Lucas walked toward the open-roofed wagon at the edge of the field. He lifted a small basket filled with tomatoes, then pulled aside part of his cloak that had been covering the cargo.

He returned and handed the basket to Mae.

"This is a bonus for you."

Mae froze.

The moment her eyes fell on the fresh tomatoes, her expression changed instantly—not because of the Young Master's kindness, but because of the tomatoes' potential.

As a healer, her thoughts began racing.

With proper nutrient extraction from these tomatoes… I could make far more medicine.

Enough for the villagers—without worrying about shortages again.

"Thank you, Young Master," Mae said earnestly, her hands trembling slightly as she accepted the basket.

Beside her, Lina remained silent. She only smiled faintly, watching Mae, who was clearly overjoyed.

Lucas then turned to Mae. "About the physical enhancement potion."

Mae straightened at once. "It's ready, Young Master. The fermentation process is complete."

"Good," Lucas said. "Can it be packaged in a small shell—something that can be bitten?"

Mae frowned. "A… small shell?"

She was clearly confused.

Silvara, standing behind them, immediately caught on.

He already has another strategy, she thought.

Mae hesitated, clearly afraid of giving the wrong answer.

Lucas continued calmly. "You know nuts, right? I want the potion sealed inside a shell like a small nut. One bite. Immediate consumption."

Silvara snorted softly. "The Young Master truly is a genius," she said dryly.

Lucas glanced at her, realizing he was being mocked.

"Hardly," he replied flatly. "I am a noble. It's only natural."

Mae swallowed. "I… I will try, Young Master. It may take two days."

"That's fine."

Not long after, Mae and Lina took their leave.

A few steps away, quiet whispering followed.

"Our pay must be higher because Lady Silvara was there," Lina murmured.

Mae nodded without hesitation. "Of course. The Young Master is clearly trying to catch her attention."

Lucas turned to Silvara.

"Why didn't you tell me Geralt's daily wages were excessive?" he asked flatly.

Silvara fell silent for a moment.

"…At first," she replied at last, "I thought it was simply the Young Master's foolishness."

Her tone was calm, not defensive. "And I didn't want to interfere. I felt sorry for the commoners."

She paused, then added,

"And after learning your true identity… I assumed you were doing it intentionally."

Lucas let out a quiet sigh.

Nearby, Liona covered her mouth and giggled softly.

"When you think about it," she said lightly, "it's not a big deal."

Lucas didn't respond, but the second sigh made his agreement obvious.

---

Inside the wagon, Silas remained seated, the steady sway doing little to disturb his thoughts.

A healer…

The detail surfaced again.

There was a healer at the Voss field—one who had interacted directly with the young Voss.

Silas's finger tapped once against the armrest.

Then why hasn't the Central Cathedral acted?

A healer would have noticed. And the Cathedral was never slow when it came to anything with medicinal potential.

His gaze narrowed.

Something is off.

The wagon wheels kept turning, carrying Silas farther from the field.

Somewhere else, those same turning wheels gave way to a very different sound—clinking mugs and rising voices inside a tavern.

The tavern was lively yet tense. Wooden mugs clinked together, low laughter mixing with the stench of cheap alcohol.

Aldric lounged back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, his armor still partially worn. Across from him, Boran drank carefully, far more restrained than his master.

A server approached, bowing deeply.

"S–Sir Knight," he asked hesitantly, "may I ask… why a regional knight is staying in the Voss territory?"

Aldric glanced at him, then smiled faintly.

"Because everything is safe—for now," he replied casually. "There is no threat."

He lifted his mug.

"Besides, the day of the duel draws near."

Whispers spread immediately.

Several patrons stood. Some bowed. Others half-knelt.

"Sir Aldric!"

"Please win the duel!"

"We support you!"

Aldric leaned forward, amused.

"Hm?" he said softly. "You make it sound like… you want me to kill him."

Boran snapped his head toward him. "Sir—"

The tavern fell silent.

Aldric stood.

His chair scraped loudly across the floor.

He spread his arms wide.

"O suffering common folk," he declared, voice echoing.

"I, Aldric Rosevelt, declare—the Blade of Rosevelt will free you from the suffering you were born into—"

He smiled broadly.

"By cutting down a foolish young man whose very breath disgusts you."

Silence.

Then—

The cheers exploded.

Amid the roar, one figure remained still.

A woman stood near the edge of the tavern, dressed in simple healer's robes—practical, worn, unmistakable.

She did not cheer.

She only tightened her grip on her satchel.

Oh Saints…

What is really happening in the Voss territory?

And why would Mae choose to settle in a place like this?

Far from the cheers calling for his death, Lucas stood quietly in the field.

Silvara turned to him.

"Training?"

Lucas opened his mouth, then closed it again. He stretched his neck once, then exhaled.

"…Let's rest first," he said. "Just a bit."

Silvara froze.

Her shoulders dropped a fraction. Barely noticeable—but there.

"…Tch," she clicked her tongue, disappointed, yet said nothing.

They moved to the shade of a nearby tree.

Lucas sat down first, leaning back against the trunk with a long breath.

Silvara followed, sitting a short distance away, posture still straight.

Liona settled beside them, smoothing her skirt as she sat.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Lucas glanced sideways. "You're not going back home?" he asked Liona.

Liona shook her head lightly.

"The Baroness ordered me to stay with you for the entire day," she replied calmly. "Young Master."

"…There's no one else here," he said, rubbing his face. "Just the three of us."

He looked at her again.

"You don't need to call me Young Master right now."

Liona let out a small laugh.

"My apologies," she said. "I'm… not used to it yet."

Lucas nodded. "Alright."

A few seconds of silence passed.

Lucas started the conversation again. He glanced at Liona.

"That maid earlier," he said casually. "Is she a friend of yours?"

Liona was slightly surprised, then gave a small smile.

"Yes," she replied. "My close friend. We were raised in the same place,"

Lucas turned to her fully this time.

"Raised?"

Liona nodded. "We're both from Maidternal."

Lucas's brows knit together at once.

"…Maidternal? What's that?"

Liona smiled faintly, as if only just realizing.

"Maidternal is—"

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