forget—his arm, which was tightly gripping the longsword, was severed cleanly at the shoulder, gushing blood in a desperate arc through the air, before finally falling to the ground with a "thud".

Even now, the excruciating pain hasn't even had time to travel through the nerves to the brain.

His mind was still stuck on the moment he swung the sword with all his might, but his body had already betrayed him.

Warm, viscous liquid splattered out, creating a striking and flamboyant red graffiti on the mottled walls of the corridor.

He then noticed that Ophelia was already standing in front of him, as if she had always been there.

It was she who drew her sword—he couldn't even catch the movement of her drawing it, he only saw her right hand holding the knight's longsword, a drop of blood slowly sliding down the sharp blade, finally dripping onto the cold stone slab, spreading into a small blood flower.

Her expression remained unchanged; her bright, golden eyes calmly gazed at Karl, as if watching a wild beast that had fallen into a trap, struggling unaware of its predicament.

"You..." Karl's voice was filled with pain and disbelief.

He stiffly lowered his head, looking at the severed arm on the ground, then suddenly looked at Ophelia.

"How... is this possible..."

He couldn't finish his sentence because the belated, soul-tearing pain finally swept over his brain like a tidal wave.

"Aaaaaahh ...

A piercing scream echoed throughout the corridor. Karl could no longer hold on and collapsed to his knees, his left hand pressing hard against the severed wound on his right shoulder.

Morris was terrified and scrambled back several steps, his back pressed tightly against the cold wall. His face was ashen, and his legs trembled violently, almost collapsing.

Klein sighed helplessly, but his heart was not so clear.

The light barrier he had just prepared was not a simple defensive spell; if Karl were to be hit, he would be the one to suffer.

Ophelia's reaction speed far exceeded his expectations.

However… Klein’s smile deepened.

Although he was perfectly capable of handling the situation, who would dislike a wife who was so domineering and so determined to protect him?

He looked at Ophelia, his eyes full of admiration and a smile.

Ophelia happened to turn her head and meet Klein's gaze.

A gentle, rippling light spread across the depths of her golden eyes.

She even blinked very quickly, as if to make sure he was alright.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice as steady as ever, but carrying a concern that only Klein could understand.

"It's nothing." Klein smiled and shook his head, his voice warm. "With you here, how could anything happen to me? Thank you, Miss Knight."

Ophelia's ears seemed to blush slightly, but she simply nodded, sheathed her longsword, and returned to Klein's side, assuming the most standard defensive stance.

Karl knelt on the ground, blood gushing from between his fingers, staining his expensive military uniform even darker.

He looked up, his eyes filled with fear and despair that were almost overflowing.

"You...you really are Ophelia..." His voice trembled from blood loss and excruciating pain.

Ophelia did not answer.

Klein walked up to Karl, slowly squatted down, and lowered himself to Karl's eye level.

"Alright, I think we can have a proper talk now."

Carl looked up, but the pain on his face was being replaced by a kind of desperate, reckless madness.

He was like a prisoner who knew he was going to die, yet he broke free from the shackles of survival.

He grinned, revealing a twisted smile mixed with blood and saliva.

"Talk?" His voice was hoarse, like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. "What's there to talk about with the two of you who killed my brother?"

Klein shook his head, a hint of pity in his eyes.

"Your brother was a robber, and he died because of his own choice; he deserved it."

"He deserved it?" Karl's voice suddenly rose, like a mad tiger. "He just wanted to let our Vincent family live a good life again! He only robbed those money-grubbing caravans; no one was killed. He didn't deserve to die. Why should he pay with his life!"

Klein was amused by this robber's logic.

"Just robbing caravans?" He slowly stood up, looking down at Karl with a sharp, piercing gaze. "Karl Vincent... is that so? Then let me ask you, your brother has been a bandit for so many years, has he really... never killed a single person?"

Carl was taken aback by the question.

Klein turned his head and his gaze fell on Maurice in the corner.

Morris shuddered. He glanced at Karl, who was kneeling on the ground, barely breathing, and then at Klein, whose eyes were calm yet exuded an undeniable power. It was as if he was infused with a force by that gaze.

He took a deep breath and clenched his fist.

"Tell me, you didn't come here just to watch the show, did you?" Klein's voice was calm, yet it carried a calming quality.

Morris swallowed hard and finally spoke. His voice trembled slightly at first, but quickly became clear and firm.

"Three years ago, just after the autumn harvest festival, Vincent's gang of robbers robbed a silk caravan from the south. The caravan's twelve guards, all retired veterans, were all killed. The caravan's owner was a middle-aged man named Andrew. He knelt down and handed over all his possessions, begging to live, but he was still chopped off on the spot and left by the roadside to wail for a day and a night before finally dying."

Karl's face paled slightly.

"Two years ago, in the dead of winter, Vincent's bandit gang robbed a caravan transporting relief grain. All seven guards were killed. The caravan owner, Tom, a kind old man, resisted because he refused to hand over the grain to the starving people and was hacked to death on the spot. His wife and daughter, who had just turned fifteen..." Maurice's voice paused, a trace of pity and immense pain flashing in his eyes, "The next day, their bodies were found in the woods."

Karl's face paled even more, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably.

"A year ago, in early spring, Vincent's gang of robbers robbed a caravan transporting cloth. All five guards were killed. The caravan owner, Peter, was an honest and upright businessman who went bankrupt because of the robbery and was burdened with huge debts. Half a month later, he hanged himself in his shop. His wife and children were sold by creditors and their whereabouts remain unknown."

Morris's voice grew lower and lower, but every word was like a heavy hammer, striking the hearts of everyone in the corridor.

"Six months ago, in the height of summer. Vicente's gang of bandits robbed a caravan transporting emergency medical supplies. All eight guards were killed. The caravan's owner..."

"Enough!" Karl roared like a wild beast, interrupting Morris.

He knelt on the ground, the excruciating pain from his severed arm intertwined with the turmoil surging in his heart, almost causing him to faint.

His face was as pale as a dead man's, and his forehead was covered in large beads of cold sweat.

"That's enough..." His voice was barely audible. "I understand..."

Klein crouched down again, his eyes as calm as a bottomless, icy pool, reflecting Karl's disheveled face.

"You know?" His voice was soft, yet chillingly cold. "You know what?"

Carl didn't speak; he just kept his head down, breathing rapidly like a dying beast.

"Do you know your brother is a serial killer with innocent blood on his hands?" Klein's voice was calm and measured. "Or do you know that you've been using your military uniform to protect a murderer who slaughters civilians?"

Karl's body began to tremble violently.

"Or rather..." Klein paused, then uttered the cruelest guess, "You actually... already knew, didn't you?"

"You're going to die... Vicente."

The corridor was eerily quiet, save for Karl's heavy, disordered breathing.

Blood was still seeping from the severed arm, dripping, dripping, like a death knell tolling for the departed souls.

"No……"

Karl's voice was hoarse, filled with suppressed madness.

"You have no right to do this."

He suddenly raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, filled with resentment and bitterness.

"Killing my brother or trying me is against the laws of the Empire!" His voice grew louder, as if to embolden himself. "I am the deputy battalion commander of the Third Battalion of the Imperial Patrol Division! I am a soldier of the Empire! By what right do you judge me? By what right do you kill my brother? This is vigilante justice!"

Klein stood still, without saying a word.

He simply watched Karl's final performance in silence, his eyes eerily calm.

"The laws of the Empire?" A hoarse, mocking voice came from the side.

It's Maurice.

Carl turned his head and stared intently at the sheriff he had never taken seriously.

"Shut up! You coward!"

"Shut up?" Morris's voice wasn't loud, but it was like a red-hot steel needle, piercing through the last line of defense that Karl had frantically woven.

Instead of shutting up, he straightened his long-hunched back and walked steadily toward Karl, step by step.

Those eyes, which were usually evasive and uneasy, now burned with fierce fire, locking onto the kneeling deputy battalion commander of the patrol division.

Morris stopped two steps in front of Carl, looking at him with an unprecedented, condescending, scrutinizing gaze.

That was the gaze of a true law enforcer scrutinizing a criminal.

"Carl Vincent, now that things have come to this, you actually have the nerve to... talk to me about the law?" Maurice's voice was calm, a calmness tinged with intense self-mockery and sorrow.

"Deputy Battalion Commander of the Third Battalion of the Imperial Patrol Division, what an imposing air of authority." He shook his head, pointing with a trembling hand to Karl's uniform, which was soaked in blood at one corner. "You put on this uniform to catch robbers and protect the citizens of the Empire, not to be your scumbag brother's protector and clean up his messes!"

Carl looked up abruptly, his bloodshot eyes filled with astonishment and absurdity. He had never imagined that this sheriff, who had always been so obsequious and subservient to him, would dare to speak to him in such a tone.

"you……"

"What?!" Maurice interrupted him, his voice suddenly rising like a long-suppressed volcano erupting. "Article 71 of Volume 3 of the Imperial Code clearly states it! Harboring a relative who has committed a serious crime, or failing to report it, is considered an accomplice, and the crime is doubled! Your brother killed so many people, destroyed so many innocent families, and you are an accomplice! You are the executioner standing behind him, handing him the butcher's knife!"

Every word he uttered seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth, filled with blood and tears.

"What right do you have, what qualifications do you have, to stand here and talk to me about the fucking law?!"

Morris's chest heaved violently; the pent-up frustration, fear, and shame he had endured for years, suppressed by Carl and tormented by his conscience, erupted in a torrent of fury. He pressed closer, his spittle almost landing on Carl's face.

Carl was completely stunned. His mouth was open, and he could only gasp for breath, unable to utter a single word in rebuttal. He knew those laws and those charges better than anyone else.

"You have tarnished this uniform!" Maurice pointed at his nose, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You, and your murderous brother, you are both maggots of the Empire! A disgrace to the Vicente family! Scum of humanity!"

Towards the end, Maurice's expression became incredibly pained; he pointed at himself, as if judging himself:

"I'm guilty too! I'm also an accomplice who covered up the crime! Because of your power, I could only watch helplessly as evil occurred, unable to resist, and ultimately became the kind of person I despised and looked down upon the most when I was young!"

"We all deserve to die!"

"puff--"

This hurtful remark became the final straw that broke the camel's back.

Karl could hold on no longer. Instead of a mouthful of blood, a gush of gas mixed with stomach acid and despair suddenly erupted from his throat.

His gaze instantly became unfocused, and the madness, resentment, and unwillingness in his eyes... all the emotions receded like the tide, leaving only endless emptiness and deathly silence.

He collapsed to the ground like a lump of mud, all his former arrogance gone, leaving only the blood still flowing from his severed arm, silently telling the story of his and his brother's sinful lives.