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

Unlike Ophelia, Klein quickly fell asleep after the lights in the alchemy room were turned off in the first half of the night.

The notebook was still open on the table, the ink bottle cap hadn't been tightened, and the quill pen leaned against the pen holder. It contained today's alchemy experiment data, the last line of which was somewhat illegible, as if the writer had fallen asleep halfway through writing it.

But in the latter half of the night, something invaded his dreams.

seawater.

A large amount of seawater.

It surged in from all directions, without sound or warning, and simply engulfed him. Klein tried to struggle, but found that he didn't need to breathe in his dream. However, the movement still caused seawater to rush into his mouth.

The water tasted salty, bitterly salty, as if all the salt from the ocean had been concentrated on the tip of his tongue. There was also a strange fishy smell, which reminded him of the siren samples brought from the West Coast on the lab table—those remains soaked in formaldehyde, emitting the same nauseating odor.

He sank into the water, his body becoming increasingly uncontrollable. His hands and feet felt as if bound by invisible ropes, and each struggle only resulted in futile stirring of the surrounding water.

The surrounding seawater changed from deep blue to dark green, and then to pitch black.

The deeper he sank, the colder the water became. The icy touch seeped into his bones, and Klein could even feel his fingers stiffening. The sensation in his fingertips was gradually disappearing, as if they were frozen.

Then, he heard singing.

It's both far away and very close.

It seemed to come from the depths of the ocean, yet it also sounded right beside my ear. The melody was irregular, the pitch fluctuating wildly, but it inexplicably drew me closer. There was a certain allure in the voice, as if it were calling out to something, or perhaps lamenting something.

Klein's mind flashed through several obscure words—mermaids, sirens, or other creatures in ancient legends that used songs to bewitch sailors.

The singing was so complex, it was beyond the capabilities of human vocal cords. It was as if countless voices were layered together, each singing a different melody, yet strangely harmonious. There were female voices, male voices, and voices whose genders were indistinguishable; they intertwined to form a chord that transcended human comprehension.

He turned around, trying to find the source of the sound.

There was nothing in the seawater.

There were no fish, no light, no shadows of any living creature. Only boundless darkness and a song whose source could never be found.

Klein's gaze pierced the darkness, reaching deeper into the void.

There was nothing there.

But the singing was coming from there. And it was getting clearer and clearer, as if something was approaching.

Klein tried to look away, but found he couldn't.

His body drifted uncontrollably in that direction, as if drawn by some invisible force. The force was gentle yet irresistible, like a mother's hand gently pushing his back.

The distance is getting closer and closer.

The singing suddenly stopped.

The entire ocean fell into a deathly silence. Even the sound of the flowing water disappeared, leaving only the pounding of Klein's own heartbeat in his chest.

Then, he saw a pair of eyes.

Huge, golden eyes.

Their eyes are exactly the same as Ophelia's.

Those eyes floated in the deep sea, faceless, bodyless, only the eyes themselves. The pupils were vertical, like some kind of reptile, yet possessing a human-like quality. They stared at Klein, unblinking, as if scrutinizing, or perhaps waiting.

Klein wanted to escape, but his body wouldn't move.

Those eyes began to draw closer.

Getting closer.

Until it occupied his entire field of vision.

……

Klein suddenly opened his eyes.

My heart was pounding in my chest, as if it would burst out of my ribs. Cold sweat soaked through my pajamas, the fabric clinging to my skin, causing a sticky, uncomfortable feeling.

The wood grain on the ceiling was clearly visible. It was already bright outside; morning light streamed through the gaps in the curtains, casting long, thin bands of light on the floor. Dust particles floated and swirled slowly within these bands of light.

He lay motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds.

My breathing hadn't calmed down yet, and my chest was heaving violently.

Klein raised his hand and pressed his temple. He could feel the veins throbbing in his fingertips, rhythmically synchronized with his heartbeat.

It was just a dream.

He told himself that.

But those golden eyes remained imprinted on his retina, lingering there. Every time he closed his eyes, those eyes would appear, staring at him as if trying to see through his very soul.

Klein woke up much earlier than usual.

The salty taste of the seawater still lingered in his mouth; the dream was like a thin mist, impossible to dispel completely. He could feel the bitterness at the back of his tongue, and the stinging sensation deep in his throat as if he had been choked by seawater—it was clearly just a dream, yet it felt terrifyingly real.

Klein rolled over, staring at the light streaming through the curtains for a while, but ultimately gave up on trying to sleep. The eerie song was still echoing in his mind, making it impossible for him to fall asleep. Those melodies seemed etched into his brain, impossible to shake off.

Klein got up, dressed, and tidied himself in front of the mirror. The person in the mirror looked pale, with faint dark circles under his eyes. He frowned and splashed cold water on his face. The icy water made him feel a little more awake, but the unreal feeling still lingered.

He stopped in front of Ophelia's door.

He raised his hand and tapped twice.

no respond.

A few more seconds passed, but it remained silent.

Klein turned and walked toward the stairs.

She's probably practicing her sword in the courtyard again; that knight's dedication to training is almost obsessive. From yesterday until now, aside from eating and sleeping, she's spent almost all her time practicing her sword. Klein admires that focus, but he's also puzzled—what kind of experience could make someone so thirsty for power?

The wooden stairs creaked slightly underfoot.

He walked through the foyer and pushed open the door leading to the courtyard.

Morning light had fully flooded the courtyard, and dew still clung to the blades of grass. The air was filled with the fresh scent of grass and trees, somewhat similar to the aromatherapy from the room the previous night. Klein took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air, trying to completely dispel the salty, fishy smell of the sea from his dream.

Ophelia stood beside the clothesline.

She was wearing her black and white maid outfit, the hem of which swayed gently in the morning breeze. She held a washed undershirt in her hand, draping it over a line. The fabric was still damp, water droplets dripping from the edges onto the grass at her feet, shimmering in the morning light.

Klein stood at the doorway, looking at the scene, and was momentarily dazed.

His golden hair, dry and flowing over his shoulders, shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Overlapping with the golden eyes from his dream, it created an inexplicable sense of unease. It was a strange feeling, as if the boundary between dream and reality had blurred.

Her movements were practiced, as if she had done this many times before—smoothing out the clothes, straightening the wrinkles, and then securing them to the rope with clothespins. Every movement was fluid, without any unnecessary pauses.

The sleeves of her maid outfit tightened at her wrists, revealing a section of her arm. Her skin was very fair, but some small scars were visible, marks left by years of training. Some scars had faded to almost nothing, while others were still quite new, tinged with a faint pink in the sunlight.

Ophelia turned around to get the next item of clothing from the basket.

She saw Klein standing in the doorway.

The two stared at each other for two seconds.

Klein instinctively wanted to avoid those golden eyes, but felt it would be too impolite to do so. Those eyes shone exceptionally bright in the morning light, so much like the eyes in his dream, that they made his heart beat faster.

"Good morning," Klein said, his voice calmer than expected.

Ophelia nodded. "Good morning." She paused, her golden eyes lingering on his face for a moment. "You don't look well."

"I didn't sleep well," Klein replied briefly. He didn't want to explain the dream in detail, especially the fact that she had the exact same eyes in it.

"Nightmare?"

"...I guess so." Klein hesitated for a moment.

Ophelia didn't ask any further questions. She bent down and took another undergarment from the basket, then turned back to continue hanging it out to dry. But Klein noticed that her movements were a little stiffer than before.

Klein stepped into the courtyard and stopped by the clothesline. The dew on the grass dampened his shoes, bringing a coolness that cleared his mind. The icy touch traveled up from the soles of his feet, dispelling the lingering dreamlike sensation.

"You don't need to do those things," he said.

Ophelia did not stop what she was doing.

"...I'm used to it. I can handle these things myself," she said calmly.

Klein stood still and did not go forward to help.

Washed clothes are still personal belongings, no matter what, and he knew he should keep his distance in this situation. Moreover, Ophelia's tone carried an undeniable insistence, making him feel that intervening rashly would only make her uncomfortable.

He simply watched as Ophelia hung the remaining items from the basket one by one onto the clothesline.

The morning light shone on the fabric, and the white undergarments swayed gently in the breeze. Water droplets gathered at the edges of the fabric before falling onto the grass with a soft thud. The sounds were faint, but exceptionally clear in the quiet morning.

Klein's gaze inadvertently fell on one of the items.

It was a long strip of cloth that looked like some kind of medical bandage.

The fabric had been washed and was still damp, with water droplets dripping down its edges. The bandage looked soft but had a certain elasticity, unlike ordinary bandages.

Ophelia laid it flat and draped it on the line, doing the same thing she had done with other clothes before. Her expression was natural, without any discomfort or embarrassment.

Klein stared at the strip of cloth for two seconds.

Several thoughts flashed through my mind.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his tone filled with concern.

Ophelia stopped what she was doing and turned to look at him.

Her golden eyes were filled with confusion, as if she didn't understand what he was saying at all. She followed Klein's gaze to the strip of cloth, then looked back at him, her eyes even more puzzled.

Klein and she stared at each other for a moment.

The other person's expression was so genuine, without a trace of pretense or embarrassment. That confusion was real, not feigned.

Then he suddenly realized something.

The temperature on my face rose instantly.

"...It's nothing." Klein coughed lightly, shifting his gaze to the hedge on the other side of the courtyard. "I mean...if you're really injured, you can tell me. There are medical supplies on the estate."

He forced himself to add a sentence, trying to make the topic less awkward.

His ears felt hot. He could feel the heat spreading from his neck all the way to his ears, as if they were being roasted by fire.

Ophelia looked at him for two seconds, and seemed to understand something.

"I'm not hurt," she said calmly, then turned and continued with her work.

She neither explained the purpose of the cloth strip nor showed any discomfort. Her movements remained fluid, as if the conversation had never happened.

Klein, on the other hand, stood there, feeling like an idiot.

He cleared his throat, deciding to change the subject. "Does aromatherapy work?"

"It helped," Ophelia replied. "I slept well last night." She paused, "I haven't slept this soundly in a long time."

"That's good." Klein breathed a sigh of relief. "If you run out, just let me know. I can make some more."

"Thanks."

A brief silence fell between the two.

The only sounds were the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze and the dripping of water droplets. And the clear, melodious chirping of birds drifted from afar.

Ophelia finished all that and stood up straight.

Klein then realized that his previous judgment of her height was somewhat inaccurate.

Martha was already considered tall among the maids, but if she stood next to Ophelia, Klein estimated that the knight lady was still half a head taller.

Klein's gaze unconsciously moved down from her shoulders and then settled on the black and white maid outfit.

The skirt hemline fell just to mid-calf, a bit shorter than when Martha wore it. Her exposed calves had smooth lines, showing the muscle definition from years of training, yet still appeared slender.

The cuffs are gathered at the wrists, but the fabric is noticeably stretched, causing the sleeves to ride up when the arms move. The seams at the cuffs are also taut, as if they might burst at any moment.

The waistline is also not quite right; the belt is tied a little higher than normal to barely fit. This makes the proportions of the whole outfit look a bit strange, but I can't quite put my finger on what's wrong.

Klein suddenly felt a little relieved that the maid outfit still retained that old-fashioned, loose cut—a style passed down from his mother when she was young, untouched by the messy trends that followed.

Although it didn't fit Ophelia perfectly, at least it didn't look strange.

Or rather, it's not too surprising.

Ophelia bent down to take the empty basket, her skirt swaying behind her.

Klein looked away and gazed at the hedge on the other side of the courtyard.

His ears were still a little hot. He could feel that the heat hadn't completely subsided, as if something was burning under his skin.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

A morning breeze carries the fresh scent of grass and trees.

The sunlight is getting brighter.

A new day begins.