Silvara's words landed heavier than any mockery.

Lucas froze.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

"…You're joking," he said quietly, carefully.

"I'm not." Her gaze stayed on his abdomen, not his face. Cold. Professional. "Hurry up. The slash wound on your thigh is quite deep—if it gets infected, your thigh will have to be amputated."

The silence stretched.

Lucas's fingers tightened around his knee. This was no longer about embarrassment—it was about exposure. Vulnerability. Nowhere to hide.

"…How far?" he asked.

Silvara finally lifted her head.

"Until I could see the wound," she answered. There was no mockery. No irritation. Just a bluntly honest reply and slightly uneven breathing.

Lucas let out a long breath, then nodded once. "Alright."

Silvara clicked her tongue softly. "Tsk… hurry up. Don't make me look like I'm about to assault you," she mocked, her nostrils flaring slightly.

Lucas shifted position, this time lowering his legs to sit normally instead of cross-legged.

His hands moved to his waistband—stiff, controlled. The sound of fabric sliding was painfully loud in the quiet room.

Silvara turned her face away as he began to undress.

Then she looked back.

Her gaze dropped—then slowly lifted Lucas's thigh, carefully unwrapping the bandage until the wound was fully exposed.

"…Idiot," she muttered.

Lucas blinked. "That's the diagnosis?"

"Yes." She pressed the towel gently. "You overdid it again. If the angle had been just a little different, you'd be bedridden for weeks."

Lucas sucked in a sharp breath as the cold water touched his skin.

Silvara kept wiping. Her focus narrowed, hands steady. But her jaw tightened. Her eyes were forcibly drawn to the bulge between Lucas's thighs.

Lucas felt deeply awkward. In this position, with his thigh slightly raised… through the gap in his coat, he could see Silvara sitting slightly hunched forward—her tied silver hair, her beautiful face—making him swallow hard.

Silvara finally failed to restrain her gaze. She glanced at the bulge, stealing a look. Huh?

She swallowed. Did that just twitch?

Meanwhile, Lucas bit his lip, unable to stop his thoughts from going dirty. Damn… calm down, my little brother… he shouted internally.

The room sank back into silence—no jokes, no barbs. Just breathing, close distance, and the awareness that something fragile was being handled, in more than one sense.

A few moments later, Silvara straightened her back. "Done."

Lucas immediately complied, his relief obvious.

Silvara stepped back, placing the towel onto the tray with more force than necessary.

"All that's left is rebandaging it with a fresh wrap," she said.

Lucas looked at her from beneath the coat covering his head.

"Hurry," he said.

Neither of them sounded convinced.

Silvara switched to a dry towel, dabbing the area with measured care until the remaining moisture was gone. Her movements were efficient, practiced—almost clinical—before she reached for a fresh bandage.

She wrapped it neatly around his thigh, firm but gentle, securing it in place without lingering longer than necessary.

Lucas watched her hands, then asked quietly, "...Is it done?"

"Yes," Silvara replied. Short. Final.

Lucas exhaled and reached for his trousers, pulling them back up. He couldn't deny it—his body hadn't calmed down. The tension, the closeness, the silence—it all showed, no matter how much he tried to will it away.

Silvara noticed.

Her chest tightened, heart thudding once, then again.

Hmph… just like this and he's already aroused?

He must be enjoying this.

The thought unsettled her. There was a flicker of disgust—but mixed with something else. Something small. Unwelcome. Yet undeniably there.

Lucas hesitated, then asked, "…What about my upper body? You didn't wipe it dry."

Silvara paused. "It's fine. No need."

Lucas let out a quiet breath of relief.

Then Silvara added, almost immediately, "Unless you want me to."

Lucas stiffened. "Huh?"

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "If you do—don't take that coat off your head."

"…Right."

Silvara finished wiping him down and secured the last layer of bandage. Her hands withdrew immediately once it was done, precise and detached.

She picked up the tray and turned toward the door. "I'll be back later to collect."

Lucas nodded. "Alright."

She stopped for half a second, then added sharply, "And don't look like some kind of victim. I didn't defile you."

Lucas exhaled through his nose. "Whatever."

Silvara clicked her tongue and left the room, the door closing behind her.

Yet as she walked away, her expression stayed tight.

Despite the sharp words she'd thrown at him, her thoughts kept circling back—unwanted, persistent—to that small twitch she'd seen earlier.

The memory irritated her far more than she was willing to admit.

Far removed from the tension between two individuals whose thoughts no longer aligned with reality, Matruska sat alone in a quiet room. Her gaze was empty, but her mind was not. Anya's image surfaced again—her round cheeks, the way she spoke. A child. Cute. Full of energy. It made Matruska's maternal instincts stir, warming her chest ever so slightly.

A light knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," Matruska said.

A young woman stepped inside. She wore neat attire, with a monocle resting over one eye, giving her a distinctly academic air.

Matruska turned toward her. "What are the results of your research?"

The woman adjusted her monocle. "The soil is unique. Extremely rich in nutrients, with an exceptionally fertile mineral composition. Ideal for plant growth on a large scale."

Matruska narrowed her eyes. "So it's true the soil can neutralize an artifact on the level of the Stones of Staboyonaz?"

The young woman shook her head. "No. Its properties only significantly affect living organisms, particularly plants. If purification of the artifact occurred at that site, it likely did not originate from the soil."

"Then where?"

"From the irrigation process," she answered calmly. "Most likely from the water that was used."

The young woman stepped closer and handed over a sheet of paper containing a summary of the data. Matruska accepted it, skimmed through it briefly, then nodded.

"Thank you for your research," she said. "You may go."

The woman bowed respectfully and left without another word. The door closed, leaving Matruska alone in the room.

Her thoughts drifted back to Anya.

She let out a small sigh and shook her head. "It seems I'll have to give her more than just two pieces of bread for the rest of her life," she murmured, letting out a quiet chuckle at the thought.

That smile slowly faded as her mind shifted to another name—Lucian Voss.

The boy's change felt far too sudden.

A fighting spirit? Where did that come from?

And how could a child be so stubbornly devoted to working in his tomato field?

Matruska leaned back. None of it made sense.

And yet—beneath all the suspicion and confusion—there was a small sense of gratitude she could not deny.

After all, he was the child of her friend.

Far removed from the troubled and confused maternal instincts, another consciousness churned in the darkness.

The soul of a cunning, tainted knight—Aldric Rosevelt—raged within the underground prison.

"DAMN IT…!" he shouted. Pain shot through his crippled leg, but it was nothing compared to the fury burning in his chest.

His thoughts spiraled wildly. How did that document end up in someone else's hands?

Boran's face flashed through his mind.

Just you wait, Boran…

The anger mixed with disgust toward himself. Mistakes. Carelessness. Now he was confined, his body damaged, his reputation in ruins.

Aldric clenched his jaw.

If only I had finished off that foolish Young Master during the duel…

I wouldn't have ended up here.

The thought kept looping, pressing down on him—his feelings not unlike an influencer who just went viral but failed to capitalize on the momentum, already convinced he was on top of the world and would stay rich forever just by breathing and babbling in front of a camera.

---

Back in Lucas's room.

Silvara had returned. This time, there was no tray or bandages—she simply sat still on a chair near the wall, back straight, eyes fixed forward. Too rigid to be called relaxed. She was back to her usual self.

Lucas glanced at her several times before finally speaking.

"Hey… you could go train, or do something else. You don't need to be here. If yo—"

"Stop trying to order people around."

Silvara's tone was sharp, almost a bark.

"I'm just doing my duty as a sworn guard. That's all."

Lucas fell silent. Something felt off. Not ordinary anger—more like something being held back, leaking through her voice.

Sensing the awkwardness thickening, Lucas chose the safer route.

He let out a small chuckle. "You know… I actually wanted to show my gratitude with my real face right now," he joked. "Hahaha…"

The laugh was subdued, deliberately light.

Silvara didn't laugh.

She stared at Lucas seriously. Too seriously.

Lucas noticed. He swallowed.

…Is she serious?

Lucas shifted awkwardly and gave a crooked smile. "I'll… try," he said.

He raised his hands and wrapped them around his own neck, fingers pressing in. His expression tightened—but there was no real force behind it. His arms trembled slightly, lacking strength.

"…Looks like my strength—" Lucas started.

Silvara cut him off before he could finish.

"I can do it for you."

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