Ludger’s plan had been simple — ruthlessly simple.

Finish the guild hall in one day, make sure it didn’t collapse, and then finally get a full week of sleep at home.

That was before they got involved.

By sunrise, he’d already mapped out the structure — a clean, functional design with a wide central hall, a second-floor meeting room, and living quarters tucked neatly in the back. Nothing fancy. Nothing unnecessary. Just solid, practical stonework that wouldn’t crumble when someone sneezed too hard.

Then Viola showed up.

“Too plain,” she said, standing with her hands on her hips as she eyed the blueprint scratched in the dirt. “It needs something grander. This is supposed to be the Lionsguard Guild, not a barn with doors.”

“It’s supposed to be done today,” Ludger replied flatly.

“Then make it impressive fast,” she shot back. “Like two statues in front — lions roaring or something. Big ones. People should know what they’re walking into.”

Before Ludger could respond, Arslan leaned in, rubbing his chin like a man who’d just discovered a new hobby. “You know… she’s right. Maybe add a training yard too. Wide space for sparring and drills, a few posts for weapons, maybe even an outdoor forge. Can’t call it a guild if you can’t train in it.”

Ludger stared at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Arslan grinned. “I am. I’m just making it better.”

By midmorning, the “simple one-day job” had turned into a full-blown architectural disaster. Viola kept suggesting aesthetic flourishes — “A crest on the main wall!” “Windows shaped like lion eyes!” “A balcony where we can give speeches!” — while Arslan kept adding functional expansions that somehow doubled the blueprint every half hour.

“How about a strategy room?” he said. “Big table, maps everywhere. You’ll need it when you start running missions.”

“Or an underground vault,” Viola added. “For relics. And loot.”

Ludger pressed a hand to his forehead. “You two do realize this isn’t a royal palace, right? We’re not hoarding dragons here.”

Arslan crossed his arms, smirking. “You’re the one with all the fancy earth magic. Don’t tell me you can’t handle a few walls and some ornaments.”

Viola nodded, grinning like a cat. “Yeah, Geomancer. Don’t be lazy.”

He groaned. “I hate both of you.”

But despite his protests, by noon the ground was already trembling as Ludger set to work. Walls rose, smooth and solid, under his control. The base structure expanded into something far beyond his original design — grand archways, twin lion statues at the entrance, reinforced pillars, and even a raised platform behind the hall that overlooked the training yard.

By sunset, the Lionsguard Guild stood tall, its front etched with the Torvares crest intertwined with a roaring lion’s head. The massive entry doors gleamed under the torchlight, and the wide yard behind it already had soldiers and northerners milling around, admiring the space.

Ludger stood there, staring at the finished product, arms limp at his sides and hair covered in dust.

Viola clapped her hands together, looking satisfied. “See? Now that’s

a guild.”

Arslan nodded approvingly. “Didn’t think you had that much patience, Luds.”

Ludger exhaled slowly through his nose. “Patience is dead. Buried under this building.”

Viola smirked. “Then consider it a beautiful grave.”

He just gave her a long, silent look — the kind that promised revenge later — before trudging toward his tent. “Fine. It’s done. I’m resting for a week after this, no matter what happens. If the Emperor himself calls, tell him the ground’s closed for maintenance.”

As he walked off, Arslan chuckled. “He’ll thank us later, Vi.”

Viola grinned. “Eventually.”

Behind them, the new guild hall stood proud — not just as a symbol of alliance, but as proof that Ludger’s “one-day project” had turned into a monument powered entirely by stubborn family meddling and one overworked geomancer’s sheer willpower.

By the next morning, the Lionsguard Guild stood complete—solid, imposing, and a little too ornate for Ludger’s taste. The sun was still climbing over the horizon when the camp began to stir. Some soldiers exchanged quick farewells, and a line of riders prepared to head south.

Most of the group was heading home. The battle was over, the alliance sealed, and the town was finally steady enough to stand without them. Still, not everyone was leaving.

Aronia, Harold, Aleia, Selene, and Cor remained behind, gathered near the newly finished guild hall’s front steps. Each of them had a reason to stay—Aronia and the others would oversee the supplies and the injured still recovering.

They’d already decided to join the guild formally once it opened its doors. Until then, they’d handle the practical side—receiving the shipments Lord Torvares had promised, managing resources, and making sure the alliance’s first few weeks didn’t fall apart under its own weight.

Viola stood near them, arms folded and chin high. She was smiling, though her eyes betrayed a hint of annoyance. “You’re all lucky,” she said. “I don’t get to join officially.”

Ludger smirked as he adjusted his pack. “Yeah, but you’ll still boss everyone around anyway.”

Her glare could’ve cut stone. “Someone has to keep the guild from turning into a tavern with a fancy door.”

Arslan chuckled under his breath. “She’s not wrong.”

Viola huffed, then turned toward the others. “You know what to do. Keep things running until Lord Torvares’ supplies arrive. And if anyone causes trouble—Harold, you hit them first, ask questions later.”

Harold grinned. “My favorite kind of diplomacy.”

Aronia sighed softly but smiled all the same. “We’ll handle it. Go home and rest, Ludger. You’ve done enough for now.”

“Not sure I believe that,” Ludger muttered, but he nodded anyway.

The group shared their farewells before mounting up. The road stretched south, cutting through the plains toward the next major town—Meronia. It was a quiet ride, the kind that felt too calm after weeks of noise, battle, and dust.

When they reached the edge of Meronia, Viola reined in her horse. “This is where I stop,” she said. “Grandfather’s waiting—and he’ll want every detail.”

Ludger gave her a nod, half a smirk tugging at his lips. “Try not to make him collapse this time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Try not to get stabbed again.”

Arslan chuckled, watching as she turned her horse toward the city gates. “She’s got your temper,” he said.

“Please,” Ludger replied, “I’m way more reasonable.”

That earned him a look of pure disbelief from his father.

Once Viola and Luna disappeared into the city, it was just the two of them—Ludger and Arslan—riding toward home. The wind was cool, the roads empty, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there were no soldiers, no screaming orders, no chaos.

Just silence.

“Almost home,” Arslan said quietly. “Not a bad word after all this.”

Ludger gave a small nod, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Yeah. Let’s go face the real battle.”

Arslan smirked. “Elaine?”

“Mother.”

And with that, they both spurred their horses forward, heading toward the place that waited for them—their home, their peace, and the inevitable storm that came with being part of Elaine’s family.

The return home went smoother than Ludger expected. No shouting, no flying cookware, no lecture about “reckless behavior.” Just the familiar creak of the old gate, the smell of woodsmoke, and his mother’s voice calling his name from the porch.

Elaine met them halfway across the yard, her pace slower than usual, but her arms still strong enough to crush the air from his lungs when she hugged him.

“Still alive,” she murmured against his shoulder, her tone half-relieved, half-accusing.

“Barely,” Ludger wheezed. “Mother, ribs—”

She laughed quietly and let go, though her hands lingered on his arms for a moment longer, as if checking he was really there. Her belly had rounded since he’d last seen her; she carried herself with more care now, moving deliberately instead of her usual impatient stride.

Arslan stood nearby, trying and failing to hide his grin. “She went easy on you this time,” he said. “Guess I’m the one getting the scolding later.”

Elaine shot him a look that could still silence a warband, but her voice stayed calm. “You both came home. That’s enough.”

Maybe it was restraint, or maybe fatigue, but she didn’t make a fuss—not the full storm Ludger had braced for. He suspected she didn’t want to strain herself or upset the child she was carrying. Or maybe, seeing him alive and standing, she’d decided that was punishment enough.

The next few days passed quietly. Ludger spent them doing absolutely nothing of consequence—eating home-cooked meals, sleeping late, and occasionally helping Arslan with light chores before inevitably sneaking off to nap again.

Elaine watched him from the kitchen doorway more than once, her expression softening a little each time. It was rare to see him so still, not pacing with plans or studying maps or muttering about mana efficiency.

For the first time in months, he looked like what he actually was—a boy, tired but alive, content to breathe and exist for a while.

And for Elaine, that was enough proof that her son finally knew how to pace himself… at least until the next storm came.

On the surface, Ludger looked perfectly at peace. He lounged on the veranda, the afternoon sun spilling over the yard, a cup of tea cooling in his hand. From the kitchen window, Elaine could probably see nothing more than her son taking a well-earned break, finally acting like a normal boy his age.

But inside his head, things were anything but quiet.

Every idle moment, every breath of calm, was just more room for his mind to move. Plans unfolded in silence behind his eyes—calculations, resource lists, timelines, training schedules. He’d never been good at doing nothing for long.

Focusing too much on one thing’s a waste, he thought, staring into the tea’s reflection. But right now, I don’t have a choice.

His earth magic was evolving fast—too fast, almost. The precision, the density control, even how mana flowed through the ground… all of it was sharper now. The problem was keeping it there. Without constant use, the improvements would dull like an unused blade.

To build what he wanted—a network strong enough to rival the empire’s infrastructure—he’d need to push the skill further, every single day. The labyrinth, the northern base, the guild—they all depended on him staying ahead of his own curve.

Still, there was something else tugging at his thoughts.

He set the cup aside and leaned back against the railing, eyes narrowing slightly. “Yvar…” he muttered under his breath.

The scholar had been Viola’s teacher—a historian with too much patience and far too much curiosity about unusual topics. Ludger had hired him months ago to help with theoretical frameworks, but Yvar’s insight ran deeper than that.

Having him nearby—at the guild, as an archivist—would do more than just organize their growing knowledge. It would give Ludger access to the kind of information most nobles spent fortunes to hide. The histories of labyrinths, bloodlines, and so on… Yvar could put the puzzle together faster than any dusty library ever could.

Keeping him close would save me weeks of waiting for replies, Ludger thought. And I’d rather have the answers before anyone else asks the questions.

He stood, stretching lazily to keep up the illusion of relaxation, then glanced toward the small desk by his window. The stack of paper and ink waiting there wasn’t for rest—it was for his next move.

“I’ll send him a letter tomorrow,” he said to himself, tone quiet but resolute.

To everyone else, it looked like Ludger was finally taking a break.

But in truth, his mind was already back in motion—laying the foundation for the next phase of his quiet, relentless plan.

Once the week passed, Ludger began to pack his things.

He’d hoped to do it quietly—grab the essentials, tighten the straps on his pack, and slip out before anyone decided to “help.” That plan, like most of his plans at home, didn’t survive contact with Elaine.

Before he could even fold his second shirt, she was there, hands on her hips, eyes sharp enough to cut steel. “You’re not bringing just that,” she said. “You’ll freeze or starve or both.”

“I’m not going to the tundra,” Ludger replied, trying to sound patient. “It isn’t that cold in the north.”

She ignored him. A moment later, an extra blanket landed on top of his pack, followed by a set of spare boots, more shirts, dried fruit, and a small box of herbs that smelled faintly of mint and threat.

He forced a smile, trying to keep the muscle under his eye from twitching. “I’ll, uh… try to carry all this without breaking my spine.”

Elaine adjusted the straps on his pack as if she hadn’t heard him. “Good. Builds character. You can also just use a horse like everyone else. It isn’t like your legs will stop working if you don’t cross miles and miles everyday running.”

He sighed inwardly, knowing resistance was futile. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her care—he just wasn’t exactly traveling light. Since he wasn’t taking a horse this time, everything she packed was going on his back.

While she fussed over a cloak, she gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re not going to do what you did last time, are you?”

Ludger paused. “…What did I do last time?”

Her eyes narrowed, but her voice stayed calm. “You said you’d come home once a week. You came back two months later.”

He gave another strained smile, one that probably fooled no one. “Things got… complicated. The walls wouldn’t build themselves, and the barb— the northerners needed supervision.”

“Uh-huh.”

He could hear the disbelief in her tone. Elaine set down a folded shirt with a decisive thump. “If you’re going to disappear for weeks again, at least send letters. I’m pregnant, not blind. I’ll know when you’re overworking yourself.”

Ludger rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “I’ll try. The labyrinth’s a bit farther this time, so—”

“The labyrinth,” she cut in smoothly, “is exactly why I’m thinking of visiting. If you trust these northerners so much, then I can see them myself, right? Your father can come with me.”

Ludger froze mid-motion. The image of his heavily pregnant mother walking into the middle of a frontier construction zone full of half-wary northerners made his brain ache.

“That’s… not exactly what I meant by alliance,” he said slowly.

Elaine crossed her arms. “You think I can’t handle a visit?”

“No,” he said quickly. “You can handle anything. That’s the problem.”

Her brow arched. “So I’ll go with Lord Torvares’ entourage, then. When he decides to inspect your progress. I’m sure he’d appreciate the company—and someone needs to make sure you’re eating properly.”

Ludger groaned under his breath but didn’t argue. Technically, that wasn’t a terrible plan—Torvares would eventually want to see the new town’s progress himself, and if Elaine went under his protection, it would keep her safe enough.

“Fine,” he said at last, shoulders sagging. “If the Baron goes, you can come. But promise you won’t wander off to inspect every dangerous spot within a mile.”

Elaine smiled sweetly. “No promises.”

He sighed again, tightening the last strap on his overstuffed pack.

So much for traveling light—or traveling without worry.

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