Lucas stood frozen.

The figure held a bow, lifting it once more.

He drew the bowstring— empty.

But as he pulled—

crimson light began to gather in the air.

Red particles shimmered, spiraled, then formed into a complete arrow— solid, pulsing, as if alive.

Lucas could only stare.

TWANG—!!

The arrow shot forward, heading straight toward Lucas— then streaked past his face, missing him by a hair's breadth.

The sharp wind from its passage stung his cheek.

"What—!?"

Lucas reflexively looked back.

His eyes widened.

The crimson arrow slammed into Kuyiras's shoulder— right as the bandit was about to attack Lucas again.

BRAAAAGH—!!

Kuyiras's massive body was blasted away, then he barely managed to regain his balance, his face twisted in irritation.

Lucas swallowed.

He quickly turned his gaze back toward the figure.

But—

the figure was no longer there.

"Huh?"

A touch landed on his shoulder.

Light.

Calm.

Lucas tensed.

The figure was already standing right beside his left.

"You can rest, my son."

He patted Lucas on the shoulder.

Lucas froze.

"Leave the rest to me."

Lucas glanced at the figure.

"What the…?"

---

Mae grimaced, clutching her abdomen, then forced herself upright.

The moment her eyes landed on the figure, her expression changed instantly.

She bowed deeply.

"My Lordship."

The figure did not linger his gaze on her.

"Lady Healer," he said calmly.

"Go. Help the wounded."

Mae nodded without hesitation.

"Understood, my Lordship."

She turned at once, running back into the heart of the chaos to tend to the injured.

The figure raised his bow again.

Crimson light erupted in the air once more.

As the bowstring was drawn, the reddish aura gathered again— condensing, pulsing— then formed into a complete crimson arrow. Lucas could see it clearly this time.

He released the shot.

A bandit who was mid-run was pierced and sent flying like a broken doll.

Lucas was still staring.

Again.

And again.

Every time the bowstring was drawn, red light appeared.

Every time, a new arrow was born from nothing.

Kuyiras could barely move— every time he tried to take a step, the bow sent a crimson arrow straight to block his path.

Lucas's gaze locked onto the figure.

The Baron.

His father— whom Lucas had always seen as a weak noble, someone who spent his days sitting on cushioned chairs.

"This motherfucker…" Lucas muttered under his breath.

Now that figure stood amid flames and screams, calmly shooting down enemies one by one.

Lucas swallowed.

He stared at the Baron without blinking.

"That was a goddamn main character aura."

His mind still struggled to process it.

----

Kuyiras clicked his tongue sharply, veins standing out along his neck.

"Tch… damn it. That arrow!?"

He reached into his belt and pulled out a strange whistle— made from a spiral seashell, its surface covered in crude, unnatural carvings.

Kuyiras raised the whistle to his lips.

FWEEEE—!!

The sound that came out was low and discordant, like something being scraped against bone.

The reaction was immediate.

The bandits still fighting broke off their attacks at once.

They retreated— fast and disciplined— then closed in around Kuyiras's position.

Someone shouted from within the ranks.

"Boss—! Are we really going to use it?!"

Kuyiras bared his teeth in a grin.

"Of course."

He lifted his sword, the tip of the blade pointing straight at the Baron.

"That man," Kuyiras growled, his voice thick with hatred,

"is the one who slaughtered our leader back then."

Uneasy murmurs spread through the bandits.

"…Are you sure?" one of his men asked, tension clear in his voice.

Kuyiras's eyes burned.

"I will never forget it," he hissed.

"That crimson arrow."

His grip tightened around the sword hilt.

"Never."

The battlefield did not pause—it shifted.

The screams thinned, replaced by a suffocating stillness as both sides hesitated, instinctively recalculating.

Something had entered the field that no one had planned for, and every movement that followed carried the weight of irreversible consequence.

Meanwhile, Silvara— who had been focused on fighting off the bandit mob— furrowed her brow.

"…They're retreating?"

The bandits' withdrawal felt unnatural.

She quickly scanned her surroundings—then her gaze stopped on Lucas.

And froze.

Someone was standing there.

Silvara's breath caught.

"…Baron?"

For a moment, her mind went blank.

That presence—

that bow—

the pressure weighing down the battlefield—

Silvara's grip on her claymore tightened.

Wait… don't tell me…

Her eyes swept over the fallen bandits.

The precise shots.

The faint traces of red light still lingering in the air.

What…?

That crimson arrow… was it fired by the Baron?

Silvara's eyes widened slightly.

She stepped closer to Lucas, her claymore still held firmly in her hand.

"Luc—… Young Master," she said when she reached his side.

"Are you all right?"

Lucas nodded.

---

The Baron sensed the shift in the bandits' behavior.

Their movements—

too uniform.

Too controlled.

He stopped firing.

His eyes swept across their ranks.

Clothing.

Equipment.

Formation.

Their appearance… it's familiar.

The Baron's eyes widened slightly.

He stepped closer to Silvara and Lucas.

"Be careful," he said in a low voice.

"They may become… a bit more rough."

The Baron raised his bow once more.

But this time—

it wasn't crimson light that appeared.

A silvery glow gathered in the air— cold and silent, shimmering like moon dew.

The Baron drew the bowstring.

TWANG—!!

The silver arrow was released—

shooting into the sky.

It exploded like fireworks high above.

For a brief moment, there was silence.

Now—

every bandit had drawn out strange wooden stakes.

The wood was blackened, as if charred,

with pulsing violet light throbbing around them.

Then— moments later— the thunder of hooves echoed, loud and fast.

Closer.

Clearer.

From behind the flames and billowing smoke—

the Baroness rode hard toward them.

She yanked the reins sharply, then leapt down.

Her eyes immediately found Lucas.

Her expression changed.

"My son… why are you here?"

Lucas didn't get the chance to answer.

The Baron stepped forward.

"That's enough," he said calmly.

"Our child has grown."

He then turned his gaze back to the battlefield.

"We should focus on them."

The Baron raised his hand, pointing toward the bandits.

The Baroness followed the direction of the Baron's gesture.

Her eyes swept over the bandit horde.

And froze.

One by one—

the bandits drove the black wooden stakes into their own chests.

CRRK—!!

Wood pierced flesh.

Blood sprayed.

Yet there were no screams.

No cries.

Only heavy breathing—

and the pulsing violet light growing stronger, spreading from the wounds.

The air changed instantly.

Thick.

Oppressive.

Silvara swallowed hard and stepped half a pace forward.

"My Lady…" she called.

The Baroness did not look away from the horrifying sight.

"Just protect my son," she said firmly.

She slowly drew her sword.

"Leave this to my husband and me."

---

The Baroness mounted her horse in a single smooth motion.

She glanced briefly at Lucas.

"Be safe, my son."

Her horse stepped forward, passing Lucas.

The wind from its movement brushed across his face—

and at the same time—

"Lance," the Baroness called softly.

The air trembled.

A lance appeared in her left hand, and from its shaft, silvery light flowed into the Baroness's body, transforming into light armor.

A second stream of light followed— this time crawling up toward her head.

The silvery glow solidified into a battle helm, engraved with wings on each side.

Lucas saw it clearly.

"…huh—"

His body wavered, then he dropped to a seated position.

Silvara moved quickly, catching him before his head hit the ground.

"Easy," she said shortly.

He grew even more confused.

He knew—Silvara had once told him that the Baroness had nearly become a Crownblade.

And yet—

what he had just witnessed still felt… unreal.

Until now, in his eyes—

the Baroness had only ever been a gentle mother.

Calm.

Warm.

Not someone who summoned weapons.

Not someone who stepped onto a battlefield.

Lucas swallowed.

His gaze followed the Baroness's back as she rode farther away.

They…

Lucas grew increasingly confused, questioning the reality of what was truly happening within the Voss family.

The Baron— calm, fully capable of fighting.

The Baroness— powerful…

He shook his head.

"What the fuck is wrong with this family?"

----

The wooden stakes already embedded in the bandits' chests began to pulse harder.

Then—

their bodies swelled.

Muscles bulged unnaturally, tearing clothing apart. Their skin darkened, turning dull like charcoal, violet veins glowing beneath the surface of their flesh.

Their breathing grew heavy.

Broken.

No longer human.

The ground trembled with every step they took.

The Baron was ready.

He drew his bow once more, his body calm, his stance steady— as if the battlefield were the place he belonged most.

On the other side—

the Baroness pulled hard on her horse's reins.

"HYA—!"

The horse reared, its front legs lifting high before slamming back down.

The Baron glanced her way and shouted loudly.

"My dear—! Do not kill more than sixty!"

Behind her battle helm, the Baroness gave a faint smile.

"Understood, my love."

And the next moment—

they moved.

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