Once Rosaline had finished taking every measurement imaginable from the three sisters, not only for the royal banquet gowns, but for future dresses as well, as Ulrich had specifically requested, she finally stepped away from them and returned to where he was waiting.

In her hands, she carried a thick booklet filled with notes, quick sketches, measurements, preferred cuts, chosen fabrics, colors, and several personal adjustments of her own. She presented it to Ulrich, then to have his confirmation.

Ulrich took the booklet and began to flip through it in silence.

As expected, Rosaline’s talent was remarkable. Her designs were elegant, refined, and meticulously adapted to each of the girls. She had not merely listened to their requests; she had interpreted them, softened what needed softening, elevated what needed refinement, and shaped each preference into something worthy of the Rubenhart name.

Then his gaze paused.

A faint crease appeared between his brows as his eyes settled on Airam’s chosen color palette.

They were all dark, very dark colors.

"It was Lady Airam’s wish," Rosaline said, having read his expression at once.

Ulrich slowly lifted his eyes toward Airam.

She met his gaze without the slightest hint of discomfort, unbothered by his silent scrutiny.

"We are attending a royal banquet," he said dryly, "not a funeral."

"I want dark," Airam replied stubbornly.

Ulrich looked at her for another moment.

He had already noticed it long ago, but Airam disliked anything too bright, ornate, or eye-catching. She preferred sober colors, sharp simplicity, and severe elegance. In that regard, she was similar to him. Still, his original intention had been to dress the three sisters in colors and designs striking enough to seize attention at once, dazzling enough to make the watching world forget, if only for an instant, what prejudices described them to be.

Yet he was not going to force her.

Without another word, he closed the booklet and handed it back to Rosaline.

"Not black," he said simply.

That was his compromise. He would allow the gown to remain dark, so long as it did not drift into something too grim, too eerie, or too openly inappropriate for the occasion.

Rosaline accepted the booklet with a slight nod. "Understood, My Lord."

Then Esther, who had been quietly watching the whole exchange, spoke up.

"What about you, Lord Ulrich?" She asked.

When his gaze shifted toward her, she hesitated only briefly before continuing in a smaller voice. "Wouldn’t you be ordering something as well?"

"Lord Rubenhart has already placed his order," Rosaline answered before he could.

Ulrich had already given her the necessary instructions earlier and had left the rest to her judgment. After years of working with her, he trusted her expertise enough not to interfere in every detail.

"Oh," Esther muttered, nodding softly.

"Then have everything ready as quickly as possible," Ulrich said.

At his signal, one of the knights stepped forward carrying a case in both hands. He placed it on a nearby table and opened it in front of Rosaline.

Inside, several stacks of gold coins gleamed under the light, neatly arranged and filling nearly the entire case.

Hermione’s breath caught.

Esther simply stared in shock.

Neither of them had ever truly seen gold like that before, not in such quantity, not gathered so carelessly in one place as though it were nothing more than a routine expense. It was an absurd amount, enough in their eyes to sustain someone for a lifetime easily.

"For their gowns and for my own order," Ulrich said evenly. "There is extra included for priority."

Rosaline placed one hand over her chest and lowered her head with graceful respect. "As expected, My Lord’s generosity knows no bounds. Everything will be completed on time, you have my word."

She accepted the case without hesitation, though even some of the staff standing nearby looked momentarily stunned by the sum.

Likely because today’s order was the most expensive Ulrich did as there were three new figures.

Ulrich gave a brief nod, then shifted his gaze toward the sisters.

That look alone was enough to tell them it was time to leave.

They moved, though more slowly than before, each of them still reeling in her own way from what they had just witnessed.

"Aren’t you fortunate young ladies?" Rosaline said with a faintly teasing smile as they turned to go. "The Count must hold you in very high esteem indeed to spend so lavishly on your behalf."

"T-That is... um... yes," Esther stuttered, her cheeks flushing.

But beneath the warmth blooming in her chest, there was also guilt.

An uncomfortable kind of guilt.

Even Hermione, for all her pride, could not entirely suppress the uncomfortable feeling rising within her either. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Of course, they had always known Ulrich was spending a great deal on them. They had seen the estate, the tutors, the servants, the food, the clothing, and the rooms they lived in. They had guessed, more than once, just how much of his wealth was being poured into their lives.

But knowing it in theory was not the same as seeing it with their own eyes.

Today, they had watched him place a fortune on the table without so much as blinking, simply to ensure they would appear properly dressed at a future royal banquet.

He was, without question, taking their adoption with seriousness.

That much, no one could deny.

"My Lord, a crowd has already gathered," Hendrick warned as they stepped out of the establishment.

It was hardly surprising. The mere presence of Count Rubenhart within the city was enough to stir attention wherever he went.

"We will continue on foot," Ulrich said calmly. "Keep a perimeter. Do not allow anyone to approach too closely."

For the briefest moment, Hendrick looked as though he wanted to object. It would have been safer and certainly easier to continue by carriage. But in the end, he simply bowed his head.

"As you command, My Lord."

Ulrich had chosen to proceed on foot for two reasons. The next destination was not particularly far, yes, but more importantly, he wanted the city to see them. He wanted the people of New Ruben to witness the three sisters with their own eyes rather than leave them shrouded in rumor and fearful imagination.

The moment they stepped fully into the street, the voices rose around them.

"Lord Rubenhart!"

"Count Rubenhart!"

"Thank you for your hard work, My Lord!"

"All hail Lord Rubenhart!"

As expected, Ulrich’s reputation ran deep throughout his county.

Though his mana core was broken, the people admired him all the more for what he had managed to accomplish despite it. He had inherited his father’s territory and not only maintained it, but strengthened it. Under his rule, trade had flourished, labor had expanded, and wealth had spread more evenly through the land.

Most importantly, Ulrich was known for taxing his people less than many other lords while still providing work, stability, and protection. The Rubenhart territory had become one of the least impoverished regions in the kingdom, and that fact alone had secured the loyalty of countless citizens.

His father had been far harsher, far more rigid, placing profit above all else and squeezing the land dry in the name of power. Ulrich, by contrast, had understood something his father had not: wealth taken too brutally would only poison the future. The people needed to live well if the territory was to truly thrive. And so he had chosen a different path, one that valued not only prosperity but the well-being of those beneath his rule.

It had worked.

Perhaps that was why, even after adopting three witches, the people’s affection for him had not truly faded. If anything, seeing him now, walking through his city with that same impeccable bearing, cloaked in an aura so natural he seemed almost kingly, only stirred their admiration further.

Especially among the women.

Many of them blushed openly, waving at him with sparkling eyes, whispering behind gloved hands, or squealing the moment he so much as turned his head in their direction.

Yet soon, as Ulrich led the procession at the front, the crowd’s attention inevitably shifted.

Their eyes fell upon the three girls walking behind him.

A ripple passed through the gathered citizens.

At first, it was only a surprise. Then came the quiet gasps, the exchanged glances, and unease. They guessed quickly enough who the girls must be. The Count’s adopted daughters. The witches.

They stared.

And why wouldn’t they? These were not the grotesque, twisted creatures of old stories, not the monsters whispered about to frighten children at night. They were young.

Beautiful and graceful even. Yet none of that erased the word that clung to them.

Witches.

The sisters, of course, felt it at once.

Airam did not care. The looks slid off her like rain against stone. If anything, her expression only grew colder beneath their scrutiny.

Hermione did not care either, or at least, she wished not to. But though her chin remained high and her posture elegant, she could not deny the discomfort prickling beneath her skin.

Esther was the most visibly affected. Her steps became smaller, her hands tightened over the folds of her skirt, and she did not dare lift her eyes toward the staring crowd.

Then, all at once, a bright childish voice rang through the tension.

"Oh! Big sister, you are so beautiful!"

The voice was so sudden, so clear, that Esther blinked and turned in surprise.

Peeking through the armored wall of knights, between their legs and greaves, stood a little girl no older than five. Her wide eyes were fixed on Esther with pure, sparkling admiration.

Behind her, the child’s mother looked horrified at her daughter’s boldness, one nervous hand clutching the girl by the shoulder as though ready to snatch her back at any second.

But Esther had already stopped.

"Wait, Esther!" Hermione called, startled, but the youngest was already moving.

She stepped away from the line and approached the child without hesitation. The knights shifted tensely, but Ulrich did not give any command to stop her.

Esther crouched down until she was at the little girl’s level. Her nervousness, so obvious only moments earlier, melted beneath the sincerity in the child’s face. Then she smiled, a bright, gentle smile, warm enough to ease even the mother’s fear.

"Thank you," Esther said softly, patting the girl’s hair.

The little girl giggled, clearly delighted by the attention.

"Esther, it’s dangerous," Hermione muttered as she approached, though more out of reflex than true anger.

Then another voice rose from the crowd.

"Wow! You really look like a princess!"

Hermione turned, caught off guard.

A boy a little older than the girl was staring up at her with complete honesty, his face lit with awe.

"I—Is that so?" Hermione asked, and despite herself, a faint blush dusted her cheeks.

"Yes!" The boy said eagerly. "And your hair is amazing! It’s so pretty!"

The little girl nodded at once, giggling again. "So pretty!"

Hermione stared at them for a second, completely disarmed.

Soon, that first praise broke something open in the crowd. Other children began to speak up too, their voices overlapping with innocent excitement.

"Her dress is so nice!"

"The yellow one is like the sun!"

"The silver-haired sister looks like royalty!"

"That big sister is so cool!"

Even Airam, standing further back with her usual dark stillness, found herself receiving her share of attention. Some of the children stared at her with wide, awestruck eyes, clearly drawn to her different beauty, her pale face, her midnight-black hair, her onyx gaze, and the quiet menace she wore like a second skin.

To the adults, she might have seemed strange.

To the children, she looked magnificent, like an untouchable flower.

For a moment, the earlier tension shifted.

The fear did not vanish completely, nor did the suspicion. But the sharp edge of it dulled, softened by the simple, guileless wonder of children who saw beauty before they saw rumor.