The Baroness mounted her horse.

Her movements were calm and precise. As if her armor, the saddle, and her body were a single unified whole. The moment she sat upright, a cold, heavy aura pressed down on the surrounding area.

The Baron was already ready again.

His bow was raised.

His breathing steady.

Lucas found himself frozen without realizing it.

Not at the battlefield. But at the sheer majesty of the Baroness's aura.

Metal, power, and dominance fused into one, as if erasing the presence of the gentle, caring mother she had been.

And at that moment, the Baron's earlier words echoed in Silvara's mind.

"Admirer of Myolvidaraz?"

Silvara looked at Kuyiras, already poised to attack, then back at the Baron, who stood prepared.

Did the Baron know? Did he know why the Dark Dragon Myolvidaraz destroyed my homeland back then…? Her thoughts drifted back to an old memory. The sound of her father's shout ordering her to run, wrapped in layers of defensive wind magic.

Silvara's fingers tightened slightly.

Lucas noticed.

He forced himself to stand straighter, enduring the pain in his body, then turned his head.

"Why?" he asked briefly.

"Why are you shocked?"

Silvara glanced at him.

Her face remained cold, but her eyes were honest.

"Myolvidaraz," she answered.

"The Dragon."

Lucas fell silent. Ah, right… her village was destroyed by a dragon named Myolvidaraz.

Then he asked Silvara, "Have you ever seen them like this before?"

Silvara shook her head. "This is the first time I've seen them fight."

Lucas's gaze returned to the battlefield.

The Baron.

Every draw of his bow. Efficient, calm, without a single wasted movement. His firing angles were perfect, his timing ruthless.

The Baroness.

Horse, lance, and body moved like a living weapon of war. One charge. One line of destruction.

Their combat strength was unmistakable: experienced, flawless, showing no weakness.

One question finally settled in Lucas's mind, impossible to ignore.

How the fuck did this family manage to fall into poverty?

On the battlefield, the Baroness kept moving without pause.

Every time the bandits tried to reorganize their formation, her lance struck first. Not lethal blows—but enough to cripple. Knees shattered. Shoulders dislocated. Massive bodies fell one after another, blocking their own movements.

Several times, Kuyiras tried to push forward.

Each time—

the Baroness cut off his path.

Her horse pivoted sharply, the lance slamming into the ground right in front of Kuyiras, forcing the giant to either stop or charge straight into death.

GRRR—

The veins on Kuyiras's neck bulged.

"Move," he growled.

"Move out of the way, lady."

"Let me take care of my revenge."

The Baroness did not retreat.

She spun her lance once, then rested it lightly on her shoulder.

"Oh?" she said flatly.

"How dare you plead for rules on a battlefield?"

Several bandits flinched at her words.

Kuyiras let out a short laugh.

Rough.

Filled with rage.

"…Tch."

With an irritated expression, he stopped forcing his advance.

Then he raised his hand.

"Listen to me," he shouted.

"Twenty men. Stay here."

His subordinates reacted instantly, moving in without hesitation.

Kuyiras glanced back.

"The rest. Wreck everything!"

Lucas's eyes widened.

"—!"

The bandits in the rear ranks immediately turned around, sprinting away from the battlefield toward the houses still standing.

Silvara muttered under her breath.

"He changed his objective…"

The Baron lowered his bow by half an inch.

He turned sharply toward Silvara, his voice exploding through the chaos of the battlefield.

"Silvara!" he shouted.

"Take the local soldiers. Stop them."

"Don't let a single one of them chase the common folk!"

Silvara didn't waste a second.

"Understood."

She spun around, drew her sword, and barked sharp orders toward the village soldiers who had been holding at the edge of the field.

"You heard the Baron!" she yelled.

"Split into two lines, chase down the bandits who are breaking off!"

"Priority: civilians!"

The local soldiers flinched, then moved. Not orderly, not perfect but fast enough. They ran after Silvara, leaving the front line behind.

Lucas stepped forward on reflex.

But.

"ngh…"

His body immediately protested.

His thigh muscles tightened, his shoulder felt like it was being stabbed with hot needles. The aftermath of the earlier duel finally came due. His legs wavered, his breath caught.

He clenched his teeth.

"Damn…"

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

He wanted to go.

He had to go.

But the reality was clear.

In this condition, he would only be a burden.

Lucas stopped.

His gaze returned to the main battlefield, to the Baron, still standing calm, to the Baroness, blocking Kuyiras without giving up a single step.

"…If I force it," he muttered quietly,

"I'll just die stupidly."

He took a long breath, forcing his body to stay upright.

If I can't attack…

then at least don't get in the way.

Lucas stayed where he was.

Waiting.

Searching for an opening, anything he could still do.

Meanwhile.

A raven landed on ground filled with the clashing sounds of metal.

Its black wings beat once, then went still. Its dark eyes reflected flashes of weapons, blood, and colliding magical light across the battlefield.

In the distance.

Matruska was already prepared. Isabelle, it seems the soul of a knight still lives beneath that maternal smile, she thought.

Her body leaned slightly forward, the spear in her hand trembling faintly, locked onto a single straight line. The air around her was drawn in, as if the trajectory of her throw had already been decided even before it was released. Lightning wrapped in a purplish aura appeared once more, ready to split the air before her.

Standing beside her was Valeric.

He summoned a silver sword into his right hand.

SCHRING—

The blade reflected the moonlight.

At least this might ease the shame of the Rosevelt name, he thought.

Valeric Rosevelt let out a short breath, then smiled faintly.

"It never crossed my mind," he said quietly,

"that there would come a day when I would help the Shadow of the South."

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