A short while later, Brisa summoned the knights to the training grounds once again.
The entire knight order—except for the Potato Squad—dragged themselves over.
They had no choice. Alpheus had left strict instructions:
"While I'm away, obey Brisa's orders."
Standing atop the platform once more, Brisa surveyed them and asked,
“Is there anyone here who is particularly skilled at using sword aura?”
The moment the words sword aura left her lips, every knight straightened.
If sword aura was being discussed, it could only mean one thing: they would soon be drawing their blades.
This is different from the Potato Squad!
This time it's a truly dangerous mission!
Ever since the war ended, many had begun to think they might never see battle again.
Could it be that a territorial war—the kind they'd only heard rumors about—was finally breaking out?
Tension swept through the ranks. Muscles tightened. Expressions hardened.
“I am the best among them.”
A large knight strode forward and raised his hand.
His face was already filled with resolve.
“I'll take the vanguard.”
Seeing the worried look on the young lady's face, others hurried to volunteer as well.
Just as they had on the battlefield not long ago, they were willing to risk their lives without hesitation.
“To have another chance to draw my sword! I'll lead the charge!”
Only then did relief appear on Brisa's face.
“Thanks to all of you, it seems our territory can escape this crisis.”
With grim expressions, the knights followed after her in a large group.
Behind Brisa, the maids were once again sniffling and wiping away tears.
She had silenced them with a warning glance, but she couldn't stop the endless tears falling from their eyes. It looked as though the world itself were ending.
The knights became even more convinced.
A terrible threat must be approaching.
Whatever enemy dared threaten the territory, they intended to destroy it.
However, after following Brisa's brisk footsteps for quite some time, what appeared before them was not an invading army.
It was an olive grove.
“Very well.”
Brisa made her declaration in a solemn voice.
“Cut them all down. As quickly as possible.”
At those words, every maid collapsed into tears.
“No, my lady...!”
“You can't possibly mean that...!”
Meanwhile, Brisa stood among them with her arms crossed and a determined expression.
The head maid sobbed dramatically.
“The First Marquis Sears planted these olive trees to express his love for his wife. As you know, the First Marchioness's name was Olive Sears...”
“Yes.”
Brisa answered flatly.
“That's why he planted olive trees on the plain closest to the manor.”
She paused.
“On land that used to grow carrots and corn.”
Turning toward the guildmaster who had followed her, she asked,
“If I provide this much timber, it'll cover all our outstanding debts and pay for two months' worth of grain, correct?”
In other words, she intended to cut down the olive trees and sell them to pay off the territory's debts.
At least she had increased their estimate from one month's grain to two months' grain. Though even that wasn't much. With the population of the marquisate increasing, those supplies might not last long.
The head maid continued sniffling.
Unable to openly oppose her mistress, she carefully selected only words that contained no direct criticism.
“It's such a beautiful expression of love...”
“That's the wrong way to describe it.”
“A warmth and sentiment that nothing else could replace...”
“A misguided sentiment.”
“These olive trees symbolize the peace and comfort of House Sears...”
“An incorrect impression.”
Yet Lancy hesitated for a different reason.
Isn't this just a temporary fix?
The idea itself wasn't bad, but when would they harvest olives again if they cut down the trees now?
“My lady.”
Lancy cautiously raised his voice.
“Shouldn't we think this through a bit? How long would it take for these olive trees to grow back?”
Brisa answered immediately.
“On average? Three hundred years.”
Lancy nearly jumped out of his skin.
Brisa continued calmly.
“The youngest trees are around two hundred years old. The larger ones over there are more than five hundred.”
He hurriedly voiced his concern.
Wouldn't this be far too short-sighted?
“Then nobody'll be eating Sears olives again for three hundred years?”
Yet even as he spoke, he didn't expect his opinion to matter.
Whenever he passionately argued during a crisis, people usually ignored him.
Most of the time they didn't even bother replying.
This time was different.
“No,” Brisa said seriously. “It takes around twenty years for production to stabilize. Harvests become most active between fifty and one hundred fifty years. By those standards, these trees are already past their prime.”
Huh?
The flood of knowledge left both Lancy and the guildmaster speechless.
“So it's better to cut them down and plant something more suitable on this land.”
“More... suitable...?”
As Lancy repeated the words blankly, he suddenly realized something.
At some point, he had completely stopped thinking of Brisa as merely the leader of those nonsense-spouting maids.
The guildmaster seemed to feel the same way.
“Most lords don't know much about the crops grown in their own territories,” he whispered. “At best, they know the market price.”
His eyes remained fixed on Brisa.
“But this young lady is impressive. Based on what I know, her estimate of those trees' ages is actually pretty accurate.”
Brisa continued coldly.
“Agricultural crops should be chosen based on knowledge, not sentiment. Why do you think Sears olives were such poor quality? Most likely, the crops farmers planted here long ago through trial and error were the correct answer.”
Then she pulled a small rod from her pocket.
“Olive trees thrive best in neutral to slightly alkaline soil.”
She stuck the rod into the ground.
“Of course, there may be other variables involved. But considering this used to be a field for carrots and corn...”
She quietly chanted a spell.
The rod turned red.
“Just as I thought.”
Brisa nodded.
“This soil is slightly acidic.”
Lancy understood absolutely none of that.
The guildmaster, however, widened his eyes.
“Knowing that different soils suit different crops is a basic principle of agriculture! But what exactly is that rod?”
“A magical tool for measuring acidity and alkalinity. We use them during potion-making practice at the Academy.”
She shrugged.
“They're rather expensive, though. Not easy to obtain.”
At that moment, Lancy realized something.
That tool had undoubtedly been one of the countless “required supplies” Brisa had purchased with the mountain of debt she accumulated before entering the Royal Academy two years ago.
“Anyway,” Brisa continued, “I believe something other than olive trees would grow far better here. For example—”
She suddenly narrowed her eyes.
Beyond the hill, at the end of the winding road, a group of people was approaching.
Philip and the Potato Squad.
They were pulling carts.
And those carts were overflowing with seed potatoes.
“You want to plant... potatoes here?”
Philip looked utterly bewildered.
Even he had never imagined they would tear up a perfectly healthy olive grove.
“I naturally assumed these seed potatoes were meant for the rear garden and the manor grounds—”
He never finished the sentence.
The maids had already turned toward him with murderous glares.
“You want to plant potatoes in the rear garden?”
“My goodness! Potato flowers in the marquis's garden instead of pansies? Do you honestly think that's acceptable?”
“Absolutely not! The garden is the face of the manor! Potatoes have no place there!”
The knights who were busy chopping down trees only caught a few keywords from afar and immediately joined in.
“Exactly!”
“The Potato Squad cannot be the face of the knight order!”
“They look far too much like potatoes!”
The Potato Squad stood there dumbfounded and nodded weakly.
“O-Okay...”
“Fine... We get it...”
Even Brisa didn't take their side.
“The rear garden has another purpose.”
And so, under her direction, the felling of the olive grove continued steadily.
Meanwhile, the Potato Squad began loading the freshly cut timber onto the same carts that had carried the seed potatoes.
