"With my victory in the duel against Young Master Voss." Aldric gave a slow nod.

The bandit burst into loud laughter.

"Haha… I thought that duel was just a rumor."

He shook his head. "Turns out it's real."

"After the duel," Aldric continued without emotion,

"that same night… you will attack the village near the manor."

Boran stiffened.

"You may take whatever you want," Aldric said flatly.

"Wealth. Supplies. People."

He paused.

"If you still feel like it," he added,

"move on to Voss Town. Destroy it. Make a mess of everything."

Boran swallowed.

"I'll be stationed in another territory," Aldric continued.

"Far enough away from Voss Territory."

The bandit leader raised an eyebrow.

"And then?"

"When I arrive to 'deal with you,'" Aldric said,

"make me look a little… beaten up."

He shrugged lightly.

"Then retreat the moment I draw my soulbound weapon."

The bandit laughed again.

"That's all?"

Aldric looked at him.

"Not yet."

The atmosphere shifted.

"I want the Baron to suffer," Aldric said quietly.

"And the Baroness… do whatever you wish with her."

A chill ran down Boran's spine.

This was no longer about profit and loss, Boran thought.

This was simply who he was, he trembled.

The bandit leader narrowed his eyes.

"You sound like someone holding a grudge. Did that Baron give you trouble?" he asked.

Aldric smiled thinly.

"Trouble? No. I simply need him to be easy to control. That's why I need him to suffer—and to despair."

He let out a breath.

"This territory is poor. Boring," he continued.

"There's nothing of value here."

He turned his gaze toward the forest.

"Except for one tomato field."

"Everything else?" Aldric shrugged.

"Useless."

The bandit fell silent for a moment.

Then—he burst into laughter.

"Hah!"

He thumped his chest.

"I, Kuyiras, Chieftain of the Full Moon Hand…"

He grinned widely.

"…admit one thing," he continued. "You—one of the Blades of Rosevelt."

His gaze swept Aldric from head to toe.

"The Regional Knight," he said softly,

"is more vicious than we are."

Aldric merely smiled.

Kuyiras did not stop there.

He raised one hand.

"Bring it."

One of his subordinates immediately stepped forward, handing over a thick sheet of paper, neatly rolled.

Aldric glanced at it.

"Paper?" he asked briefly. "For what?"

Kuyiras let out a low chuckle.

"Hey, noble," he said with a grin.

"Don't underestimate Kuyiras."

He took the roll and slowly unwrapped it.

"I'm strong," he continued calmly.

"And of course—not stupid like other bandits."

In Kuyiras's hands lay a document.

A letter of consent.

Aldric fell silent for a moment.

Then—he laughed.

A short laugh. Clearly amused.

"So that's what you want," he said.

"The Rosevelt seal."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Are you trying to blackmail me?"

His gaze hardened.

"Do you think I'm afraid?"

Kuyiras slowly shook his head.

"No," he replied casually.

"This is just to make sure there's no trap."

He tapped the paper with one finger.

"If everything goes according to plan," he continued,

"this document will never be seen by anyone."

Aldric smirked.

"Very well," he said lightly.

He reached beneath his armor and pulled out a small metal seal—simple, yet clearly not an ordinary item.

His personal seal.

Without hesitation, Aldric pressed it onto the letter of consent.

THUMP.

The Rosevelt emblem was stamped clearly.

Boran swallowed.

This wasn't a joke, he thought.

No hesitation.

No retreat.

Aldric folded the document back up and lifted his gaze.

"The duel is in six days," he said flatly.

"Prepare yourselves."

Kuyiras did not say much.

He let out a short laugh, then turned away.

"At midnight, on the appointed day," he said casually without looking back,

"I'll make some beautiful screams… at the Voss manor."

Aldric waved a hand dismissively.

"Whatever."

Without ceremony, Kuyiras and his men left.

Their footsteps faded into the trees, the sound of wagon wheels slowly disappearing.

Silence.

Boran remained standing where he was. Silent.

His hands were cold.

Why am I even here… he thought.

I'm just a black market merchant whose name just started to rise.

Why do I have to be involved in something this horrific?

A hand landed on his shoulder.

Boran flinched.

"What's wrong?" Aldric asked lightly.

"Are you afraid?"

Cold sweat broke out on Boran's temples.

Only now did he truly realize it.

This man—

wasn't just dangerous.

He was broken.

"I-I—" Boran swallowed.

Aldric tilted his head.

"Or…" he said softly,

"do you want to back out?"

He let out a small breath.

"Hmm."

"In that case…"

"you don't seem necessary to me."

Boran's heart nearly stopped.

"No—no, Sir!" Boran bowed deeply at once.

"I won't back out! I'll obey! I won't cause any trouble!"

The words spilled out of him in a rush, nearly tripping over each other.

Aldric watched him for a few seconds.

Then—he smiled.

"Calm down," he said casually.

"I'm just joking."

He gave a thin grin.

Boran didn't laugh.

His chest was still pounding.

In a low voice, almost a whisper, Boran gathered his courage and asked,

"Sir Aldric… is it really okay that your seal is on a bandit's document?"

Aldric went silent.

Then—he burst into laughter.

Loud. Unrestrained.

"Did you think that one…" he said with a wide grin,

"…was real?"

Boran's eyes widened.

His body trembled.

In his mind, one thought surfaced clearly—

This man…

his cunning was beyond imagination...

----

Night fell.

Still annoyed at the lack of extra baskets, Lucas decided he would just buy some tomorrow.

Voss Manor sank into silence.

Lucas was already lying in bed, the blanket pulled up to his chest.

The lamp had been extinguished.

Yet his eyes remained open.

"…Tomatoes," he muttered softly.

His thoughts kept circling.

That field was far too valuable.

In this world, tomatoes weren't just food—they were a commodity.

"What if someone steals them…" he whispered.

He clicked his tongue quietly.

Why was he thinking about this right before sleeping?

[POP!]

The system panel appeared right above his face.

[(￣▽￣)ノ

Relax, King~]

Lucas glanced at it lazily. "Relax about what?"

[(￣ー￣)

No one would dare touch anything that belongs to Lucian Voss.]

Lucas frowned.

[(≧▽≦)

They'd already be shaking just from your reputation~]

The panel paused.

[(￣▽￣;)

I mean…

Lucian from the past.]

Lucas fell silent.

Then—the corner of his lips lifted slightly.

"…That rotten reputation does have its uses," he muttered.

He closed his eyes.

This time, sleep came quickly.

---

Morning.

Dew still clung to the fields.

Lucas stood among the rows of tomatoes, hands on his hips, surveying their work with a guarded gaze.

Beside him—Silvara. As upright as ever.

And in front of them—

Anya.

The small girl stood straight, chest puffed out, hands clasped behind her back.

Her expression was serious. Far too serious for a child her age.

"Miss Silvara," she declared in a knightly tone.

"Today, I shall conquer letters… until noon!"

Silvara blinked. "Until noon?"

Anya nodded firmly.

"Why?" Silvara asked, holding back a smile. "Are you planning to play with your friends later?"

"No," Anya replied resolutely.

"I will go to the Clinic."

Silvara raised an eyebrow.

"I miss the echo of the tales of the Iron Mathron," Anya continued solemnly.

"As recited by the gentle, lovely Healer."

Silvara couldn't hold back a small laugh.

"All right. That's fine."

Off to the side, Geralt was already prepared to lift his Hoe, standing stiffly like a soldier awaiting orders.

Anya, meanwhile, remained rooted in place.

Lucas looked over the field—then noticed something.

For a while now… Anya had been glancing at him.

As if waiting.

Lucas let out a quiet sigh.

Seriously?

He stepped forward, putting on his best kind noble expression.

"I," he announced clearly,

"Young Master Voss—grant you a day off."

He pointed at Anya with full formality.

"O Guardian of the Tomato Field."

Anya's eyes widened.

Then—her smile bloomed, nearly making her jump in place.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, almost forgetting her knightly tone.

Silvara chuckled softly.

For some reason… mornings lately no longer felt as cold as they used to.

Geralt raised a hand hesitantly.

"Then… what should I do, Young Master?"

Lucas turned to him. "Today, we're buying baskets."

Silvara frowned. "Baskets?"

"Harvest's coming soon," Lucas replied shortly.

He took out the Loticentra.

"Silvara, please water the field."

—the moment passed quickly.

Lucas then patted Geralt on the shoulder.

"Come on. Take me to where they sell baskets."

Silvara looked like she wanted to ask more, but Lucas had already pointed toward the field.

"You stay here," he said.

"Guard the field. And help the Little Knight conquer her letters."

Silvara nodded.

Lucas and Geralt set off immediately.

Along the road, Geralt said,

"There's a carriage heading toward Voss Town shortly."

They boarded.

The carriage began to move.

A few minutes passed—

Then the carriage stopped.

The door opened.

Someone stepped inside.

Lucas lifted his gaze—

Healer Mae.

And behind her—

Lina.

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