When Ludger stepped through the door, the first thing he heard wasn’t words—it was chaos. Twin cries, echoing through the house like two competing alarms.

Elaine was pacing in small, anxious circles, one baby in her arms, the other in a cradle that rocked unevenly. Arslan stood beside her looking like a man ready to charge a dragon but not sure which end to stab first.

“Welcome home,” Arslan said, voice dry and ragged. “We’re losing the war.”

Ludger sighed, kicked off his boots, and walked straight over. He lifted the cradle slightly with one hand, then the crying stopped—just like that. The baby blinked up at him, hiccuped once, and went quiet.

Elaine froze. “How—why—”

“Maybe they like the smell of dirt,” Ludger muttered.

Arslan gave a low laugh. “Would explain a lot.”

The other twin started fussing, and Ludger reached out for her too. Elaine hesitated, then surrendered the bundle. The moment Ludger held her, the crying faded again.

Elaine rubbed her temple. “I raised you without this much noise. Now, every time one of them looks upset, I panic.”

“You didn’t have me crying,” Ludger said, tone flat. “… I think… not that I remember or anything…”

“That’s what makes it worse,” she said, half-exasperated, half-smiling. “I never had practice.”

Arslan looked at the two of them—the babies finally calm, the house blessedly quiet—and exhaled. “You make it look easy, Luds.”

“It’s not,” Ludger said. “They just know when someone’s not nervous.”

The three of them stayed like that for a moment—breathing, quiet, a fragile pocket of calm—before Elaine broke it softly. “So… the mission?”

Ludger summarized, mountain routes, hidden tunnels, organized traffickers, noble crests. No embellishment, no hesitation. Just facts.

Arslan listened in silence, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The Empire’s rot runs deep,” he said finally. “We keep digging, we’ll find it under our boots.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes distant, voice low. “I almost miss the days when my biggest problem was getting drunk in a tavern after a bad job and not realizing I already had some kids somewhere.”

Elaine’s glare snapped his head upright.

Arslan coughed, straightened, and forced a thin smile. “Of course, those were foolish days.”

Ludger shook his head, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You really don’t know when to stop talking, Dad”

“Inherited flaw,” Arslan said.

Elaine sighed, finally sitting beside them, one hand resting gently on the cradle. The twins had drifted off again, calm at last. For the first time that day, the house felt peaceful.

Ludger sat in the quiet that followed. The twins were finally asleep, Elaine resting her head against Arslan’s shoulder. He stood by the window, scarf draped loose around his neck, staring at the faint lamplight spilling below.

“I’ll meet Lord Torvares in the morning,” he said finally. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried weight—something final in the tone. “We need to start thinking ahead. Someone’s trying to make this land bleed, and we can’t count on anyone else to gather intel for us.”

Elaine looked up, concern flickering in her eyes. Arslan just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Maurien’s still out there,” Ludger went on, “but a single man can only cover so much ground. We’ll need to build something—quiet, invisible. A net instead of a sword.”

He turned to his father. “Any ideas?”

Arslan gave a helpless shrug. “Not my field. I swing swords, not schemes. You want a fort stormed or a formation broken, I’m your man. Politics and spies?” He spread his hands. “I’d rather fight frost paladins naked.”

Ludger gave him a flat look. “Please don’t.”

That earned a short laugh from Arslan, low and tired. “Didn’t plan to. But I trust you’ll come up with something. You’ve got that look—the one you get before you turn a headache into a miracle.”

“Or a crater,” Ludger muttered.

Elaine smiled faintly. “Either way, you make progress.”

He nodded once, gaze turning back toward the window and the distant glow of the town. “Then tomorrow,” he said quietly. “We start digging for the truth.”

Outside, the wind moved through Lionfang’s streets—soft, cold, and full of questions waiting to be answered.

The next morning started quiet. Arslan left early for the guild, still rubbing sleep from his eyes and mumbling something about “paperwork being worse than war.” Ludger stayed behind, helping Elaine with the twins.

They were easier this time—maybe because their brother was there. He rocked the cradle with one hand, fed the other with practiced precision, and kept up a slow rhythm of bard hums that seemed to soothe them. Elaine watched for a while, then finally let herself sink into the couch, half-asleep before she could even thank him.

By noon, both twins were asleep, and the house had gone still. Ludger covered Elaine with a blanket, cleaned up quietly, and slipped out.

After lunch, he headed toward the Torvares estate. The run took longer than expected—the road was muddy from a random rain. By the time he reached the gates, the sun had already tilted west.

Inside, the courtyard was alive with motion. Viola was sparring in the garden, wooden blade clashing against Luna’s twin knives in a blur of strikes. The clang echoed through the yard, sharp and rhythmic until both girls stopped mid-swing.

Viola blinked, surprise flickering into annoyance. “Tch. Didn’t expect you today.”

Ludger stepped closer, scarf loose around his neck. “What, were you planning to avoid me?”

She crossed her arms, chin up, feigning confidence. “You’d just make fun of me for the scarf I gave you.”

Ludger tilted his head, expression unreadable. “I’ve got plenty of flaws, but I’m not that much of an asshole.”

That caught her off guard. She opened her mouth, then shut it again as he added, voice even: “Thanks. For the gift.”

For a second, Viola looked genuinely puzzled, as if her brain had short-circuited on the word thanks.

Then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’ve been bought by a rival house, haven’t you? Trying to make me drop my guard and ruin my family from the inside?”

Ludger sighed through his nose. “I don’t have time for your nonsense.” He glanced toward the main hall. “I need to talk to your grandfather.”

Viola blinked again, still trying to read him. “You’re serious?”

“When am I not?” he said, already walking past her.

Luna lowered her blades and grinned. “He means business”

“Don’t encourage it,” Viola muttered, but the faint smile that followed gave her away.

After a short while, everyone gathered in the Torvares estate’s living room. The air there always carried that heavy quiet of places where real power moved—thick curtains, old wood, polished steel. Viola sat near the couch with arms crossed, Luna behind her. Lord Torvares rested in his chair, one hand on his cane, the other motioning for Ludger to speak.

Ludger stood by the other couch, expression carved from stone. “We confirmed organized movement in the eastern mountains,” he began. “The bandits were equipped with runic weapons—Velis League design. They used repurposed mine tunnels, supplied with gold from Farlen Port, possibly under a noble house crest.”

Torvares’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. “Names?”

Ludger nodded. “Veshmar, Kadrin, Toris. Brokers, maybe handlers. Probably fake names, or they don’t even exist at all. The network’s layered—each link insulated. They used mismatched Imperial insignias to pose as investigators, and cleaned up witnesses after. This isn’t simple smuggling.”

Luna frowned, the grin gone. “You’re saying it’s political?”

“Deliberately so,” Ludger said. “Someone’s bleeding the border on purpose. Draughts, weapons, vanishing civilians—all too neat to be chaos. Maurien’s still watching the range, but one man won’t stop a network that size.”

The room went quiet. The only sound was the faint hiss of the fireplace. Viola leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So… whoever’s behind this doesn’t just want coin. They want the region unstable.”

“Exactly.”

Torvares sat back, eyes closing briefly. “If the Empire’s involved, even indirectly, then this is an old tactic—starve the border, make it dependent on central supply, then swoop in as ‘saviors.’”

Viola’s jaw tightened. “And they’ll pretend it’s for our protection.”

“Always do,” Torvares said. His tone wasn’t angry—just tired, like a man who’d seen the same game too many times.

Ludger crossed his arms. “We’ll need a net of our own. Quiet intelligence. Traders, scouts, maybe even smugglers willing to talk. Someone’s buying loyalty out there, and I intend to find out with whose gold.”

Torvares gave a small nod, thoughtful. “Good. You will need to move some coin discreetly for that purpose. Keep it out of the guild’s books.”

Viola exhaled slowly. “So we’re officially in the business of politics now.”

Ludger looked at her, the faintest edge of humor in his tone. “You’d rather go back to swinging swords without using your head?”

“Honestly?” she said. “Maybe.”

Torvares chuckled, brief but genuine, before the weight settled again. “Still, this must be handled quietly. If they realize you’re onto them, they’ll scatter and resurface under new crests.”

“They won’t,” Ludger said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

And for a long moment, no one spoke. Shadows flickered across the old lord’s face, and the unspoken truth hung thick in the air— peace was only temporary, and war had already begun moving in its shadows.

Ludger broke the silence first. “All right,” he said, voice low but steady. “If we’re going to build an information net, I’ll need ideas. We can’t fight shadows with swords alone.”

Lord Torvares tapped a finger against the armrest of his chair, gaze sliding toward Luna. “Luna,” he said simply.

She moved faintly.

“Consider this your field,” Torvares replied.

“Information networks are like smugglers’ routes—you don’t build them, you adopt them. There are already people who trade whispers for coin: couriers, tavern owners, road guards, even traveling healers. You pay them to pass along what they see and hear.”

She glanced at Ludger. “The trick is keeping them loyal without them knowing who they really work for. You use layers—handlers who only know one or two contacts, messages coded in normal reports. Even if someone gets caught, they can’t expose the whole net.”

Ludger nodded, thoughtful. “And you know how to set that up?”

Luna smiled. “I’ve done worse. If I can move illegal goods without being seen, I can move rumors.”

Torvares leaned forward. “She’s not exaggerating. Luna’s methods are—unorthodox—but effective.”

Ludger considered that for a moment. “We’ll need it quiet. No one outside Lionfang can suspect the Lionsguard is collecting intelligence.”

“Then we start small,” Luna said. “One point in each settlement—a tavern, a caravan master, maybe a blacksmith who travels for supplies. We’ll feed them a little coin, make them think they’re just helping keep trade routes safe.”

“And if it works,” Ludger said, “we expand.”

“Exactly,” Luna replied. “We use merchants for eyes, scouts for ears, and smugglers for mouths. Everyone believes they’re just reporting on weather and road conditions. Only the patterns go to you.”

Torvares smiled faintly, the expression sharp. “Efficient. Discreet. Dangerous if done wrong—but effective if done right.”

Ludger exhaled slowly. “Then we’ll do it right.”

Ludger didn’t like doing things the same way everyone else did. He folded his arms. “Is there another option? Less… tavern-sparrow stuff. More accuracy, less rumor stew.”

Luna let out a sound that was almost a sigh—surprising from her. “There is,” she said. “But it’ll take time and patience. You want clean threads, not noisy nets. You want people who can go places without being seen as spies.”

“How?” Ludger asked.

She leaned in, voice low and practical. “Teach a handful of trusted folk a little of your healing craft. Not full mages—just enough to pass as traveling healers. People welcome healers. They get into houses, listen to complaints, fix wounds, trade salves.” Her fingers tapped the table in three quick beats. “A healer’s hands are a better cover than a courier’s satchel. They can ask the right questions without anyone thinking twice.”

Ludger chewed the idea like bad bread. “Training takes time. And I don’t exactly hand out my techniques to everyone.”

“Then be choosy,” Luna said. “A few picks. Teach them what they need to read wounds and scars. Give them a story—stitch them into merchant routes, pilgrim networks, or midwife rings. Make them believable.” Her grin went thin. “Plus: healers get confidence. People tell healers things they’d never tell a barkeep.”

“And the risks?” Ludger asked.

“Exposure if they slip,” Luna said plainly. “Burn them if they gossip. Keep layers—handlers who only know two names. We’ll need false ledgers, small forged credentials, a rotation so none of them stay too long in one place.” She shrugged. “It’s slower. But it gives you eyes where eyes matter—and hands that can read more than chatter.”

Ludger looked at Torvares, then at Viola, then at the quiet map pinned to the wall. He could already picture routes, people with soft hands and harder mouths. “Alright,” he said finally. “Pick the names you trust. I’ll teach the basics. We keep it small, precise, and useful.”

Luna’s smile was all business now. “Good. That’s how you make intelligence sting, not just whisper.”

Lord Torvares leaned back in his chair, thumb resting against his cane. The firelight caught the faint lines around his eyes—signs of a man who’d seen plans rise and fall more than once.

“It’s a clever idea,” he said finally, “but I wonder how well it’ll work.” His tone wasn’t dismissive—just pragmatic, the kind of doubt born from experience. “Not many people can use healing magic. Teaching even the basics to older recruits might be near impossible. And the young ones…” He gave a small, knowing sigh. “They might manage the spells, but not the subtlety. It takes more than talent to hold a lie together.”

Luna opened her mouth to counter, but Ludger spoke first. “You’re right,” he said, nodding once. “But it’s still the best option we have. If we pull it off, the guild won’t just survive—it’ll grow roots deep enough that no house or Empire can dig us out.”

Torvares studied him for a long moment, then smiled faintly. “That’s the part that worries me, boy. You talk like a man building a future—and I’ve lived long enough to know that kind of ambition tends to bleed.”

Ludger met his gaze, calm and unflinching. “Then we’ll just have to make sure it bleeds on the right side.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The fire popped, shadows danced across the map-strewn table, and the weight of what they were about to attempt settled between them—dangerous, necessary, and undeniably theirs.

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