Chapter 38

Earn’s POV

“I trust you all know those seeds better than I do,” Lady Miu said once the final pouch had been handed out.

She stepped forward so the entire crowd could see her clearly, hands clasped neatly before her. “They are well suited to this land. If tended properly, your fields will flourish.”

The farmers held the sacks close to their chests as if they were fragile treasures. Some nodded. Some looked as though they might weep.

“Let me be clear—those seeds are not free.”

A ripple of tension moved through the line. I saw shoulders stiffen.

“But,” she added before fear could fully take root, “you have my word that you will not be enslaved, taken against your will, or subjected to unreasonable taxation because of them.”

The air shifted again. But attention sharpened.

“Your fee will be determined next year—after harvest,” she said calmly. “Until then, you will not be burdened with payment. Focus on restoring your land. Worry about taxes when there is actually something to tax.”

Silence followed her declaration.

“Uh… my lady,” a man near the back of the line called out hesitantly, clutching his sack of seeds. “Whenever we tended the fields, we were robbed… pillaged. What if it happens again?”

A murmur of agreement followed.

“You won’t need to worry about that from now on,” Lady Miu answered without pause.

The man blinked. “Pardon?”

“Did you not see the royal vehicles that arrived earlier?” she asked gently. “The Queen’s knights have already entered Tungsten.”

The crowd stirred, whispering among themselves. I could feel their attention shift—uncertainty mixing with cautious expectation.

“The palace will do its best to protect this land,” she continued, her smile calm but assured. “The knights sent by Her Majesty are among the finest and strongest in her service.”

There was no exaggeration in her tone. No dramatic flourish. Just certainty.

Then she gestured toward me.

“Earn here is one of those capable knights as well,” she said. “So please, work your fields with peace of mind.”

For a moment, dozens of eyes turned in my direction. The same people who had flinched from my whip now regarded me as a shield.

I straightened instinctively, hand resting on the handg*n at my side. Not in threat—In promise.

“Let us all work hard to make Tungsten flourish again,” Lady Miu concluded.

The crowd responded with renewed determination, their earlier anxiety tempered by something steadier.

—

“Pfft…”

The sound was so unexpected that I almost thought I had imagined it.

The car had been quiet the entire ride back—only the steady rhythm of the engine filling the space between us.

I turned slightly and found Lady Miu covering her mouth, shoulders trembling as she tried—and failed—to suppress her laughter.

Within seconds, the restraint broke. A soft, demure laugh spilled freely from her lips.

“Goodness…” she managed between chuckles. “I truly misjudged you, Earn.”

I remained upright, gaze forward. “In what regard, my lady?”

“To think you would swing that whip so viciously while wearing such an innocent expression…” she said, eyes glinting with amusement. “It was rather terrifying.”

I paused before answering. “I fought through the rebellion. Crowd control is nothing unfamiliar.”

That much was true. When chaos begins, hesitation costs lives.

“Oh?” she tilted her head slightly, a teasing note slipping into her voice. “Then perhaps I should inform Her Majesty about today’s events?”

My spine stiffened instantly. “I would prefer you did not.”

She raised a brow, clearly entertained by the reaction.

But my thoughts had already drifted back to that moment in the square. The way her voice had cut through me. The way my hand had fallen limp without conscious command.

I have faced rebels wielding big weapons without flinching. Yet a single reprimand from her had rooted me in place.

It was not the whip that unsettled me today.

It was the memory of standing there—frozen—while she commanded the entire square with nothing but her words.

The laughter gradually faded, leaving behind a quieter atmosphere than before. Lady Miu’s expression changed as well; the amusement in her eyes softened into something more thoughtful.

“Earn… don’t swing your whip so hastily from now on.” Her voice was gentle, but there was no mistaking the seriousness beneath it.

Her gaze lowered briefly to her hands. “I’m sure there will be times when you’ll need to use it. I don’t doubt that. But just then… that wasn’t the time.”

She leaned back against the seat and turned her head toward the window, watching the scenery drift past it.

“The people are simply too starved and too frightened,” she continued quietly. “They aren’t our enemies. They’re the ones we’re supposed to protect.”

I found myself pausing, replaying her words in my mind. There was no condemnation in her tone, no attempt to belittle me. She was not denying the necessity of force. She was correcting the timing of it.

“Yes…” I admitted after a moment, my voice lowering from its usual firmness. “I was too rash back there. Forgive me.”

I shifted in my seat and bowed my head toward her. It was not a formal bow demanded by rank, but one offered out of acknowledgment.

When I raised my head again, I was met with an unexpectedly flustered expression.

“There’s no need to apologize to me,” she said quickly, almost startled by the gesture. A small, embarrassed smile tugged at her lips. “We just need to be more careful from now on. That’s all.”

I straightened in my seat, the word settling heavily yet steadily within me. On the battlefield, decisiveness wins wars. But this was not war. Tungsten was a wounded city, not an enemy front.

Perhaps what I witnessed today was not softness, but a different kind of strength—one that commands without striking, and corrects without humiliating.

And perhaps… For the first time in a while I had something to learn.

“Oh right…” Lady Miu’s voice brightened slightly as she turned toward me. “Will your family be visiting you soon? I would love to meet them—along with the other knights’ families as well.”

I froze.

The question was so ordinary. So harmless.

Yet it struck with more force than any accusation ever could.

She waited, watching me with open curiosity, unaware of the weight her words carried. For a moment, I considered giving a simple answer.

A deflection. A polite excuse. That would have been easier. It would have been proper.

But instead… I found myself speaking.

I told her about my father—how he had once raised his voice against a noble who favored one town over another. How he believed fairness was worth defending, even at the cost of his own safety. I told her how he was punished for it. Publicly. Severely.

I told her how the debts followed. How my mother was taken when we could no longer pay. How my younger siblings grew thinner each winter until there was nothing left of them but fragile bones and shallow breaths.

The words left me more easily than I expected. I had not spoken of them in years. Not in detail. Not like this.

Lady Miu did not interrupt. She did not offer empty reassurances. She simply listened.

And when I finally fell silent, I saw something that made my chest tighten.

Tears were falling down her cheeks.

She was not crying loudly. There were no dramatic sobs. Just silent tears, slipping down her face as she looked at me—not with pity, but with grief.

For me.

For my family.

For a story that had nothing to do with her.

I had seen people react to devastating stories before. Some offered awkward condolences. Others grew uncomfortable and changed the subject. A few simply nodded, as though such tragedies were expected among commoners.

But this…

This was different.

I felt her mourn for them. As if their lives had mattered. As if their deaths were not just another statistic buried beneath noble politics.

Something inside my chest shifted. A tension I had carried for years—quiet, rigid, ever-present—began to loosen. I had told myself long ago that resentment was strength. That anger was armor.

Yet watching her wipe her tears without shame… That armor cracked.

No.

It melted.

And for the first time since I donned a knight’s uniform, the weight I carried did not feel quite so heavy.