Veska turned quickly toward the direction Karska was pointing.

"Among the crowd?" she asked.

Karska shook his head slowly.

"No. The flow is heading toward the duel arena."

Veska fell silent for a moment.

Then her brows lifted.

"…Does that mean Young Master Voss?"

Karska frowned.

"Possibly. Based on what I've heard—"

"NOOO!"

A small voice cut in sharply.

Anya peeked out from behind Geralt's legs, clenching her tiny fists.

"Young Master is not an evil man!" she blurted out. "He just evil face!"

Karska and Veska exchanged looks.

Confused.

Geralt let out a short breath, then spoke calmly.

"I believe that too. Young Master wouldn't commit a crime—he's always out in the fields."

He paused briefly.

"Though… he is a genius alchemist."

Karska turned sharply.

"An alchemist?"

Geralt added nothing.

Karska clicked his tongue softly.

"Enough. This conversation isn't productive."

He stepped back.

"Veska. I'll take the high ground."

Without waiting for a reply, mana flowed into both his legs. The air around him trembled faintly.

With a single push—

Karska leapt.

His body shot upward and landed lightly atop the nearest stone building, almost without a sound.

The moment the monocle reactivated—

He froze.

"…What?"

Two things struck his awareness at once.

First—

the stream of iron dust was leading toward Aldric's side chest.

Not toward Lucian Voss.

Second—

Young Master Voss, drenched in blood, was locked in a fierce fight with a regional knight who was clearly limping.

Karska cursed under his breath.

In one motion, he jumped back down.

Landing in front of Veska.

"The Blade of Rosevelt," he said curtly.

"Carries the forged seal."

Veska's eyes widened.

"What—how is that possible?"

"We don't need answers right now." Karska turned sharply. "Call the raven."

Veska did not argue.

She knelt, laying a sheet of paper on the ground. With a single touch of mana, a circular sigil appeared and began to rotate.

The air darkened for a moment.

KRAAA—

A black raven emerged from the swirl of light, perching calmly.

Karska stepped closer.

Bent down.

Whispered something into the raven's ear—low, fast, and precise words.

Then he folded the paper.

The round, serrated object was wrapped neatly inside it.

And he put the paper in the raven's bite.

The raven spread its wings.

Flew high.

Cut through the air.

Heading straight toward Matruska's position.

Below—

Anya stared at everything with sparkling eyes.

"Wow…" she murmured sincerely.

"You're so cool. Like criminal-catching knights. I, as Iron Knight, admire yo—"

She stopped, slipping back into mini-knight mode.

"I, as Iron Knight and guardian knight of the tomato field, request that you share a bit of information," she said firmly.

Veska turned toward her.

For a brief moment—

the corner of her lips almost lifted.

Meanwhile, Karska merely chuckled softly.

"Iron Knight, huh?"

He recalled the story.

This child reminds me of her. I hope I can find a cure for her, he thought briefly.

In the duel arena—

Lucas was truly on the back foot.

His breathing came in ragged bursts.

His head began to feel light.

He had lost too much blood.

In front of him, Aldric was indeed limping—

but not crippled.

Aldric restructured his entire movement.

One leg became his pivot.

The injured leg touched the ground only occasionally, merely to maintain balance.

Every small step was calculated.

Every sword swing adjusted to distance.

Efficient.

Brutal.

Without waste. Aldric's blade swung toward Lucas once more.

He pushed off the ground with his remaining strong leg, delivering a decisive slash toward Lucas's side.

Lucas stepped back half a pace.

Damn…

If this keeps up—

TRANK—!!

A heavy slash crashed into his hoe.

The vibration surged straight up his arm.

His wrist screamed in protest.

Lucas truly could not withstand Aldric's attack.

His body staggered.

Meanwhile, Aldric's injured leg touched the ground only briefly as he shifted his weight onto his remaining strong leg.

—

At the honor seat—

A black raven landed on Matruska's shoulder.

Matruska was not surprised.

She knew exactly what it meant.

The Crowseals of Grimhelt never sent messages without reason.

She raised her hand, letting the raven settle, then unfolded the paper it carried.

"…What?"

Her eyes narrowed.

The raven leaned its beak close to Matruska's ear.

A whisper—

short.

Dense.

Military.

"Insolence."

Matruska drew out her monocle.

Activated.

She adjusted the focus—

and saw it.

The forged seal.

Its resonance.

The direction of its flow.

Real.

Valeric turned his head.

"What is wrong, my lady?"

Matruska handed him the paper without a word.

Valeric produced his own monocle.

One glance—

was enough.

He lowered his hand slowly.

"…I cannot deny it."

"It is a grave violation," Matruska said coldly.

"I will take further action."

She summoned a local soldier.

He stepped closer.

She whispered a brief order.

The soldier moved at once toward the Baron and Baroness.

Within Matruska's heart—

there was a small sense of relief.

She rose.

Her gaze fixed on the arena.

Lucas was still standing.

His body bloodied.

The hoe still in his hands.

"…Thank goodness you've endured this far," Matruska murmured softly.

"It seems time still honors Isabelle's dignity."

Her eyes shifted to the Baron and Baroness.

They looked back.

Then nodded.

Without hesitation—

Matruska extended her hand.

Mana resonated.

A spear appeared.

Its tip bore elegant patterns, luxurious engravings etched along the blade.

A jet-black shaft.

A silvered edge, reflecting the arena's light with cold clarity.

Matruska gripped it tightly.

The arena still rang with clashing metal—

Yet the direction of fate had begun to shift, the algorithm of fortune tilting toward the young man wielding the hoe.

Matruska held the spear upright in her right hand.

Then her right arm folded, the spear sliding to her left side.

Her right hand rotated into the posture of one receiving something.

The spear's tip aligned with the arena.

A flash of lightning erupted, mixed with deep violet darkness.

With that motion, she hurled the spear toward the duel arena.

The spear shot forward.

Matruska's right arm spread outward to the side—

like an elegant princess offering a gesture of respect to her king.

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