"My sister," Karska finally answered, his voice heavy yet full of determination.

He began to walk slowly down the path, allowing Thriska to fall into step beside him. "Word is going around that Young Master Voss possesses a unique variety of tomatoes. And more than that... rumors say he is actually a genius Alchemist."

Thriska, who was adjusting her scabbard, immediately whipped her head around, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Seriously? An Alchemist? That Voss?" she asked with a skeptical tone. "Isn't he just a crazy noble who likes to squander money?"

"I'm not sure myself," Karska answered flatly, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "But according to an old man who works directly under Young Master Voss, his master is a genius unprecedented in the field of Alchemy."

They continued walking toward the Grimhelt family's black wagon parked in the distance. The afternoon breeze blew gently, kicking up a bit of dust from the dirt road.

"But, Karska..." Thriska furrowed her brow, still feeling something was off. "If your sister really needs medical attention, why not just take her to the Central Cathedral? Ask for help from the healers there?"

Karska's jaw tightened. The image of his sister's pale face flashed through his mind. "The High Luminary Adept there has already given up. They said my sister's illness cannot be saved by holy magic or medical drugs, and that the dark root disease has already reached too deep into her organs."

He let out a harsh breath, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword for a moment. "You know yourself that Alchemists are a very rare existence in this world, far rarer than mages. So... there is no harm in hanging a little hope on that depraved man, is there?"

Karska paused, looking back toward the tomato field that was beginning to shrink from view. Doubt was clearly visible on his usually stoic face. "But I don't know... he looked completely ordinary, didn't he? There was no genius or mystical aura at all."

"That's true," Thriska replied, nodding in agreement. She recalled the absurd sight of Lucas covered in mud. "He was even happily hoeing earlier. Literally hoeing like a genuine farmer. As for being a genius Alchemist... it feels a bit hard to believe."

They finally arrived in front of the wagon. The waiting coachman immediately stepped down to open the door, but Thriska held Karska's arm before her cousin could climb in. She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a serious whisper.

"Karska," Thriska whispered, her eyes scanning the surroundings warily. "If the rumor that Baron Voss is the Shadow of the South..."

Karska fell silent. He stared at the Voss family crest faintly visible on the border flag. "I am only just convinced now. All this time, it was just a wild rumor among knights, but seeing how Lady Matruska and Highblade Sir Valeric Rosevelt treat him with such excessive respect... it makes sense."

"It is true," Thriska confirmed quickly, ensuring the coachman didn't catch their conversation. "It's not just a rumor. I heard it myself. Back then, I accidentally overheard Lady Matruska and Sir Valeric Rosevelt speaking seriously in the interrogation room..."

"Forget it," Karska interrupted firmly. He placed one foot on the wagon's iron step, his expression returning to its usual flat indifference. "Whether that is true or not, it is a matter of high politics for the Generals and Grand Dukes. It has nothing to do with our mission. We are merely Ranked Blades, Thriska. We strike where we are ordered; we do not pry into the shadows of the Great Families."

Thriska opened her mouth to argue, but seeing Karska's finality, she snapped it shut. With a frustrated huff, she climbed into the carriage after him. The heavy door clicked shut, and the black wagon slowly rolled away, leaving a trail of dust settling on the dirt road.

Back in the tomato field, the tension brought by the Grimhelts slowly evaporated, replaced by the chirping of crickets and the scent of damp earth.

Anya sat cross-legged, staring intensely at the luxurious mahogany box on her lap. Her small fingers traced the silver engravings along the edges as if she were calculating something.

"Miss Silvara," Anya called out suddenly, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes, Anya? Are you ready to eat them?" asked Silvara, leaning back after teaching Anya not to draw the tail of the letter 'Q' too long.

Anya shook her head vigorously until her cheeks wobbled slightly. "Not now! And I will only eat one. The other one... I will use it for compensation to the Young Master!"

Silvara blinked in confusion. "Compensation? What for?"

Anya looked up, her expression turning deadly serious, as if she were discussing a business deal worth millions of gold coins. "Because Young Master always gives me delicious bread every day from the maid. So, I have been eating for free all this time. That means I have a debt, right? So, I will give this fancy bread to him as payment! That way, we are even!"

Elin, who was wiping sweat from her forehead nearby, burst into a hearty laugh. "My, my! Aren't you a smart little merchant, Anya? Understanding trade calculations at your age?"

"Hehe, I am smart!" Anya puffed out her chest proudly, looking very pleased with her own logic.

Silvara chuckled softly at their antics. The sound felt foreign to her own ears. Watching Anya's innocence and Erin's warmth, she realized just how drastically her life had shifted. A few weeks ago, she was filled with anger, monitoring her Young Master every single second. Now, she was listening to a little child discuss bread debts in the middle of a tomato field.

It really feels different here, Silvara thought, a faint smile still lingering on her lips.

However, the smile slowly faded as her thoughts drifted to the silver dagger Lucas had received this morning.

Her mind wandered back to the incident in the carriage earlier. That dagger wasn't just a weapon; it was a trap. The Baron and Baroness had used it to test whether Lucas was truly their son or not. The fact that they had to resort to such a trick showed just how desperate they were.

Silvara gazed toward Lucas, who was still hoeing in the distance. She became curious—and at the same time, anxious—about how Lucas would respond to what was coming next.

Suddenly, the thunder of hooves and the rumble of wheels shattered the afternoon silence.

An open-top carriage sped into view, skidding to a halt at the edge of the field. The dust hadn't even settled before Liona was standing up in the driver's seat, her face as pale as a burial shroud.

"Lady Silvara!" Liona screamed, her voice hoarse with panic. "The Baron and Baroness... they demand your presence at the Manor. Immediately."

Silvara swallowed hard. Her throat went dry in an instant. Her worst premonition had come true. She cast a fleeting glance at Lucas, who was still busy hoeing in the distance, seemingly oblivious to the outside world.

"Please, Lady..." Liona added, her body trembling as she gripped the side of the carriage until her knuckles turned white. "Don't take too long. The Baroness... she looks furious. I'm afraid she might explode."

Silvara took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. "Alright. We're going to the Manor now."

She turned to Anya, who was watching her with confusion. Silvara forced a thin smile, gently patting the child's head. "Anya, I have to go for a bit. Keep the bread safe, okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, Silvara climbed into the carriage. Liona immediately spurred the horses back toward the Manor at full speed, leaving a trail of swirling dust in their wake.

Baron Voss's Study.

The heavy mahogany door clicked shut behind Silvara.

Inside the room, illuminated only by the dim light of magic lamps, the atmosphere was so heavy it felt suffocating. Baron Aleric sat behind his massive desk with his hands clasped, while the Baroness stood by the window, her back turned to them.

There were no pleasantries.

"Tell us, Silvara," Baron Aleric's voice was low but sharp, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. "Since when did you notice the drastic change in Lucian? And what is the actual cause?"

The Baroness turned slowly. Her eyes were puffy, yet her gaze was piercing and inquisitorial. "My son could not possibly turn into a stranger in a week without cause. You are always with him. Answer honestly."

Silvara felt cold sweat trickle down her back. She knew she couldn't tell the truth about the different soul or the reality that the real Lucian was dead. That would only get her labeled insane or executed for failing to protect the Young Master.

She had to improvise.

Silvara bowed her head deeply, dropping to one knee. "Forgive me, My Lord, My Lady... I hid this because I feared punishment."

"Speak," the Baroness commanded coldly.

"That morning... when I picked the Young Master up from the Tavern..." Silvara began her fabrication, forcing her voice to tremble. "The Young Master was heavily intoxicated. He... he attempted something inappropriate with me. He tried to force himself on me in the back alley."

The Baron's eyes widened slightly.

"Out of reflex and panic, I... I accidentally struck the back of his head with the hilt of my sword," Silvara continued, bowing her head even lower. "The blow was... too hard. He was unconscious for quite some time. And when he woke up... he had become like a different person. The Healer said it might be brain trauma that altered his personality."

Silence.

Only the ticking of the wall clock could be heard.

Baron Aleric and the Baroness exchanged glances. The tension in their faces slowly melted away, replaced by a long sigh of relief.

To them, the explanation made sense. Brain injury. Memory loss. Personality shifts due to physical trauma. It was far more acceptable to logic than the possibility that their son had been replaced by a stranger or a monster. It meant the body was still their son. The blood was still their blood.

"So that is it..." the Baron muttered softly, leaning back in his chair. "That explains why he forgot about his allowance and didn't recognize his old habits."

The Baroness closed her eyes for a moment, then waved her hand dismissively. "You may go, Silvara. Return to your post. We will discuss medical treatment for his head later."

"Thank you, My Lord, My Lady."

Silvara rose, bowed respectfully, then turned and walked out as quickly as propriety allowed.

The door clicked shut.

As soon as Silvara's footsteps faded away down the hallway, the atmosphere in the room shifted completely.

The Baroness stared at her husband. Baron Aleric nodded slowly, his face returning to a serious, cold mask. There was no longer any trace of relief.

The Baroness stood motionless by the window. Slowly, her fingers curled inward, clenching into tight fists until her knuckles turned white and her nails dug deep into her palms.

"Even that little girl is lying?" she whispered, her voice trembling with suppressed rage.

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