Ludger stayed silent, eyes narrowing slightly as his father’s words settled. Lord Torvares. The name sat heavy in his head like a stone dropped into a pond.

He turned away, staring at the mist curling over the yard while his mind began to pull the idea apart.

If he went to Lord Torvares first, he’d have instant legitimacy. Funding, materials, soldiers, the right to set up shop near the labyrinth without a dozen petty officials getting in the way. With Viola already in his orbit, the old bull might even see the guild as an extension of his own reach. It would make recruitment easier — young adventurers would flock to a guild blessed by a famous noble.

But then the leash. He’d be tied to Torvares’ agenda, his wars, his whims. A guild “supported” by a noble could easily become a weapon wielded by that noble. Ludger’s freedom to shape it would shrink with every coin accepted. He could end up as just another extension of the man’s power instead of building something of his own. And if Torvares fell from grace, the guild would fall with him.

He exhaled slowly, fingers drumming against his armguard. Freedom versus support. Speed versus control. Starting on his own would be slower, harder, but the guild would truly be his. Going under Torvares would be faster, stronger, but at a cost that might come due when he least expected it.

Behind him, Arslan watched quietly, letting his son think it through. Ludger’s eyes stayed on the horizon. Either way, I’ll have to choose before I build anything. And whichever road I take, it’ll shape everything after.

Ludger stared at the fence, jaw tightening as his father went back to his drills. Alright… if I take Torvares’ support, then I have to be ready for the cost, he thought. Two ways to handle it.

The first path formed in his head like a clear road: Support him no matter what. Tie the guild’s future to his and, later, to Viola once she takes the seat. Become the arm of their House. That way I never end up on the wrong side of their politics. It would mean swallowing a lot of orders I don’t like… but it would keep the guild alive and strong.

The second path was harsher, but cleaner: Use Torvares as a launchpad. Build fast, build big, then, when the fallout comes, pivot and stand on my own. Break away with enough infrastructure and people to survive the break. But that would put me on the opposite side of Viola if things go bad.

His hand tightened on the armguard. I don’t want that. She’s my half-sister. I don’t want a day to come where we’re enemies across a boardroom or a battlefield.

But he also knew how the world worked. Nobles changed. Houses crumbled. Promises turned to chains. He let out a slow breath, trying to imagine a third path, some way to secure Torvares’ blessing without handing over his freedom entirely.

Whatever I choose, he thought, I have to start laying the groundwork now. Contracts. Autonomy clauses. The guild’s brand separate from his banner. If I’m careful, maybe I can build something that stays ours no matter what happens at the top.

The morning air was cool against his skin, but the problem in his head felt hot and heavy. He folded his arms and watched his father’s blade rise and fall, wondering which of those roads would still leave his family intact.

While everyone called him “Lord Torvares,” Ludger knew the man’s actual title was Baron Torvares

 — the first rung of imperial nobility. In the Empire’s pecking order, a baron was barely above a wealthy commoner with soldiers; the title gave him land and a banner, but not much else.

Above a baron sat the Viscount — an overseer of multiple baronies, usually controlling a region large enough to tax, draft, and build fortifications without asking anyone’s permission. Above that came the Count sometimes called an Earl, whose authority stretched across several viscounties and who could raise his own knights and levy larger forces.

Then there were the Marquises who ruled the border marches. Their holdings were smaller than a count’s but far more militarized, giving them more troops and autonomy to repel invasions — the Empire’s first line of defense in case of a large scale invasion.

Beyond them were the Dukes, the true power brokers of the realm, each one controlling a vast swath of provinces and able to challenge the capital’s will if united.

And at the top, beneath the imperial family itself, was the Archduke — a title reserved for blood relatives of the Emperor or those given extraordinary power to govern entire sectors of the Empire. Finally, the Emperor himself sat above them all, the keystone of the hierarchy. His word was law, his banner supreme.

Baron Torvares was, technically, a very small fish. But a clever baron on a crucial border — with a labyrinth pumping resources into his coffers and a reputation for discipline — could act far larger than his rank suggested. Ludger knew it. And if he built his guild under the old bull’s protection, he’d be tying himself to the bottom rung of a ladder that reached all the way to the Emperor.

Ludger tapped a finger against the edge of his map, eyes narrowing. Baron Torvares may be the banner everyone sees, he thought, but he’s still at the bottom rung. He answers to someone higher.

He pictured the Empire’s neat little hierarchy like a staircase, each step heavier than the one below. The Viscount over this region must be the one calling the shots… probably the reason Torvares got stuck shouldering the whole border mess.

That would explain why Ludger had never seen any other baron send troops or coin to help. The orders weren’t coming. Torvares had been left holding the line alone, reinforcing that town and planning to retake the labyrinth without backup because someone further up liked the arrangement — or didn’t care.

Ludger’s jaw tightened. So the old bull’s been bleeding for a fight that isn’t even his alone. It made the whole situation more annoying. If he built his guild under Torvares, he’d be stepping into a fight designed by a Viscount who’d never see the frontline.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. And if that’s the case, then every coin, every permit, every favor will be tangled up in the Viscount’s web, not just Torvares’. The realization didn’t scare him, but it sharpened the stakes. This is going to be a bigger game than I thought. If I’m serious about this guild, I can’t just think about monsters and coin anymore, he thought. I have to think about banners and ranks.

A few paths started to form in his mind, each one with its own thorns:

Option One — Climb the Ladder for Torvares and Viola. It would probably be impossible to make the old bull jump to another rank overnight, but if Ludger’s guild helped him expand his reach and hold the border, Torvares could at least act like a Viscount even if the Emperor never gave him the title. If the labyrinth was secured and the town fortified, Torvares could “control” the territory in practice. With that kind of leverage, the Viscount above him would have no choice but to grant more autonomy — or risk losing control entirely.

Option Two — Expand the Banner Without the Title. Even if the rank never changed, solidifying control of the town and labyrinth would make Torvares too valuable to ignore. A baron with a functioning labyrinth and a thriving guild under his wing would be a power broker in his own right. Ludger could ride that wave, using the guild’s profits and manpower to fortify the area, turning it into a de facto domain under Torvares’ name.

Option Three — Build Independent and Risk the Clash. He could keep the guild neutral, keep his name off Torvares’ banner and build it as its own entity — but that would mean preparing for the day the Viscount, or any noble above, tried to claim it. Contracts, hidden sponsors, autonomy clauses; it would be a slower, more dangerous path, but one that kept the guild truly his.

Ludger rubbed his temples. This is exactly what I didn’t want — politics. It was annoying, but if he wanted to think and act big, he couldn’t pretend these layers didn’t exist. Nobles weren’t going to sit and watch some kid build a guild on their land without trying to leash it.

He exhaled slowly, eyes on the map. Fine. If they’re going to play the game, I’ll learn the rules. And then I’ll find a way to win without letting them strangle me.

Ludger leaned back in his chair, map rolled out in front of him, but his eyes unfocused on the paper. All these paths… and the main problem is still the same, he thought. The barbarians.

Even on parchment they loomed like a dark smear across the border. He didn’t like the idea of another large-scale conflict; the images from the last push still lingered — burned fields, shattered gates. The thought of starting one himself for power, influence, and money left a sour taste in his mouth. He could almost feel the weight of the lives that would be lost stacked against his plans.

He tapped the map with a finger, slow and focused. I don’t want to be the one who sets that in motion just to build my name.

He could take another road. He could become a power-hungry freak, diving labyrinth after labyrinth until his stats dwarfed everyone else’s, hoarding skills and artifacts until nothing could touch him. Plenty of adventurers did exactly that. The path was simple: endless grind, endless blood.

But that wasn’t him.

He exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes for a second. I’ll get stronger, he thought, but I’m not going to sacrifice every other aspect of my life to do it. I’m not going to throw people away as fuel for my climb.

His hand flattened over the map. My power has to elevate everything else — my family, my guild, even the towns I fight for. Otherwise what’s the point?

The decision didn’t erase the obstacles in front of him, but it steadied something inside. He’d move forward, but on his own terms.

Ludger rolled the map up and tied it shut with a bit of string, his fingers moving slower now. The lines and symbols he’d been obsessing over all night suddenly felt heavier, like they were pressing on his chest.

Enough guessing, he thought. Enough planning in the dark.

He stood, the chair legs scraping against the floor, and stared out the window at the dim lights of Koa flickering against the night. The border, the labyrinth, the guild — all of it was still just ideas. Before he risked pulling anyone into another conflict, he needed to hear the old bull’s side of it straight from his mouth.

Tomorrow morning, he decided. I’ll go to Torvares. Lay it out. Ask him what he sees, what options he has. Maybe there’s another way forward I haven’t thought of yet.

He exhaled and let the map drop into his pack. If I’m going to build something that lasts, I have to start by understanding the board — not charging at it blind.

His eyes shifted to the sleeping house beyond the door. Elaine’s steady breathing. Arslan’s faint snores. For a heartbeat he wondered what they’d think of him stepping into a noble’s hall at nine years old to negotiate like a grown man.

Then he shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Doesn’t matter. Before I pick a side or start a fight, I’ll know exactly what I’m stepping into.

The next morning Ludger came down early, boots laced, pack slung over one shoulder. Elaine was already at the stove, stirring a pot, while Arslan sat at the table sharpening a small knife with slow, deliberate strokes.

“I’m going out,” Ludger said, slipping a strap over his arm. “To see Lord Torvares.”

Both of them looked up at once. Elaine frowned. “Lord Torvares? Why not just go see Viola?”

Arslan’s hand paused mid-stroke, the knife catching a line of morning light. He didn’t say anything, but his brows rose slightly, the faintest glint of understanding flickering in his eyes. So that’s it, he thought. The boy’s going straight to the source.

Elaine glanced between them, clearly expecting an explanation. Arslan only shrugged and went back to his knife, letting the scrape of steel fill the silence. He wasn’t going to give away Ludger’s reasons; that was his son’s business to explain when the time came.

Ludger just adjusted his pack straps and kept his tone even. “I’ll be back before evening.”

Elaine’s frown deepened, but she let it drop. Arslan gave a small grunt of acknowledgment without looking up. The air between them carried a mix of curiosity, worry, and unspoken understanding as Ludger stepped out into the morning to make his way toward Torvares’ estate.

As Ludger tightened the last strap on his pack, Arslan finally looked up from the knife. “You need a horse for that trip?” he asked, voice casual but eyes sharp.

Ludger shook his head. “No. I’ll go on foot.”

Arslan raised a brow. “That’s a long run, Luds.”

“I know.” Ludger adjusted the armguards on his forearms and rolled his shoulders. “That’s the point.”

For a heartbeat Arslan just stared at him, then he let out a low chuckle and nodded. “Suit yourself.”

Ludger stepped out into the yard, already breaking into an easy jog. Within seconds the jog turned into a full run, the weights on his arms and legs clinking softly with every stride. Even a trip like this he was turning into training. Arslan watched him vanish down the road, the boy’s figure growing smaller against the pale morning sky.

He leaned back in his chair for a moment, lips pressed together. Even a visit to a noble’s hall… he’s using it as conditioning.

Then he set the knife down, stood, and stretched his shoulders. “Can’t let the brat get too far ahead of me yet,” he muttered to himself. He crossed the yard to the training post, drew his practice sword, and began working through his drills with new intensity. He wanted a few more good years before his youngest son left him in the dust.

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