CRACK—!!

Silvara's sword snapped in the middle.

The break was clean. Rough.

Lucas's Hoe was still in heavy mode, its momentum not fully spent.

"—Shit—" Lucas's breath caught.

Silvara's face nearly crashed straight into the Hoe's blade.

But her reflexes moved faster than thought.

"Tch… Kid."

A single word.

The air trembled.

In an instant, a massive claymore appeared in her grasp.

CLANG—!!

The claymore caught the Hoe right in front of her face.

At the same time—

whoosh—!

Compressed air exploded from the point of impact.

Lucas didn't have time to react.

"—Guh—!"

His body was flung backward, his feet lifting off the ground. He slammed into the earth and rolled—once, twice, three times—before finally stopping several meters away.

Dust billowed into the air.

Lucas coughed lightly, lying on his back, his chest rising and falling hard.

"…damn," he muttered.

Lucas rolled once more, then pushed himself up to one knee and stood.

He let out a long breath, then released the pressure on the Hoe. The flow of mana was pulled back. He twisted the handle slightly to the left, letting the Hoe's weight drop back down.

He walked closer.

Silvara was still standing where she was—silent for a moment, clearly confused. The large claymore in her hand slowly faded away, disappearing like smoke.

She looked down, then bent over and picked up the broken sword from earlier.

Lucas stopped a few meters in front of her.

"What?" he asked, half-grinning.

"Shocked by my strength?"

Silvara stared at the sword for a moment, then let out a quiet snort.

"Idiot," she said flatly.

"I don't have enough money to buy a new sword as good as this."

Lucas's smile vanished instantly.

"…Ah."

He scratched his cheek, a little awkward.

"S–sorry. I—I'll replace it."

Silvara glanced at him briefly.

"No need," she replied shortly.

"It can still be fixed."

She slid the broken blade piece into the scabbard first.

Then the remaining part with the hilt followed, separate, neatly arranged.

Silvara tapped the scabbard once.

"It's still usable," she said coldly.

Lucas swallowed, then gave a small grin—relieved, but also a bit awkward.

Silvara walked to the nearby tree and set the scabbard down at its roots. She made sure it was secure, then turned back.

"Come on," she said shortly. "Let's train again."

Lucas lifted his Hoe slowly. "About the sword… seriously, I'm sorry."

Silvara glanced at him. "You're just like Young Master Lucian Voss."

"Huh?" Lucas frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Soft," Silvara replied flatly. "Men."

Lucas stiffened immediately.

"…Hey. Hey," he said, raising the Hoe slightly. "My Silver Lady. Don't say things like that."

His posture changed. Shoulders tightened. Eyes focused. Full shounen rival mode.

But when he looked again—

Silvara was blushing. Faint, but unmistakable. Her hand tightened around the grip of the claymore she had summoned again.

"Why?" Lucas asked, confused.

Silvara huffed, half embarrassed, half irritated. "Why are you calling me that? Are you trying to belittle me?"

"What?" Lucas shook his head quickly. "N–no."

"Enough," Silvara turned her face away. "Come. Let's train again."

They began.

And this time—

it was different.

Because of Hoemanship, Lucas's movements felt three times sharper than before. Every step had purpose. Every swing was shorter, more economical.

…an opening?

…huh?

…a slash from the right—no, pull back first.

Fragments of strange insight kept surfacing in his mind. No voice. No system. Just instant understanding—of distance, angles, timing.

His attacks became efficient.

Silvara blocked—but now she was clearly under pressure. Her claymore moved more often. Her feet retreated several times.

Lucas grinned in the middle of his assault.

"It's hard now, right?"

Silvara clicked her tongue, blocking a heavy slash before countering quickly.

"Yeah," she said coldly, with a mocking edge.

"Hard to keep staying weak—just to match you."

The training went on for quite a while.

Lucas was completely out of breath by now. His breathing was heavy, sweat running down his temples and back. His arms burned, and his palms stung from gripping the Hoe.

The sun had climbed high in the sky.

Silvara finally stopped and lowered her claymore.

"Enough," she said shortly.

Lucas immediately dropped into a sitting position, then lay back for a moment.

"…damn… I'm exhausted."

Not long after, Liona arrived as usual, carrying lunch. The small basket on her arm looked no different from any other day.

They sat down and started eating.

"How was the training?" Liona asked while opening some bread.

Lucas took a bite. "Hard."

An honest answer. No dramatics.

Silvara, on the other hand, didn't speak right away.

Her thoughts were stuck on something completely unrelated to the training.

Silvara averted her gaze, her jaw tightening. The tips of her ears felt hot, but she refused to acknowledge it. That irritation mixed strangely with an unfamiliar discomfort.

Every time she remembered his words earlier, her chest felt tight—not anger, but something far more annoying, like the scent of an expensive perfume used far too much on a single outfit.

My Silver Lady? How dare he call me that.

Her hand tightened around her cup a little more than necessary.

Liona glanced around. "Where's the little knight?"

Lucas chewed, then replied casually, "Anya? She said she wanted to listen to the Iron Mathron story at Healer Mae's clinic."

"Oh," Liona gave a small nod.

The atmosphere settled again.

A light breeze blew. Leaves rustled gently above them.

And for some reason—

that face surfaced in Lucas's mind again.

…her face—

He blinked immediately.

"No," he muttered quietly. "Not that."

He straightened a little and looked at Liona and Silvara.

"Do you… know the name Matruska Grim—"

Lucas paused. "—uh… Grim… what was it again?"

Silvara glanced at him.

"Grimhelt?"

Lucas pointed at her. "Yeah. That."

Silvara narrowed her eyes. "You met her in Voss Town?"

"Yeah," Lucas answered. "And… do you know about the marriage thing?"

Liona let out a small chuckle, almost reflexively.

Silvara sighed deeply.

"…So," she said at last.

"A week ago—no. Since Lucian was a teenager, he—"

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