“All right. The Potato Squad, assemble in the rear garden.”
Brisa had given the knights led by Philip a new name:
The Potato Squad.
Philip felt a profound sense of humiliation.
Calling knights something like potatoes was a remarkably creative form of contempt.
Sure, I do look a bit like a potato... but isn't this going too far?
Surely she wasn't planning to make them roll around the garden like actual potatoes?
What's the point of being a genius who mastered five languages by age seven? What's the point of memorizing imperial law cover to cover? What's the point of being invited to the Empress Dowager's banquets from the age of ten because of perfect etiquette?
Philip inhaled sharply as he recalled the maids' endless praise.
And yet a noble lady who would believe potatoes grow on trees...
Of course, Brisa was their superior.
Before leaving, Alpheus had explicitly ordered:
"While I'm away, Brisa is your master in this marquisate."
Even so, was it really acceptable to make people into such a laughingstock?
Philip fully intended to protest when he saw her again in the rear garden.
But when Brisa arrived a short while later, she issued a completely serious command.
“Go to Jezel Street and buy as many seed potatoes as possible. Early-harvest varieties.”
Everyone blinked slowly.
No one could quite process what they had just heard.
Was this a joke?
Or some revolutionary new method of ridicule?
Already cursed with potato-like features, Philip felt a wave of anxiety.
She's not going to make me bring back seed potatoes and call them my children, is she?
As Philip stood there in a daze, Brisa handed him a fairly large box.
“Choose ones with a balanced oval shape. No cuts, bruises, or rotten spots. About the size of an egg.”
Hm?
Philip, who had actually farmed potatoes before, was genuinely surprised.
It was spring.
A little late, perhaps, but certainly not too late to obtain seed potatoes and plant them.
“Make sure they're firm, with dry skins. They should have a good number of eyes distributed evenly.”
This was surprisingly accurate.
“There isn't anyone in the marquisate who has experience growing potatoes right now. Put your heads together and choose the best ones. As for the money...”
Brisa pushed the box toward him.
“Sell these.”
The moment the maids saw what was inside, they screamed.
“Kyaaaaa! No, my lady!”
“Those are your jewels!”
“If you sell those, you'll have to wear the same accessories at least once a week! How horrifying!”
Philip couldn't understand their despair.
Was wearing the same earrings twice in one week really such a tragedy?
And these weren't young girls, either.
Most of the maids looked to be in their late thirties or forties.
Though bewildered, Philip accepted the box.
Brisa immediately turned to one of the maids.
“You go with them. Make sure they receive a fair price.”
“No, my lady!”
The maid recoiled in horror.
“I couldn't sell your jewelry even if a sword were pressed to my throat!”
“Very well.”
Brisa respected the opinion with remarkable generosity.
“To be honest, I was torn between practicality and curiosity.”
She continued thoughtfully.
“I was wondering just how badly a jeweler would try to cheat the Potato Squad if they walked in and offered to sell those.”
Then she added in a completely serious tone,
“Make sure to get a receipt, Philip. It will serve as an excellent example of market pricing and profiteering. We'll include it in the history books of Seers.”
The maid shrieked.
“Gyaaaaaah! No! I'll go! I'll go with them!”
Again, Brisa graciously accepted the change of heart.
“Very well.”
With that, her instructions were finished.
The remaining maids immediately collapsed to the ground and began sobbing as though the marquisate itself had fallen.
“We couldn't stop the late marquis from selling the princess's treasures...”
“How are we supposed to face Her Highness in the afterlife...?”
“Every single piece was supposed to be passed down to Lady Brisa...”
Meanwhile, Brisa stood among them with a calm expression.
Was buying seed potatoes really a matter worthy of such drama?
Unable to comprehend the situation any longer, Philip cautiously spoke.
“My lady?”
“Yes?”
“Why... why are you asking us to do this?”
“Because I'm not in my right mind.”
Brisa answered with complete seriousness.
“I spent the last three days trying to regain my senses and failed.”
Philip froze.
Though, in truth, he'd been frozen with confusion for quite some time already.
Unsure how to respond, he asked carefully,
“Um... this is one of those jokes nobles make, isn't it?”
Brisa's face immediately hardened.
“Listen carefully, Philip. Since we don't know each other well yet, I'll tell you this in advance.”
She looked him straight in the eye.
“I do not make jokes.”
Philip flinched.
Come to think of it, setting Alpheus aside—since he'd believed the man was a commoner until recently—this was his first time receiving orders from a real noble.
It was far stranger than he'd imagined.
“My lady... may I ask one more question?”
After hesitating for a moment, Philip voiced the thought that had been bothering him all day.
“Do you... actually see us as human beings?”
Just hours ago, he would have sworn she didn't.
Yet after meeting her face-to-face, she seemed strange, certainly, but not cruel in that way.
Had they misunderstood her all along?
Brisa's answer came without hesitation.
“I am fully aware that you are human beings, just like me.”
Every knight present stared in shock.
The words just like me were the part none of them had expected.
Brisa added thoughtfully,
“You need to eat three meals every day.”
...
Wait.
Was that even the point of the conversation?
At that moment, the gatekeeper came sprinting toward them.
“My lady! My lady! Th-this is terrible!”
Panting desperately, he gasped,
“The head of the Western Grain Merchants' Guild is here! He says the debt must be repaid immediately! He says they've already been more than patient with us!”
Philip didn't understand why everyone was suddenly alarmed.
Yet one of the maids, still lying on the ground weeping, let out a snort.
“The rookie must have made some mistake.”
“We've always paid our debts late.”
“Well, technically we've missed the contractual deadline every year.”
“But everyone always overlooks it because it's tradition.”
“Calm down. The marquisate's marang fish season isn't until early winter. There must be some misunderstanding.”
Marang fish, a freshwater species, was the primary source of income for the Seers Marquisate.
The estate's few profitable lands happened to border a major river.
Having reassured the gatekeeper, the maids resumed their dramatic sobbing.
Brisa, however, didn't appear particularly worried.
She merely muttered,
“Perhaps going insane really was the right choice.”
Then she said,
“Bring the guild master to the reception room immediately.”
After giving the order, she turned back to Philip.
With surprising elegance, she placed a hand firmly on his forearm.
“You can leave the rest to them.”
Her voice became solemn.
“You must depart at once.”
Philip blinked.
“Because the lives of our people depend on the Potato Squad.”
...
Suddenly?
For some reason, Philip felt as though he were being sent to a battlefield.
Brisa's gaze was utterly serious.
“The situation is difficult, but carry out your mission to the best of your ability.”
Her small hand tightened around his arm.
“The future forged through the Potato Squad's struggle shall one day return as glory.”
Then she stepped back with dignity.
“Go quickly. I'm counting on you to bring back the seed potatoes.”
Philip genuinely felt as though he had just received marching orders before a life-or-death campaign.
The maids sobbing dramatically in the background only made it more convincing.
Is this what receiving orders from a real noble is supposed to feel like?
After taking a deep breath, he bowed his head.
“Yes, my lady. Leave it to me.”
Then, after a brief pause, he added,
“And... I'm truly sorry about earlier.”
There was no doubt now.
His belief that she looked down on them had been a misunderstanding.
Hadn't she just entrusted him with a mission in such a solemn and noble fashion?
A strange sense of pride swelled within him.
“I'm honored to receive such a traditional command. This is my first time experiencing something like this, and honestly, I'm a little overwhelmed—”
Wait.
That sounded embarrassingly pathetic.
Realizing his mistake, he lowered his voice and whispered hurriedly,
“P-please keep what I just said a secret.”
“No.”
Brisa answered immediately.
“I'm putting it in the history books.”
Then she turned to the gatekeeper.
“Lead the way.”
Straightening her posture, she spoke in a cool, unwavering voice.
“I now depart for another battlefield.”
And with that, the young lady walked away with perfect composure.
