Ulrich continued down the wide avenue, the three sisters trailing just behind him.

Thanks to the interaction with the children only moments ago, a subtle shift had rippled through the crowd. Esther’s innate brightness and kindness had acted like a falling domino, easing the tension of the young ones first, and then, inevitably, softening the hearts of the adults watching them.

The citizens of New Ruben quickly realized that, behind the dark rumors and fearful stories, the girls walking behind their Lord were just that, girls. Putting aside their almost otherworldly features, there was nothing monstrous about them. They possessed no wicked horns, no terrifying auras. They simply looked like young noblewomen or rather, still teenage girls.

Some in the crowd even began to quietly wonder if the terrifying tales of witches had been exaggerated all along.

With the unease finally lifted, the atmosphere warmed considerably. The joyful cheers and shouts of admiration that had momentarily paused resumed with full force, enveloping not only Ulrich but the three sisters as well.

Esther’s previous nervousness vanished entirely. Bathed in the unexpected warmth of the city’s people, her anxious posture relaxed, and she began to smile brightly, waving back at the citizens with pure, infectious happiness.

Hermione, too, found herself caught off guard by how pleased she felt. Though she tried to maintain her haughty, perfectly composed noble facade, the corners of her lips kept traitorously curving upward at the scattered praises and admiring stares.

Airam, on the other hand, remained outwardly unchanged. Her pale face held its usual cold, deadpan expression, and she did not wave or smile at the cheering crowd. Yet, beneath that stoic exterior, a quiet sense of relief settled into her chest. She felt just happy seeing her younger sisters so at ease, especially Esther, who had been trembling just minutes before.

But Airam was not naive. She knew exactly who was truly responsible for this rapid, near-miraculous acceptance.

Her dark eyes drifted forward, locking onto the broad, confident back of the man leading them.

She had heard the tutors and maids speak of how deeply Count Rubenhart was respected and loved by his people, but hearing it and witnessing it were two entirely different things. The devotion radiating from the crowd was astonishing. They trusted him so much that they were willing to cast aside their deeply ingrained fear of witches simply because the girls walked in his shadow.

Airam stared at his crimson coat as he parted the sea of people with nothing but his presence.

It seemed the image of an arrogant, cold-blooded tyrant was a mask Ulrich only wore outside his own territory. Here, in the city he had built, he was nothing short of a king.

The group continued their walk, eventually arriving at the most prestigious district of the city. Here, the streets were lined with grand buildings constructed of polished stone, and the air was quiet, devoid of the bustling market noise from earlier. Ulrich stopped in front of a particularly elegant storefront, its large windows displaying nothing but a few perfectly lit, velvet-lined pedestals.

This was a jeweler that dealt exclusively in handmade, master-crafted pieces featuring the highest quality gemstones. Ulrich had never set foot inside before; he had no use for such adornments himself, but he had reserved the entire store for the afternoon, specifically for the sisters.

As they entered, the glass door chimed softly.

They were immediately welcomed by a young man in his late twenties, perfectly dressed and carrying the refined air of a master jeweler. He bowed deeply, his eyes widening slightly as he recognized the Lord of the city.

"Lord Rubenhart," the young man greeted with respect. "It is an honor to welcome you to our establishment. Everything has been prepared exactly as you requested."

Ulrich gave a brief nod and gestured toward the three girls standing behind him. "My wards," he introduced simply. "They will be attending a royal birthday banquet next month. They require jewelry worthy of such an occasion. Nothing mass-produced. I want your finest raw gemstones and bespoke craftsmanship."

"Of course, My Lord. Only the very best," the jeweler said, his professional demeanor instantly taking over. He snapped his fingers sharply, and a team of female attendants immediately emerged from the back rooms, smiling warmly as they guided the sisters toward the seating area in the center of the room.

For the next hour, the sisters were truly overwhelmed.

Trays of glittering jewels were brought out one after another. Deep sapphires, flawless diamonds, brilliant emeralds, and glowing opals were presented to them. The attendants carefully draped heavy necklaces over their collarbones, clipped sparkling earrings to their lobes, and slid intricate bracelets onto their wrists to test the way the stones caught the light against their skin.

Esther sat rigidly, too nervous to even breathe heavily while wearing a diamond and sapphire pendant that cost more than an entire estate. She kept glancing timidly toward the attendants, afraid she might accidentally break something.

Airam, in contrast, sat in complete silence. She allowed the woman to place a heavy obsidian and diamond choker around her neck, her expression, as always, hard to read. She neither complained nor showed any interest, simply enduring the process with cold detachment.

Hermione, however, was having a much harder time hiding her conflict. She loved beautiful things, and the ruby pieces she was currently trying on were breathtaking. But she was not blind. She knew the value of the raw, blood-red gemstones resting against her chest.

Unable to sit still any longer, Hermione abruptly stood up. Ignoring the startled attendants, she walked straight across the room, the ruby necklace still glittering around her neck.

She stopped in front of Ulrich, who had been watching the entire process in silence from a nearby chair.

"Is this truly necessary?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms defensively. She tried to sound annoyed, but there was a crack of secret worry in her voice. "We are already getting bespoke gowns. Now you are buying us custom high jewelry? Do you have any idea how much money you are throwing away on us?"

Ulrich slowly shifted his gaze from the documents he had been reading, looking up at her. He didn’t answer immediately. He simply stared at her, his crimson eyes lingering on the ruby necklace that perfectly complemented her silver hair.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Well? Exactly how much gold are you going to pay for all of this?"

"The necessary amount for you," Ulrich replied, raising his gaze to hers.

Hermione flinched.

Her lips parted slightly, the sharp retort she had prepared dying instantly in her throat. A soft flush of pink rushed across her cheeks. She stared at him for a second longer, disarmed by his honest answer, before she quickly spun around and marched back to the fitting area without another word.