After the wine-tasting banquet, Lanche and his two companions returned to the manor to find four bound black-clad men kneeling dejectedly in the courtyard. The two sisters watched them coldly from the side.

Lanche was slightly surprised. The Semos Trading Company had moved faster than he’d imagined—they’d almost caught him off guard.

Luckily, the two maids had been home to handle things.

“What happened?” Kestia asked, frowning slightly.

“Miss, these four thieves tried to steal wine,” Liya said.

“We gave them a beating,” Lekui added.

The four mercenaries felt utterly dejected. They’d thought, “Aren’t they just two maids? Even if they know magic, what can they do?”

But they turned out to be close-combat mages whose spells needed no chanting. What kind of humans were they?

They were a C-rank mercenary team, yet they couldn’t fight back at all.

“Kill them,” Kestia said flatly, ignoring them, and walked straight into the house.

“Hey, wait! Ask who sent them first,” Lanche hurriedly called out.

“Yes, yes! We’ll talk! We’ll definitely talk! Don’t kill us!” the four mercenaries cried in terror. What devil had they provoked?

“Speak,” Kestia said indifferently, glancing at them.

The four looked at Lanche, hoping he’d spare their lives.

“If you won’t talk, fine,” Kestia said, turning away. It didn’t matter anyway.

“No, no! We don’t want to die! We were just hired! We can redeem ourselves!”

“I have no use for you,” Kestia replied, her gaze dismissive as if they were insects.

Liya and Lekui wasted no words. Each grabbed a man by the arm, dragged them to a corner, and killed them to avoid dirtying the place.

“We’ll talk! We’ll talk! It was the Semos Trading Company who hired us!” the mercenaries screamed desperately.

Lanche opened his mouth to plead, but his voice died instantly.

Lekui’s hands were stained with blood. She turned back to him with a faint look, clenched her fist—a clear threat. Don’t think I’m some delicate maid; I’ll beat you to death.

Kestia didn’t care. She’d already gone inside.

Liya set fire to the bodies, burning them cleanly to destroy evidence, efficient and ruthless.

Their practiced ease made Lanche feel a chill inside.

“Don’t worry. You’re one of us now. We protect our own,” Sileus said with a smile, patting his shoulder.

“Mhm!” Lanche nodded seriously.

“Actually, I have something to say,” he began.

“Those men were sent by the Semos Trading Company. At the banquet, I learned my father, Earl Belnos, plans to marry his daughter off to them. Future cooperation is certain.”

“Compared to me, my sister matters far more. You understand,” he said, spreading his hands.

“I see…” Sileus stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Expected, really.”

“What’s your suggestion?” he asked Lanche.

Lanche knew he was genuinely seeking advice. Since the distilled liquor’s success, they’d treated him as the family strategist.

Lanche didn’t hold back. “If Semos marries into the lord’s house, business competition will turn against us. We can’t let that happen.”

“Coincidentally, my sister hates the idea. She wants to elope. We just help her escape,” he said with a smile, revealing his true intent.

Sileus saw through it but didn’t mind. He smiled and nodded. “A good plan. I’ll suggest it to Miss.”

“Mhm!” Lanche felt relieved.

This way, he avoided begging Kestia directly—no price to pay, no responsibility to shoulder. He was solving the Claire Family’s problem, not his own.

Soon, Kestia followed his advice. She smuggled Gynia out of Bernoas Territory, ruining the Semos-Belnos marriage alliance. Then she bought a winery, expanding her business empire.

Lanche resumed his leisurely life.

When he strolled out one day, he was summoned away.

“I knew this would happen,” Lanche sighed lightly. What’s coming can’t be dodged forever. He followed for tea.

The Semos patriarch must be frantic—unable to steal the “new malt liquor” and “new grape wine” recipes, and now his future daughter-in-law had fled. Of course they’d drag Lanche in for answers.

He was taken to a street he rarely visited: the commercial district along the Naviz River.

The Semos Trading Company began as the Akaja Fellowship, helping traveling merchants from Akaja avoid local extortion. The Semos family, once peddlers themselves, transformed it over three generations—from Ron’s grandfather onward—into a formidable enterprise.

Inside the company, workers loaded sparse cargo.

“Thanks to the Claire Family, our wine’s only fit for tavern drunks now,” the escorting subordinate sneered.

Lanche smiled but said nothing. Arguing with a lackey was pointless.

In the president’s office, he greeted the old man warmly.

President Semos wasn’t pleased. Face grim, he said, “Young Master Lanche, skip the pleasantries. You know why you’re here.”

“I know. Your mercenaries lost to two maids. Now they’re garden fertilizer,” Lanche said, spreading his hands.

“And the other matter?” the old man pressed, eyes sharp.

“What other matter?” Lanche looked confused.

“Gynia’s escape—Earl Belnos blames you. He knew nothing about sharing brewing secrets,” Semos sneered.

Subordinates by the door stepped forward.

Lanche looked innocent. “You’re wronging me. I’m just an adopted son-in-law with no power. Blaming me won’t help.”

“Hmph. Your father’s message: You belong to the Bolnors Family, not Claire. Don’t make yourself regret it,” the president said coldly.

“Is that so?” Lanche smiled.

“Then tell him this: My name is Lancer Clayn now.”

He stood and left gracefully.

The lackeys glanced at their president. Semos stared at Lanche’s retreating back but finally waved them aside.

Lanche ignored them confidently.

These backstabbers were skilled, but they couldn’t touch him yet.

He disliked trouble but didn’t fear it.

Gynia had cared for him—he’d repay that. Gorde’s opinion? He didn’t care.