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

"Don't be so nervous," Klein said, trying to sound relaxed. "It's safe here."

Ophelia glanced at him, a hint of doubt flashing in her golden eyes.

"I wasn't nervous," she said calmly. "It's just a habit."

Klein opened his mouth, but in the end he just nodded.

Before long, two portions of grilled meat were served, along with bread. The meat was still steaming, with a glistening layer of fat condensed on its surface, and the aroma of spices mingled with the smoky fragrance of charcoal.

The waitress placed the plate on the table, glanced at Ophelia again, and then turned and left.

Ophelia looked at the knife and fork on the table and paused for a moment.

She raised her hand, her fingertips hovering above the hilt of the knife, then lowered it again, the movement very light, as if she were confirming something.

Klein had already picked up his knife and fork and started cutting the meat when she reached for her gauntlets.

The metal buckle made a soft clicking sound, click, click.

She removed the gauntlet from her right hand and placed it on the table, her movements slow and meticulous, as if disassembling some intricate device. Then she removed the one from her left hand, with the same slowness and care.

After the gauntlets were removed, her hands were revealed.

This was the second—perhaps the third—Klein examined those hands. The fingers were slender, with distinct knuckles. But there were thin calluses on the knuckles, as if they had been repeatedly rubbed by something. There were several shallow scars on the back of the hands, already healed, but their shapes were still discernible—some looked like they had been cut by a blade, and others looked like they had been stabbed by something sharp.

These don't look like a girl's hands.

Klein stared at the scars for a few seconds, then looked away.

Ophelia picked up the knife and fork.

The knife paused in her hand, her grip stiff, as if she wasn't used to this way of holding it. She adjusted the angle and then cut.

The angle was a bit off, and the fork wasn't steady enough; the meat slipped on the plate and almost fell out.

She stopped.

Klein, munching on his bread, glanced at her but said nothing. He knew it was best not to offer any advice at this moment; it would only embarrass her further.

Ophelia adjusted the angle and cut again.

This time the cut was steady; the blade followed the grain, and with one stroke, the meat was neatly separated. But the movements were still somewhat stiff, lacking the fluidity of everyday dining, as if performing some kind of training exercise—precise and efficient, but lacking the warmth of life.

She put the meat in her mouth and chewed it at a very even pace, each chew following the same rhythm.

Klein swallowed his bread and took a sip of water. "How does it taste?"

"Very good," Ophelia said.

"Really?" Klein cut another piece of meat. "I think it's a bit overcooked today, not as tender as the previous times."

Ophelia stopped, glanced at the meat on the plate, paused in her chewing, and then looked at Klein.

"I don't know much about these things," she said seriously, her golden eyes revealing no hint of a joke.

"Don't understand what?" Klein asked.

"The taste of the food," she said, her tone as calm as stating an objective fact. "As long as I can eat my fill, it doesn't matter to me whether it's tender or old."

Klein was taken aback.

He recalled what Ophelia had just said—in the army, sometimes you only eat one meal a day, sometimes you only eat two meals of hard bread every three days.

In that kind of environment, there probably wasn't much opportunity to be particular about the taste. Being able to eat your fill was already the best-case scenario.

"Now you can be more refined." Klein put down his knife and fork, looking at her. "You're no longer in the army, nor on the West Coast. You'll have plenty of time to savor it later."

Ophelia didn't answer, she just continued cutting the meat.

She became increasingly skilled with her knife and fork, though still a little clumsy, but she no longer let the meat slip out. Klein noticed that she adjusted the angle and force with each cut, as if she were figuring out the most efficient method—if the first cut was slightly off-center, the second cut would correct the angle; if the fork wasn't firmly in place, she would change its position next time.

This is probably the learning ability of a genius knight.

However, it seems she's not really used to these things.

Klein took a sip of wheat juice, looked at Ophelia across from him as she diligently cut meat, and suddenly felt a little amused, yet also a little sorry for her.

This knight, who can slay sirens on the west coast, is now wrestling with a piece of roasted meat. And judging from her serious expression, it's as if she's not facing a piece of meat, but a monster that needs to be precisely killed.

"What did you used to eat?" Klein asked, trying to sound natural.

Ophelia looked up: "Military rations."

"Is that all you have?"

"Yes." She nodded. "Sometimes it's dry bread, sometimes it's dried meat. When we were stationed on the sea cliffs, supplies were scarce, so we would eat things from the sea."

"Something from the sea?" Klein frowned. "A siren?"

"No," Ophelia shook her head. "It's seaweed and some shellfish. You can't eat siren meat; their blood is poisonous."

Klein clicked his tongue: "That's really terrible."

Ophelia shook her head, her expression remaining calm: "It's not bad, we can eat our fill. And those things are nutritious enough to maintain our strength."

Klein looked at her, wanting to say something, but in the end he just sighed: "You don't have to make do like that anymore."

Ophelia didn't say anything, and continued cutting the meat with her head down.

They ate their meal in silence. The noise in the tavern gradually grew louder; some people started playing drinking games, others discussed tomorrow's market, and the fire in the fireplace burned even brighter, the heat distorting the air.

Klein watched her focused expression, thought for a moment, then turned to the bar and called out, "Another ale, and... do you have any desserts here right now?"

The waitress, wiping glasses, looked up and said, "We have apple pie, freshly baked, and honey pudding."

"Then I'll have an apple pie," Klein said, looking at Ophelia. "Would you like to try it? I heard that the apple pie here is the owner's family recipe, and many people come specifically to eat it."

Ophelia looked up, a hint of confusion flashing in her golden eyes.

"No need," she said, her tone still calm. "I've had enough."

"Why?" Klein asked.

"I'm not used to it."

Klein's fork hovered in mid-air: "What are you not used to?"

"Those things." Ophelia put the last piece of meat into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then looked at Klein. "Ale, desserts, all that unnecessary stuff."

Klein paused, then put down his fork. "You've never had ale before?"

"I've had it," Ophelia said, "but I didn't like it. Alcohol impairs judgment, and a knight should always be alert. On the battlefield, even a second of hesitation can be fatal."

Klein opened his mouth as if to say, "We're not on the battlefield right now," but he swallowed the words back.

He looked at Ophelia, at her upright posture, at her hand resting near the hilt of her sword, and at her ever-vigilant eyes.

She may no longer be on the battlefield, but the battlefield remains in her heart.

"And what about dessert?" Klein asked, his tone becoming softer.

Ophelia remained silent for a few seconds.

Her gaze fell on the table, and her fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the table, an unconscious movement, as if she were recalling something.

"I haven't eaten it much," she said, her voice a little lower than before. "I ate it once when I was little, in the capital. It was after an award ceremony; someone gave me a box of pastries."

"Is it good?" Klein asked.

Ophelia looked up at him, a complex emotion flashing in her golden eyes.

"I don't remember," she said. "It's been too long. And..." she paused, "I don't like things that are too sweet, they're too cloying."

Klein looked at her and suddenly realized something.

This knight lady probably never had a real "rest." From the day she picked up a sword, her life consisted only of training, fighting, and missions. Things that ordinary people take for granted—good food, desserts, leisure time—were all "unnecessary" to her.

She trained herself to be a sword—sharp, efficient, and reliable—but in doing so, she lost many things.

Klein opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he just shook his head helplessly.

The waitress brought out the ale and apple pie and placed them on the table. The apple pie was still steaming, and the aroma of cinnamon mingled with the sweet scent of caramel, filling the entire table with a warm atmosphere. The pie was baked to a golden brown, with slightly curled edges, revealing the translucent apple filling inside, like amber.

Klein pushed the plate closer to Ophelia: "Try it, just one bite."

Ophelia looked at the pie but didn't touch it.

Her gaze lingered on the golden surface for a few seconds before shifting away.

Klein picked up his beer, took a sip, and put down the glass. "What's wrong? You really don't like sweet things?"

“No need,” Ophelia said, her tone still calm, but Klein detected something else in her voice—a kind of resistance, or rather, unease. “I’m already full.”

Klein looked at her.

The young lady knight ate much less than he had imagined. She only ate most of the roast meat, leaving the rest on her plate, and only a small piece of bread. Given her height and training intensity, this amount of food was probably not even enough to sustain her basic needs.

"You can eat some more if you're full," Klein said, a hint of helplessness in his voice. "Consider it... dessert. You haven't really had any before, so it won't hurt to try."

Ophelia tapped her fingers lightly on the table, click, click, as if she were thinking about something.

Then she reached for the fork.

The movements were slow and hesitant, as if they were doing something that required immense courage.

She cut off a tiny piece, a very small piece, about the size of a fingernail. The fork paused on the pie for a moment, then she put that tiny piece into her mouth.

The movements were slow and careful, as if they were tasting something that might be poisonous.

Klein looked at her, without urging her, but simply picked up his beer glass and pretended to drink it casually, while keeping a close eye on her expression out of the corner of his eye.

Ophelia chewed, her brow furrowing slightly.

Klein's heart tightened—could it be that he really doesn't like it?

But the next second, her brows relaxed.

A hint of surprise flashed in his golden eyes, as if he had encountered something unexpected.

She chewed slowly, each bite careful, as if confirming the flavor.

Then she swallowed it.

"How is it?" Klein put down his glass, trying to sound casual. "Is it too sweet?"

Ophelia stared at the remaining pie on the plate and remained silent for a few seconds.

"It's better than I expected," she said softly, as if talking to herself.

Klein breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "See? I told you this place makes good apple pie. They use local apples, and the sweet and sour flavors are just right, not too cloying."

Ophelia didn't say anything, but cut another small piece.

This time she cut the pieces a little larger, but she was still very careful. The fork was steady, without any trembling, but she still brought them to her mouth very slowly.

She ate with great focus, chewing each bite carefully, as if trying to remember the flavor.

Klein sipped his ale, watching Ophelia across from him slowly finish the pie.

She ate slowly, cutting each bite into small pieces, but she did finish the whole piece. Only some crumbs and a few drops of caramel sauce remained on the plate, gleaming amber in the light.

The plate was empty, and Ophelia put down her fork.

She lightly wiped her fingers on the table, as if wiping away some lingering sweetness, then looked at Klein.

"Thank you," she said.

Klein paused for a moment.

This was the first time Ophelia had said "thank you" to him.

It wasn't just polite formality; it was genuine gratitude. He could see it in her eyes—a gentle softness in those golden pupils, like water melting beneath the surface of ice.

"You're welcome." Klein scratched his head. "It's just a pie."

He stood up to pay the bill, took a few copper coins out of his pocket, and placed them on the bar.

The waitress took the money, counted it, and looked up at him: "Your wife... is quite special."

Klein paused for a moment, then nodded: "It is quite special."

"A veteran?" the waitress asked.

"Yes, I came back from the West Coast."

The waitress said "Oh," a hint of understanding flashing in her eyes, "No wonder." She handed Klein the change, "Then you'll have to take good care of her. People who come back from the battlefield are all a little different."

Klein took the copper coin and nodded.

He turned back to the table and saw Ophelia had already put on her gauntlets, picked up her sword, and stood up.

The buckle clicked into place. She flexed her fingers to make sure the gauntlet wasn't loose, then looked at Klein.

"You can go now," she said.

The fire in the fireplace was still burning, and the tavern gradually filled up, with people talking louder. Someone was singing, terribly off-key, but it was lively.

The two walked out of the tavern, and the night breeze carried the scent of grass and trees, as well as the fragrance of wheat fields in the distance.

The moon rose higher, and the shadows on the stone path grew shorter. The stars came out, twinkling one by one in the night sky.

Klein walked beside Ophelia, the night wind ruffling his clothes and carrying the scent of medicine.

They walked side by side, their footsteps particularly clear in the quiet night—the metallic clang of armor, the sound of boots on stone slabs, and the rustling of leaves in the night wind.

After walking for a while, Klein suddenly spoke up: "We can come more often in the future."

Ophelia looked ahead at the road and didn't stop walking.

The moonlight shone on her profile, outlining her features—a straight nose, tightly pursed lips, and eyes that always remained alert.

"Mmm," she said, her voice so soft it was almost carried away by the wind.

But Klein heard it.

He looked at the road ahead, a slight smile playing on his lips.

The moonlight shone on the stone path, casting long shadows of them, one tall and one short, walking side by side.

The call of an owl came from afar, long and clear.

It's late at night, but the road ahead is still long.