The basket merchant turned around.

The moment his eyes caught the metal pin on the man's chest, he was visibly startled. His shoulders tensed unconsciously.

The man did not wait long. He straightened his posture slightly and spoke first.

"I am Silas, from the Merchants' Guild," he said calmly.

The merchant nodded quickly.

"A–ah… I see." He wiped his hands on his worn apron. "My name is Berrin. Just an ordinary basket maker."

The man with the glasses gave a slight nod.

"I am looking for information regarding the visit of Young Master Voss."

Berrin swallowed.

"Oh. Yes, yes. He did come this morning."

"To this place?" the man asked.

"Yes," Berrin replied quickly.

The man narrowed his eye behind the single-lens glasses.

"What did he come here for?"

His tone remained polite, but the pressure behind it was unmistakable.

"Did he threaten you? Cause any trouble?"

He cleared his throat softly.

"If there was any disturbance toward an unfortunate small merchant, the Merchants' Guild would—"

"No!" Berrin cut in immediately, a little panicked.

"Not at all."

The man stopped speaking.

Berrin let out a breath, then continued,

"He just ordered baskets."

"…Baskets?"

"Yes. Large baskets," Berrin replied. "Twenty-four of them."

The man fell silent for a moment.

"…Did he pay?"

Berrin nodded firmly.

"He did. Paid in full."

Silas gave a small nod.

"Very well," he said politely. "Thank you for your time."

He turned and walked away, his expression calm—though his jaw tightened slightly.

Damn it.

It would've only taken a little trouble. Just one threat, one small conflict… and the Merchants' Guild could have tightened its grip on this poor area.

Silas stepped out onto the main road.

And nearly collided with someone.

A tall knight stood there, still wearing his armor even though night was approaching. His gaze was sharp, oppressive.

Aldric.

Aldric's brow lifted slightly.

"What are you doing here?"

His eyes flicked to the pin on Silas's chest.

"The Merchants' Guild?"

His tone dropped, dismissive.

"Are you people interested in market flies now?"

Silas held his breath for a fraction of a second, then gave a light bow with impeccable courtesy.

"Ah, not at all, sir," he replied politely.

"Just a simple matter. If you'll excuse me."

Without waiting for a response, he walked past.

Behind his back, Silas frowned.

A regional knight…

what's he doing in a small town like this, this late at night?

His steps slowed for a moment.

…A brothel?

Silas clicked his tongue softly and disappeared around the corner.

---

Silas took a few more steps—then stopped abruptly.

A sheet of paper was posted on a wooden board by the roadside.

His eyes widened.

He stepped closer, reading quickly.

— OFFICIAL DUEL—

Regional Knight Aldric Rosevelt

versus

Young Master Voss

"…What?" he murmured.

A duel?

A regional knight… against Young Master Voss?

Silas stared at the name for a few seconds longer than necessary.

The corner of his lips twitched.

Oh.

So that's why that man is in this small town.

Slowly, the irritation on his face faded.

Silas neatly folded the notice and slipped it into his coat.

"…Interesting," he muttered.

----

At the manor entrance, Silvara and Lucas went their separate ways without much conversation.

Silvara headed toward her room, her steps calm as usual. Her mind, however, was not.

My Silver Lady.

The words kept echoing, surfacing on their own without permission. She frowned slightly, then shook her head as if trying to drive them away.

…What a strange man.

Meanwhile, Lucas entered his room and dropped himself into the nearest chair.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then let out a sigh.

The harvest was coming soon.

"Damn," he muttered softly.

"Harvest's the day after tomorrow."

His mind immediately started calculating. Manpower. Baskets. Time.

He straightened up.

"…Ah," he said, nodding to himself.

"Might as well tell Geralt to bring his wife too, for help with the harvest."

Lucas leaned back again, his gaze unfocused.

— The next day—

Lucas and Silvara arrived at the field while the sun was still low.

The morning air was cold, the ground slightly damp.

Geralt was already there.

So was Anya.

But—Anya looked… strange.

Her head moved slowly left and right, stiffly, like a cautious chicken. Her eyes were sharply narrowed, lips puffed out, mumbling quietly to herself.

"…observe… observee…"

Lucas glanced at her briefly, then turned his gaze to Geralt.

"Morning."

Geralt flinched in surprise.

"Y–Young Master!" His body snapped straight. "G–good morning!"

Before Lucas could respond—

Anya nearly jumped.

"YOUNG MASTER—!"

She stood perfectly straight, chest puffed out, fists clenched. Mini knight mode fully activated.

Silvara let out a quiet sigh.

Lucas was already used to it.

He raised a hand and summoned Loticentra.

The device appeared, and Silvara—as usual—immediately filled it with mana without a word.

Routine.

But Lucas glanced to the side again.

Anya… had already gone back to her strange mode.

Head left.

Head right.

Lips puffed out.

"…observeee…"

Lucas frowned slightly.

"Anya. What are you doing?"

Anya slowly turned her head, eyes still narrowed.

"Iron Knight… is… observee…" she said seriously, lips still puffed out.

"Oh," Lucas nodded shortly. "Okay."

Anya immediately nodded hard, satisfied.

She turned back to the field with intense focus, as if she had just discovered a new favorite word.

"…observee…"

"…observeee…"

After finishing the watering, Lucas dismissed the Loticentra from afar.

Dry leaves were scattered among the rows of tomatoes—clearly blown in by the wind during the night.

"Geralt," he called.

"Yes, Young Master!" Geralt replied quickly.

"Please clean up those leaves," Lucas said, gesturing toward the field.

"Once you've gathered them, bury them in the trench around the field. Might as well. It'll help keep rats away."

Geralt's eyes widened—not in surprise, but in delight.

"O–oh! Yes! Of course!"

He moved immediately, almost too eagerly.

Oh my lad… so much work.

He looked at the scattered leaves with a happy expression, as if staring at a bunch of gold.

"All right… starting here," he muttered to himself.

Geralt rolled up his sleeves and began working without hesitation, gathering the leaves one by one, his face looking… satisfied.

Lucas glanced over briefly, then returned his gaze to the field.

A busy morning.

Silvara returned to the side of the field after finishing her part.

She glanced at Lucas briefly.

"Do you want to train this early in the morning?" she asked flatly.

Lucas frowned.

"Training?"

He looked to the side.

Anya was still in the same spot.

Head left.

Head right.

Lips puffed out.

"…observee… observeee…"

Lucas took a short breath, then looked back at Silvara.

"Hey," he said casually. "Looks like you still have another task."

Silvara raised an eyebrow slightly.

"What task?"

Lucas nodded toward Anya.

"You still need to help the Iron Knight conquer… letters."

Silvara stared at him flatly.

A split second of silence.

"YEAY—!!"

Anya immediately jumped in excitement.

"Miss Silvara, please teach your first disciple how to write....." she shouted enthusiastically.

Then—

her lips puffed out again.

"…Observeeee."

Silvara sat back down on the ground, as usual, and began teaching Anya how to write using a twig.

Anya immediately squatted neatly, fully focused.

Lucas didn't interfere this time.

He sat behind Anya, slightly to the side, his gaze fixed on the neatly lined tomato field. Green leaves. Pinkish-red fruits nearly ripe.

A few minutes passed.

Silvara glanced at Lucas.

"What are you doing?" she asked flatly.

Lucas didn't answer right away.

He mimicked the sound he had been hearing for a while.

"…Observeeee."

Silvara shot him a sharp look.

"Disgusting."

"Un," Anya replied briefly, agreeing. She glanced back at Lucas, then lowered her gaze to the ground again.

Lucas let out a long breath.

"…Life's exhausting," he muttered.

And then—

The sound of horse hooves echoed from the distance.

Getting closer.

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