The figure stepped forward with a stride that was both graceful and steady. Her polished leather boots pressed into the damp soil of the field without hesitation. In her hands, she carefully held a luxurious mahogany box, its edges adorned with intricate silver engravings.

"Long time no see... Sister," a soft yet clear voice broke the silence beneath the leafy tree.

Silvara flinched. She stood up abruptly, her eyes widening in disbelief as she gazed at the girl standing before her. Her jet-black hair flowed neatly, a sharp contrast against her pale skin. Her travel uniform bore the crest of the Grimhelt family—a pin Silvara knew all too well.

"Thriska?" Silvara murmured, her voice thick with shock.

The girl, Thriska, gave a faint smile—awkward yet sincere. She was no longer the little brat who used to trip over Silvara's cloak; she had grown into a poised young woman, though the glint in her eyes still held traces of childhood innocence from her days as Silvara's loyal follower.

"You little brat... have you become a member of the Crowseal?" Silvara asked.

"I am not a 'brat' anymore, Sister," Thriska replied somewhat shyly, lowering her head.

Silvara blinked, still trying to process this drastic transformation. "Ah, sorry. You've grown so much... I almost didn't recognize you. So, what brings you here? Why has a Grimhelt come all the way to this tomato field?"

Thriska did not answer immediately. She turned toward Anya, who had been staring at her with an open mouth. With a slow movement, Thriska lifted the luxurious box.

"I... I heard there was a brave child named Anya here," Thriska said softly. "I brought two pieces of bread for her, by Lady Matruska's order."

Silvara understood instantly. She turned to Anya. "Anya, look at this!"

Anya, who had been confused a moment ago, suddenly jumped for joy. "Yeah! Good bread!" she shouted, spinning in circles.

Silvara let out a small laugh at Anya's antics before turning back to Thriska. "Sit down for a bit, Thriska. Don't just stand there. Put that fancy box away; you're making the people in this field tense."

Thriska nodded obediently and sat on the wooden bench near Erin. Her movements were stiff, typical of a noble accustomed to strict protocol. Anya's eyes sparkled instantly, staring at the wooden box as if it contained legendary treasure.

Erin, feeling both honored and intimidated by the guest's presence, bowed deeply. "Thank you very much for your kindness, Lady," Erin said with profound respect.

At the mention of 'Lady,' Thriska's face suddenly flushed red. Being the bashful type, she immediately hung her head low, avoiding eye contact. "Ah, no... please don't call me that. I am only... only performing my duty."

Silvara observed Thriska's behavior as she kept her head down. "So, Thriska... have you been stationed here? It's unusual for the Grimhelts to send someone this far."

Thriska answered quietly, her fingers fiddling with the edge of the box. "That's right, Sister. I am currently guarding the Voss border with several other Grimhelt members. We were dispatched to the Barons' territories because there is currently a vacancy in the Regional Knight seats."

She took a short breath, then glanced toward Lucas, who was still busy in the distance. "Sir Aldric is suspected of smuggling many illegal goods into the Barons' lands within the Grand Duke's jurisdiction."

Anya, who had been watching the interaction with overflowing curiosity, suddenly stood tall. She placed one hand on her hip and the other over her heart, mimicking the knightly salute she had seen in picture books.

"Permission to ask a question, Miss Knight in black!" Anya exclaimed with an adorably loud voice. "If you are Miss Silvara's sister... why isn't your hair shiny silver like a sword? Why is your hair as black as kitchen charcoal?"

Silvara burst into a small laugh, a sound rarely heard so freely. "Sister? Oh, Anya, she isn't my biological sister."

Thriska, who had already been looking down, now found her face flushing crimson all the way to her ears. She gripped the edges of her mahogany box and murmured in a voice that was almost drowned out.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Sil... Silvara," Thriska whispered sincerely, her head bowing even lower as if she had just committed a grave mistake.

Anya tilted her head, her round eyes blinking in confusion. "Why are you saying sorry?"

Silvara wiped a lingering tear of laughter from the corner of her eye and patted Anya's head. "She's apologizing because her shy nature hasn't changed a bit. You see, Anya... Thriska used to be just like you. When I was still studying at the Roosevelt estate, she followed me everywhere I went. Like a duckling that had lost its mother. Because she never left my side, eventually, everyone started treating her like my own little sister."

Thriska mustered the courage to lift her face slightly. A thin smile—very faint—spread across her lips as she listened to Silvara's explanation. The memories of trailing behind the silver knight's sturdy back were treasures to her.

However, the smile didn't last long. Thriska's gaze slowly shifted past Silvara's shoulder, landing on the figure sweating in the middle of the irrigation trench.

Her eyes narrowed, filled with utter bewilderment. There stood Lucian Voss—the man known in intelligence reports and aristocratic rumors as a cruel, arrogant, and merciless 'Young Master'—steadily swinging a hoe with a consistent rhythm.

"Sister..." Thriska whispered, her tone turning serious and inquisitive. "Why... why is the infamous Young Master Lucian tilling the earth alongside that old man? Is he punishing the old man in some incredibly strange way? Or... did he hit his head on a rock?"

To Thriska, seeing a young Voss dirtying his hands with mud for the sake of tomato plants was a sight far more baffling than investigating illegal goods.

Anya huffed, puffing out her cheeks in protest. She planted her hands on her hips, looking at Thriska with a mock-serious expression.

"He is not 'old man,' Miss Knight!" Anya exclaimed, pointing toward Geralt. "He is my father! The great hero of this field!"

Thriska jumped slightly, her eyes blinking rapidly. "Y-your father? My apologies, I did not mean to be disrespectful..." she murmured, her guilt deepening. However, her confusion only doubled. The arrogant Young Master Lucian... working shoulder-to-shoulder with a common farmer? Since when did a he care about the peasantry, let alone sweat alongside them?

Anya then cleared her throat, trying to adjust her voice to sound like a dignified knight, though her words were still a bit jumbled.

"Hark, Miss Knight," Anya declared with a serious nod. "It is true... the face of Young Master is indeed evil, like a bandit who wants to steal cows. Even his face is so scary that the birds are afraid to fly past him."

Anya paused for a moment, then pointed toward Lucas with a sincere look.

"But, even if his face is like that, his heart now is already a bit... only a bit, clean like this tomato field. He no longer likes to kick people; instead, he now likes to give bread!"

Silvara, hearing the little "knight's" speech, couldn't hold it back anymore. She chuckled softly, covering her mouth with her hand. "A bit clean like a tomato field, huh? That is a very accurate description of him right now, Anya."

Thriska could only gape. She looked at Silvara, then at Lucas, then back to Anya. This information was completely shattering every report she had studied about the cruelty of the Voss family.

"His heart... is clean? Young Master Lucian?" Thriska whispered to herself, as if trying to process an impossible concept.

Thriska handed the mahogany box to Silvara with a stiff, respectful nod. Her face was still a light shade of pink from the embarrassment. "I... I must take my leave now, Sister. My duty at the border does not permit a long stay."

"I understand," Silvara replied, taking the box with a gentle smile. "Stay safe, Thriska. Don't push yourself too hard just because you're a Crowseal now."

"I will. Until we meet again," Thriska said. She gave one last bewildered glance at Lucas—who was still aggressively digging a trench—before turning on her heel and marching away toward the edge of the field.

In the distance, leaning against a large oak tree away from the peasant's sight, stood a tall man with sharp features and a stern aura. His hand rested habitually on the hilt of his claymore. This was Karska Grimhelt.

"How did it go?" Karska asked as Thriska approached.

Thriska let out a long, heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping the moment she was out of Silvara's view. "Safe enough. But... everything here is strange, Karska. Very strange."

Karska pushed himself off the tree, his expression remaining flat. "Good. Lady Matruska sends her apologies for making me stay back, but she was quite clear: you need to 'practice your communication' because you've already become far too proficient at swinging a sword. Socializing is your new battlefield."

Thriska groaned, looking down at her calloused palms. "Swinging a sword is much easier. At least a sword doesn't call me 'Lady' or ask me why my hair isn't silver."

They began walking toward their horses tethered nearby. Thriska glanced at her cousin sideways. "By the way... why did you request to be stationed here at the Voss border? I thought you'd be heading toward the other Barony where Veska is posted."

Karska stopped in his tracks. "And what does that have to do with Veska?"

"Well," Thriska teased slightly, though her voice was still monotone. "Aren't you two lovers? Everyone in the family thinks so."

Karska's eyebrow twitched violently. A vein seemed to throb on his temple for a split second before he forced his face back into a mask of stoicism. "I am not her lover. Far from it."

"Then why come here?" Thriska pressed.

Karska looked out toward the horizon, his gaze hardening as he thought of the orders he had received in secret. "I... I am here because—"

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