The heavy, savory warmth of the farmhouse kitchen eventually gave way to the crisp, verdant air of the countryside. With a nod of quiet approval from Snow, who remained behind to attend to correspondence, I stepped out onto the porch. The transition was immediate; the landscape stretched out in undulating waves of emerald and gold, the noon sun casting long, honeyed shadows across the rows of carefully tended vines that defined the Flower estate.
Alice Brook followed close behind, her presence a soft, rhythmic rustle of starched linen. As the sun began to assert its intensity, she unfurled a large, cream-colored parasol, positioning it with practiced ease to cast a cool, circular sanctuary over me. The shade was a welcome respite, and for a moment, I allowed myself to breathe without the reflexive urge to scan the horizon for threats.
"Your dress, It's so understated. Most women of your standing…given the honors bestowed upon you…would be draped in silk or reinforced leather. You look almost… a commoner in such simple cotton." Alice murmured, her eyes tracing the simple, unadorned fabric of my commoner's attire.
I smoothed the modest skirts, the fabric feeling light and honest against my skin.
"It's practical, It's cute, and more importantly, it fits. I spent enough years trapped in heavy armor and the suffocating robes of the bureau or even a guild. There is a certain kind of power in simplicity that no amount of gold plating can replicate." I replied with a shrug that sent the sleeve of my missing arm swaying gently.
Alice, her dark hair pulled back into a neat, high ponytail that accentuated the alertness in her expression, offered a knowing smile. She looked every bit the quintessential maid, but as we walked, I noticed the way she moved…balanced, light-footed, and ready.
In the distance, the vineyard came into full, breathtaking view. Dozens of farmers were scattered among the rows, their hands moving with the rhythmic, hypnotic grace of those who understood the language of the soil. As we approached the edge of the first terrace, the scent of crushed grapes and rich, damp earth grew overwhelming, sweet and intoxicating.
"This must be it,"
I muttered, the recognition settling in my chest like a long-forgotten melody.
"The vineyard."
I left Alice while holding her umbrella, I only came here to see the scenery. But the truth is that I wanted to help the workers picking grapes. It reminded me of when I was little. My siblings, Elias and Elicia had worked in these fields before. I knew its detail, this very structure and my ability to pluck out grapes with ease.
As I moved toward the trellised rows, Alice noticed something was wrong, I was going in the vineyards all by myself. She thought that I was crazy, but this is serious. Behind me, Alice let out a sharp, audible gasp, her grip on the umbrella handle tightening until her knuckles turned white.
She hurried to catch up to me, her footsteps uneven on the soft, tilled earth.
"My Lady, please, You don't understand. The Flower Family regulations are… strict. If the vineyard manager sees you as a guest, a savior of the city…working in the dirt like a common laborer, he'll think it's a sign of poor hospitality. He'll punish the workers for allowing it, and he'll surely hold me responsible for not keeping you sheltered."
She whispered, her voice laced with genuine panic. She kept casting nervous glances back toward the farmhouse, as if expecting the estate guards to descend on us at any moment.
Alice's eyes were wide and brimming with anxiety, her lip trembling as she looked at the workers, who were still frozen in place, terrified of the potential fallout. She reached out, gently tugging at the sleeve of my dress, trying to pull me back to the path.
"Please, Roxy. The workers will be blamed. It's not worth the risk to them."
I stopped mid-stride and turned to face her, the evening breeze catching the simple cotton of my dress. I could see the genuine fear in her eyes, not for herself, but for the men who had spent their lives tending these vines.
I reached out with my right hand and gently covered hers, my touch firm and grounding.
"Alice, look at me, I'm not a guest, and I'm certainly not a fragile doll that needs to be kept in a display case. I'm a worker. I grew up in fields just like these, and I have more respect for the labor these men do in a single day than I have for any ceremony in the city.'
I said, my voice quiet but carrying an unmistakable authority that had nothing to do with my rank and everything to do with the life I had lived.
I looked over at the workers, whose expressions were a mixture of awe and growing concern for the impending reprimand. I turned back to Alice, my gaze softening.
"I won't let anyone be punished for this. If the manager has an issue, I will beat the shit out of him, and I assure you, I have a way of making people see reason."
I stepped closer to her, my expression earnest.
"I don't want to sit there under an umbrella while everyone else sweats. That's not kindness; it's a burden. Helping them is the only way I can actually feel like I'm part of this place. Please, Alice, let me do this. I need the work, and they need the help."
Alice searched my face for a long, agonizing moment, her shoulders slowly dropping from their tense, defensive hunch. She looked at the workers, who were now watching us with hesitant hope, and then back at me. A small, defeated sigh escaped her, and her grip on the umbrella handle finally relaxed.
"You are a very stubborn woman, Lady Roxy,"
she murmured, though the terror in her voice had vanished, replaced by a quiet, reluctant smile. She stepped aside, tucking the umbrella under her arm and adjusting her apron.
"If you are insistent on getting your hands stained with grape juice, I suppose I cannot stop you. But if the manager arrives… I'm hiding behind you."
"Fair enough," I said, a rare, genuine laugh escaping me.
I turned back to the vines, the shears clicking into place in my hand. With Alice watching over me—no longer with fear, but with a newfound, quiet respect—I dove into the harvest, finally feeling the honest, grounding weight of a day's work.
We reached a group of men working under the temporary shade of a canvas awning. As the sound of our approach reached them, the rhythmic snip-snip of their shears faltered and died. The workers straightened, their faces turning toward us, and as their eyes landed on me, a collective, stunned silence swept through the crew. They dropped their baskets, a few men instinctively reaching to remove their hats, their eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and utter disbelief.
"It… it's Lady Roxy,"
"The Gold-Ranked… the one who brought the antidote… the savior of Allure."
One of the older men whispered, his voice trembling as he gestured to the others. "The Gold-Ranked… the one who brought the antidote… the savior of Allure."
The air grew thick with their awe, a heavy, stifling atmosphere that I had spent months trying to outrun. I felt the familiar irritation prickle at the back of my neck, but I pushed it aside, opting for action over explanation.
I said, my voice firm and grounded, cutting through their hesitation. I walked past the stunned group to a row of heavily laden vines.
"I didn't come here to be a statue, The harvest waits for no one, and if you're behind schedule, you're losing potential. I grew up working these rows…I know exactly how to handle the clusters without bruising the fruit."
The foreman, a man with hands as weathered as the gnarled wood of the vines, blinked rapidly, shaking off his shock. This is not normal you will see everyday.
I used my other hand, the weight of the muscle feeling perfectly balanced in my right hand. I didn't need to relearn the motion; it was burned into my muscle memory from a childhood spent under a different sun, long before I had ever picked up a sword. With a swift, fluid snap, I removed the first cluster of grapes, placing it delicately into the basket with the precision of a surgeon.
"Don't just stand there, "The sun is setting, and these grapes aren't going to pick themselves."
I said, a rare, genuine spark of enthusiasm lighting my eyes as I glanced back at the slack-jawed workers.
I moved through the rows with a fluidity that had been dormant for years, my right hand snapping the stems with surgical precision. Alice stood nearby, her expression a complex mixture of disappointment and concern; she hated seeing someone of my stature reduced to manual labor, but she couldn't deny the fierce, singular focus in my eyes.
"You don't have to do this, Roxy, "You could be resting."
Alice murmured, clutching the umbrella as if it were a shield against the setting sun.
"I am resting,This is the only kind of rest I know" I replied, my voice calm.
The light from the hour was going away and it was getting dark, a deep purple color. There were still many grapes on the vines and it was making me really impatient. My right hand was wrapped in a cloth and it felt heavy and clumsy when I tried to pick the grapes.
One of the workers, seeing me struggle slightly with a particularly dense thicket of vines, hurried over and offered me a specialized razor. I shook my head, declining it with a curt gesture. My goal wasn't just to work; it was to finish the entire terrace before nightfall. To do that, I needed more than just standard tools. I needed the extension of my own will.
I wanted to take the cloth off so I could use my power to make things easier.. When I moved my hand I felt a weird pain where my left arm used to be. It was like my arm was still there. It was not. This made me lose my balance. I tried to grab the cloth with my fingers. It was hard to do with just one hand. The cloth kept slipping from me.
It was then that I realized something. My body was used to having two hands. Now I only had one. This was a problem. I got really frustrated. I cursed to myself. I knew I could not do this alone.
I called out to Alice.
"Alice!"
I said loudly without looking from the grapes. I held out my arm and it was shaking.
"I need you to come here now."
Alice came to me quickly looking worried. When she saw the cloth on my hand she stopped.
"My Lady, your hand is hurt. You should not be doing this."
I told her not to argue with me.
"I need to take this cloth off .I need to get to work. I am tired of moving slowly."
Alice started to unwrap the cloth from my hand. As she did the cloth got dirty and smelled bad. When she finally took the piece of cloth off she gasped. My hand was a mess. The skin was not. You could see the bones. It was like something from a nightmare.
Alice looked pale. Her hands were shaking. I did not blame her for being disgusted. The sight of my hand was really bad.
Soon as the air touched my wound the blood started to flow. But it did not just flow, it came out in a surge. It was like the blood was alive. It was moving on its own. It swirled in the air. Started to take shape.
Alice stepped back looking at the blood in amazement. The blood started to mold. Shape itself into a sword. It was a sword made of blood. It was pulsing with life.
Alice whispered, "This is unbelievable."
I did not wait for her to say anything. I took the sword. Turned back to the grapes. I started to harvest them moving quickly and easily. The people around me were staring and they could not believe what they were seeing. I was not just picking grapes I was doing something
The workers nearby dropped their baskets, their jaws hanging open. A hush fell over the vineyard, broken only by a few awestruck murmurs.
"The strength of a hero..." one whispered.
"Unbelievable sorcery," another added, their fear replaced by a dizzying, reverent wonder.
I didn't give them time to recover. I swung the crimson blade, the movement a blur of motion. I wasn't fighting; I was harvesting. With rhythmic, surgical strikes, I sheared through the thickest vines and detached the heaviest clusters of grapes, catching them in the crook of my arm or letting them fall into the waiting baskets with hypnotic speed.
Basket after basket filled up, the grapes pristine and untouched by the bruising shears of the others. In less than a minute, I had cleared what would have taken a dozen men an hour.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and gold, the vineyard fell silent. Every row was stripped clean, every basket brimming with the harvest. I let the blood sword dissipate, the crimson mist fading back into my skin, leaving my hand trembling and tired. I stood there, breathless and covered in the faint, sweet scent of the fruit, having finished in hours what should have taken days.
The workers looked at me not just as a hero, but as a force of nature, and for the first time in my life, I felt the sheer, exhilarating satisfaction of a job done with absolute, terrifying efficiency.