Silvara glanced at the Great Hoe lying beside Lucas, then looked back at him.

"If you truly intend to use that Hoe in the duel," she said quietly but firmly, "you need to think when you fight. A Hoe only has one sharp point at the tip. If the shaft gets struck… it will snap."

Lucas stared at the weapon with a sour expression.

Silvara sighed, folding her arms.

In her mind, she muttered very softly,

Why do I sound like I'm encouraging him to fight with a Hoe…?

She rubbed her temples, mildly frustrated with herself.

Lucas, unaware of her internal conflict, simply nodded. "Alright. I'll think."

Lucas was still sitting there, panting and looking up at the sky, completely unaware that from a distance—from a small hill overlooking the field—two figures were watching him through a brass spyglass.

Aldric lowered the spyglass slightly, a mocking smile forming on his lips.

"Very amusing," he said calmly. "Why is he training with a Hoe?"

Beside him, Boran—a smug black-market merchant—nearly burst into laughter.

"Of course he is, Sir. That Young Master must be a world-class idiot. Using a dirty Hoe against the Blade of Rosevelt? Ridiculous."

Aldric lifted an eyebrow, his gaze still fixed on Lucas attempting to stand.

"Indeed. This will be over quickly."

Boran added with a snicker, "He's basically bringing farming equipment to a duel, Sir."

Aldric merely gave a thin smile—cold, lazy, and full of assured victory.

----

Meanwhile, inside Voss Manor—

In the quiet main sitting room, the Baron and Baroness sat facing each other, each holding a teacup that had long gone untouched.

The Baroness stared blankly out the window.

At last, she spoke, her voice heavy with resignation.

"Our son… he can't possibly win, can he?"

The Baron stiffened. His fingers tapped nervously against the armrest, restless and uneasy.

"I… don't know," he answered softly. "But Aldric is from House Rosevelt. And we… we barely have enough soldiers to guard our borders, let alone protect our family's name."

The Baroness closed her eyes, drawing a long, weary breath.

"Our economy is collapsing. Our influence is gone. No noble wants to side with the Voss Family anymore…"

The Baron nodded weakly, lowering his gaze.

"We have no political power. No backing. Even the town's trade is starting to wither."

He clenched his fist, frustrated yet without a single solution.

"I don't understand why Lucian agreed to duel over that patch of dry land," he muttered. "Even if he were to win—"

He cut himself off, knowing full well there was no scenario in his mind where his stubborn son could defeat a regional knight.

The room grew tense, but neither of them finished the sentence.

They didn't need to.

All the worst possibilities were already vivid in their minds.

Not far from the sitting room, Liona halted behind a pillar the moment she heard the voices of the Baroness and the Baron.

She clutched the basket of food and drinks she was supposed to bring to the fields.

When the words "our son can't possibly win* reached her ears, her chest tightened.

As she walked out of the manor, her steps grew slow.

Her thoughts spun restlessly.

What exactly is going on in that man's head?

Why would he still choose to duel?

He's making the Baroness's life so much harder…

She bit her lip, irritated—not at the Baroness, but at Lucas, who seemed reckless.

But a few steps later, her thoughts shifted.

…Or perhaps he simply doesn't understand how noble society works?

It made sense. Lucas had only inhabited Young Master's body for a short time. There were many things he still didn't know.

As Liona walked through the corridor of the manor, an old memory suddenly struck her.

A time when Lucian Voss had still been himself— not Lucas.

Those days were a nightmare for the female servants.

Liona tightened her grip on the basket.

The memory was sharp and vivid:

Every night, she locked her door, staying awake in fear that Young Master Lucian might slip into her room.

Even during the day, she always felt his gaze from the corner of the hall, from behind the training fence, from the manor balcony.

Her life back then felt like walking barefoot on shattered glass.

Liona exhaled slowly.

And now… she was belittling Lucas—someone who, at the very least, had been trying to improve himself, working in the fields, and never once treating her like an object.

How foolish of me…

Why am I looking down on someone who is actually trying?

She stopped for a moment on the pathway leading to the fields, then breathed out, steadier this time.

"…I'll support him," she whispered softly.

Not because she believed Lucas could win.

Not because the Voss Family's situation was improving.

But because, at the very least, among everyone in this manor—

Lucas was the only one trying to do something.

Just like her mother, who had escaped slavery multiple times.

No one believed she could ever get away…

but she did—

even with her life on the line.

Liona continued walking toward the fields, but halfway there, she almost bumped into Geralt, who appeared carrying two worn paper bags.

"Sir Geralt?" Liona tilted her head. "Where have you been? Why aren't you at the fields?"

Geralt flinched for a moment, then gave a sheepish smile.

"I-I just came from town, Maid Liona. I bought some bread… for Anya. So she can eat something nice tonight at home."

Liona frowned lightly.

"Oh? Weren't you still working in the fields?"

Geralt quickly shook his head, his face turning red.

"Y-Young Master sent me home early. He said there was no more work today. And Anya…" He stopped, scratching his head in embarrassment.

"Forgive my daughter. It seems she really wanted to eat the food you brought today."

Liona let out a small, soft chuckle.

"It's alright. I brought extra. No need to worry."

Geralt looked immensely relieved, his smile blooming wide.

"Thank you, Maid Liona! I'll be going then. Anya will be delighted."

He bowed politely and walked away with a light step—happy as if he had just received good news.

Liona watched his back fade into the distance, a warm feeling briefly rising in her chest.

Lucas truly was different.

Nothing like Lucian… and nothing like any noble she had ever served.

But then she shook her head slightly.

Well, of course… Lucas wasn't a noble to begin with. Or… She exhaled softly.

"…I'll think about it later," she murmured as she resumed walking.

She finally reached the fields.

And the moment she looked up—

TRANK—!

Liona nearly dropped her basket.

Lucas was attacking Silvara with the Hoe, his swing heavy and forceful, dust bursting into the air around them.

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