"It is wonderful to see you active again," Geralt added with genuine sincerity.
Beside him, Elin bowed respectfully. Her hands, partially covered by her apron, gripped a small piece of paper—folded repeatedly, resembling a bread wrapper. anwhile, little Anya stood tall, chest puffed out as if she were guarding the gates of the world’s most magnificent palace.
Lucas tried to steady his breathing.
Geralt glanced briefly at his wife before turning back to Lucas with a hesitant expression. "Young Master... if you would permit it, I would like my wife to stay here with Anya and today."
Lucas furrowed his brow. "In the field? Why? Doesn’t your house need attention after yesterday’s chaos?"
Elin stepped forward half a pace, her voice soft but laced with caution. "Our ho is undergoing renovations, Young Master. And... I am afraid of neighbors or strangers seeing this."
She squeezed the paper in her hand. Lucas fell silent. He knew exactly what Erin ant. The paper showed protruding circles the size of coins, and the anxiety in her eyes explained everything. That was their life savings—money painstakingly gathered so that Anya might attend the Academy one day. Amidst the renovations and the territory’s uncertainty, Elin feared the money would attract the eyes of villains or envious neighbors. In this tomato field, under the protection of Lucas and Silvara, they felt safer.
Silvara, standing beside Lucas, looked confused. She did not understand the financial struggles of commoners or the fear surrounding such a ager saving. To her, security was a matter of blades and armor.
Lucas let out a long sigh. His head throbbed from the thought of his parents’ trap with the dagger, and now the moral weight of Geralt’s family added to the burden.
"Good grief... enough already," Lucas muttered quietly, almost inaudibly.
Without a word, Lucas reached out his hand. In an instant, Loticentra appeared in his grasp. The watering tool shimred faintly under the morning sun.
"Silvara," Lucas called curtly.
Silvara turned, startled to see the tool already in his hand. "Yes?"
"Take this. Use it to water the field," Lucas ordered, handing Loticentra to his silver knight.
Silvara was stunned. She stared at the tool in her hand, then at Lucas with a look of pure disbelief. The situation is complicated, your identity is nearly exposed, the Baron and Baroness suspect you, and yet you’re still thinking about watering the field? she thought to herself.
However, Silvara quickly realized their position. Geralt, Elin, and Anya were right there—people who knew nothing of Lucas’s true identity or the silver dagger conspiracy. To refuse would only spark new suspicion.
With a stiff motion, Silvara nodded. "Understood, Young Master. I shall do it."
Anya, seeing her ntor about to "go on duty," imdiately saluted with her small hand. "Guardian of the tomatoes field, ready to assist, Young Master!" Amidst the web of complications, suspicions, and conspiracies, that little soul seed to roll right over it all—untouched, like oil on water.
Lucas massaged his temples, while inside his pocket, the fake dagger seed to whisper that his ti for gas was running out.
Seeing this innocent happiness is a bit of a relief, he thought, feeling the "uncle-like" soul within him beco undeniable. At this rate, I really am going to turn into her uncle, he mused, lowering his hand.
Lucas gazed at Anya for a mont. His mind drifted back to the lethal duel yesterday. If Matruska hadn’t intervened at the very last second, his head might have been separated from his body by now. And Matruska would never have had a reason to interfere if Anya hadn’t found those crucial docunts belonging to Boran.
Indirectly, Lucas owed his life to this little girl.
Lucas knelt in front of Anya, bringing himself down to her height. He reached out and gently patted her head.
"You’ve worked hard, Anya. For today, just take a rest with your mother," Lucas said softly.
Anya remained silent, staring at Lucas with her wide, round eyes. But instead of looking relieved, her expression turned deeply concerned.
"Young Master..." Anya whispered softly. "I’m sorry."
Lucas arched an eyebrow. "Sorry for what?"
"Even though you’ve beco a good person now with that evil face of yours..." Anya clenched her small fists with determination. "...I still only want to be a lads. I don’t want to be a consort!"
Lucas’s eyebrow twitched violently. The nerves in his temple felt like they were about to snap. This kid, seriously...
"Anya!" Geralt gasped, his face paling at his daughter’s audacity.
Elin was already prepared to step forward with a panicked expression, ready to pinch Anya’s ear for being so disrespectful. "Anya, watch your tongue! The Young Master has been very kind—"
"It’s fine, let it be," Lucas interrupted, raising his hand to stop Erin. He let out a resigned sigh, neutralizing his stiffening expression. "It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it."
Lucas stood back up, trying to change the subject before Anya could ramble any further about her future "career" as a lackey. His gaze swept across the fields, and he suddenly rembered soone who was usually always near Geralt.
"Geralt, where is Edric? I haven’t seen him since I arrived," Lucas asked.
Geralt, who had been tense just a mont ago, now let his shoulders slump. He looked down dejectedly, his expression turning grim. "Edric... he suffered a fatal injury to his leg during the bandit attack last night, Young Master. Right now, he can only lie in the ergency tent."
Lucas fell silent. He took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly. Poor dude, he thought.
He rembered Edric well—the poor man who, just a few days ago, had plucked up the courage to borrow money from him for his wife’s delivery expenses. While the man was struggling to provide for his unborn child, misfortune had struck him right in the leg.
The watering of the fields was finally complete. The droplets produced by Loticentra shimred atop the ripening tomatoes, creating a tranquil atmosphere that stood in sharp contrast to the storm of thoughts inside Lucas’s head.
Lucas turned toward Silvara, who was still holding the watering tool stiffly. "Silvara, return the tool. And... act as you usually do with Anya. Don’t let her feel like sothing is wrong just because I’m in a bad mood."
Silvara gave a short nod, though her eyes briefly flickered toward Lucas’s coat pocket where the silver dagger lay hidden. She understood the command—in front of Geralt’s family, they had to maintain the illusion that everything was fine.
"Geralt," Lucas called out, trying to shift his focus to sothing more technical. "Co here. Help tidy up the edges of this trench. It looks like the soil is starting to collapse in several spots."
Geralt imdiately grabbed his hoe. "Understood, Young Master. Indeed, since the last rain, so sides of the trench have been eroded a bit."
Lucas began walking along the irrigation trench that surrounded his main tomato field. However, after only a few ters, he stopped in his tracks. He leaned down, narrowing his eyes at the surface of the ground beside the trench.
There was a small hole. It wasn’t natural, but a neat scoop mark about the size of a small spoon.
Lucas walked a few more steps. He found another. Then another. These scoop marks appeared consistently every five or six paces.
He imdiately recalled Matruska’s request for soil samples.
Are they seriously taking samples in such a strange manner? Lucas thought, his brow furrowing.
"Young Master? Is sothing wrong?" Geralt asked, noticing Lucas constantly stopping.
Lucas stood up straight, his hand grasping at the air as he summoned The Great Hoe.
"It’s nothing," Lucas replied flatly. "Let’s get to work."
Silvara sat leaning against a shady tree, occasionally wiping a thin bead of sweat from her forehead as she watched Anya battle with her small slate. Beside them, Elin sat quietly, her gaze drifting between her husband and Lucas, who were working hard in the distance.
"Now, write the letter Q again," Silvara commanded flatly.
Anya furrowed her brow. Her small fingers moved a white stone, much like chalk, with hesitation. After a few monts, she looked up at Silvara with a look of pure confusion. "Miss Silvara... I really dislike this letter, this letter is so strange. It looks like an O that’s been crossed out because of a mistake."
A small laugh escaped Silvara’s lips. "That is indeed its shape, Anya. Don’t complain so much, just write it."
Seeing the interaction, Elin plucked up the courage to ask. "Lady Silvara... do you truly not mind doing this? I an, teaching a small child like Anya in the middle of a field?"
Silvara shifted her gaze toward Lucas, who was swinging The Great Hoe. "I cannot mind it. This is the Young Master’s order. And my duty is to obey it."
Elin looked slightly taken-back. She remained silent for a mont, then leaned in and whispered with a lingering sense of maternal anxiety. "Lady Silvara... forgive if I am being overstepping, but... the Young Master isn’t ’targeting’ Anya for anything strange, is he? I an, his attention toward Anya feels... very unusual for a nobleman."
Silvara flinched. She stared at Elin blankly for several seconds before finally snorting. "No. That is impossible. Get such thoughts out of your head."
"Are you sure?" Elin pressed again, her face still showing a mother’s doubt.
Silvara gave athin smile, feeling a headache coming on. Damn it, if this continues, everyone in the territory is going to misunderstand Lucas’s intentions, she thought irritably. She knew she had to give a convincing answer so Elin would stop suspecting her master of being a creep.
"Rest assured," Silvara answered softly. "Besides... the Young Master already likes soone."
Elin’s eyes lit up instantly. Her gossiping instincts were piqued. "Oh? Really? Who is that unfortunate woman, Lady Silvara?"
Silvara was about to give a random answer, but the mory of what happened in the room yesterday—when her fingers were wrapped around Lucas’s neck and he stared back at her with his true face—suddenly flashed through her mind. Her face heated up abruptly.
"I... a..." Silvara muffled her voice, turning her face away so Erin wouldn’t see the blush spreading to her ears.
She let out a small laugh, a sound that seed more like an attempt to hide her embarrassnt. With a flushed face she could no longer conceal, she murmured, "I... I cannot reveal it to the public."
Elin froze, staring at the silver knight before her—a woman usually as cold as ice, now looking like a teenage girl in love. She swallow hard. Oh dear... she thought.
In the warmth of the morning, that began with n tilling the earth, a little girl writing her letters, and a grown woman slightly freaked out by the change in the person before her. And then there was the silver-haired knight, who still could not comprehend what she was truly feeling.
From afar a pair of eyes watched from a distance, holding a strange, luxurious-looking box.
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