The afternoon inside Klaus's house was quiet.
He sat on a worn wooden couch in the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a cup of tea resting loosely in his hand. Sunlight slipped through the window, drawing thin lines across the floor and the low table in front of him.
Outside, Lily's laughter echoed faintly.
"Higher, Jelly! Higher!"
The small stone golem obeyed without question, lifting her just enough for her to reach a hanging fruit from a branch. The leaves rustled, and her cheerful voice followed.
Klaus didn't look.
But he listened.
At the corner of the room, Daisy stood still, hands folded in front of her apron, waiting—not nervously, but attentively. She had grown used to this rhythm. Silence meant thinking. Thinking meant not interrupting.
On the table, several sheets of paper were spread out—precise drawings, lines, measurements, annotations written in tight, controlled script.
A bullet shell blueprint.
Klaus's eyes moved slowly across it.
Every angle. Every chamber. Every detail accounted for.
He tapped the paper lightly with his finger, adjusting a number.
"…Too wide," he murmured.
He erased it and rewrote it.
The design came from memory, from a book long burned into his mind. But memory alone wasn't enough. One mistake—and the weapon would misfire.
Or worse.
He took a sip of tea.
Behind that calm routine, his days had been simple—resting, planning, teaching. Daisy and Lily had learned quickly. Druids, both of them, but different. Daisy was steady, controlled. Lily… unpredictable, but full of potential.
He had planned to take them into the wild.
Real training.
But the upcoming war had delayed everything.
Daisy once suggested joining the subjugators.
He refused. It was too risky, and worse, their name might be exposed. A name that everybody knew but never spoke.
The name of a traitor.
—
Klaus lifted his cup again—
Then stopped.
His eyes flickered.
A subtle shift.
Something in the air.
He tucked every paper at the table and put it in his side.
"…You can come out now," he said calmly. "No need to sneak around."
Daisy flinched.
Her eyes darted around the room.
"…Sir?"
Nothing.
For a second—
Then—
Shrrrk—
The air beside the front door split open.
A narrow rift formed, edges shimmering like broken glass.
From it, an old man stepped through, one hand resting on a cane as if he had merely walked in from outside.
It was Eason Leonhart.
"Quite a humble home you have," Eason said, his voice smooth, refined. "Klaus Shaw… or should I say, Klaus De Vedre."
Klaus didn't react much.
He only glanced at Daisy.
"Prepare tea for our guest."
Daisy nodded quickly and slipped into the kitchen.
Eason took a seat without asking, settling comfortably as if he owned the place. His eyes moved around the room, observing everything—the walls, the furniture, the small details others would ignore.
"You have fashioned quite a peaceful life," he said. "And… a rather charming household."
Klaus leaned back slightly.
"They're not my family."
Eason tilted his head.
"Slaves, then?"
"Employees," Klaus corrected. "They were free folks."
Eason nodded slowly.
"How reassuring," he said. "I was beginning to think a slave had developed a taste for irony."
Klaus's gaze sharpened just a little.
"I'm no longer a slave."
Eason smiled faintly.
"Ah," he said. "Not by brand, perhaps."
He tapped his cane lightly.
"But by promise? That is another matter entirely."
A pause.
"That old man of yours… Leopold. He must have asked for something in return. Revenge? Restoration of honor? Or perhaps both?"
Klaus's voice remained even.
"He asked nothing."
Eason stared at him.
"…How noble," he said. "Or how stupid."
Klaus didn't respond.
Eason studied him.
"You know very little about him," he continued. "Men like that are never simple."
"I know enough," Klaus said. "He's not a saint. But he saved me. That's enough."
A brief silence followed.
Then Eason leaned forward slightly.
"Tell me," he said, "how did it feel?"
Klaus didn't look up.
"Killing a man," Eason continued. "A Keeper, no less."
Klaus's gaze lowered to his cup.
"…Regret," he said.
A small pause.
"Regret that I didn't pull the trigger fast enough to save my father."
He set the cup down. Softly.
"…Funny, isn't it?" he added. "A level one slave killing a level two hundred something Keeper."
Eason's smile faded slightly.
"No," he said. "It is not funny."
A beat.
"It is… improbable."
His eyes sharpened.
"How did you kill Hevert?"
Klaus didn't answer.
Instead—
His hand moved.
A pistol formed instantly in his grip.
He raised it.
Aimed.
And—
BANG!
The shot echoed through the house.
Daisy rushed out from the kitchen, startled.
"Sir—?!"
"It's nothing," Klaus said calmly. "Bring the tea."
She hesitated—
Then nodded and stepped back.
Eason sat unmoving.
His cane was raised slightly.
A faint trail of smoke curled from its tip.
The wall behind him bore the mark of the bullet.
He lowered the cane slowly.
"…Impressive," he said. "No mana surge. No warning."
A faint smile returned.
"No wonder Hevert was caught off guard."
Klaus lowered the pistol. It vanished as if it had never existed.
Silence lingered for a second.
Then Eason leaned back.
"Now," he said, "regarding your request."
His tone shifted—lighter, but sharper underneath.
"Before Samantha revealed your identity, I had every intention of declining."
He paused.
"But now… knowing you are the last of the De Vedre line…"
A small smile.
"I can offer you something far more… appealing."
Klaus frowned slightly.
"What?"
Eason's eyes gleamed.
"How would you feel about joining the Keepers?"
A pause.
"With such a position, no one would dare touch you."
Klaus shook his head.
"Keepers can't protect me," he said. "Gold can."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And I don't like being tied to politics and hidden interests."
Eason chuckled.
"As expected."
He tapped his cane once.
"Then perhaps something more… tangible."
A pause.
"What about a dukedom?"
Klaus blinked once.
"…What?"
Eason smiled.
"I offer you my granddaughter, Lillas… and with her, the title of Duke of Brakensow."
Daisy, who had just returned with the tea, froze mid-step.
"…Duke?"
Klaus didn't even look at her.
"You can go," he said. "Check on Lily."
Daisy nodded. She put the teacup on the table quickly and left.
Eason watched her go.
"I must admit," he said, "your choice of staff is… unconventional. Perhaps, need more training."
He turned back.
"Still, with such a title, such resources…you could rival Sebas Warhog himself."
Klaus went quiet.
For a moment, he considered it.
Power. Resources. And influence.
Everything he needed.
Everything—
Except freedom.
He exhaled.
"I decline."
Eason raised a brow.
"I only need gold," Klaus continued. "And… I don't understand women well."
A faint pause.
"They're troublesome."
Eason sipped a tea and chuckled.
"A simple solution," he said. "Apologize, even when you do not know your fault."
Klaus shook his head.
"Not interested in marriage, yet. Maybe next time."
Eason smiled.
"So there is still room for negotiation."
Then he placed the teacup on the table, his expression turned serious again.
"I can offer you a quarter of the loot," he said. "Excluding rare and mythical artifacts."
Klaus nodded.
"That's fine."
Eason blinked, "…That was rather easy."
"I need gold," Klaus said. "Not artifacts."
Eason leaned back.
"You are… quite peculiar."
"Maybe."
A brief silence followed.
Then Eason stood.
"Well then," he said. "Our business is concluded."
Klaus spoke before he could leave.
"No one should know I'm involved."
Eason paused.
"…Why?"
Klaus smirked faintly.
"I just want to fool someone."
Eason laughed—genuinely this time.
"…How amusing."
He tapped his cane.
"I quite like that."
The rift opened again.
"And I shall play along."
He stepped through—
And vanished.
—
The room fell silent.
As if nothing had happened.
Outside—
Lily laughed again.
Klaus picked up his tea and drank peacefully.