When Ludger woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was how quiet everything was. No tiny hands tugging at his face, no squeals echoing in his ears, just still air and the faint sound of birds outside the guild’s windows.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The twins were gone, probably spirited away by his mother before sunrise. For once, his head felt clear.

The fatigue that had clung to him for weeks, the endless loop of ideas, experiments, and responsibilities, had faded just enough for him to think properly. He stared at the empty bed for a long moment before exhaling.

So that’s why she made me do it.

Elaine hadn’t been punishing him by making him watch the twins. She’d been forcing him to stop. To breathe. To remember that not every hour of his life had to be spent chasing improvement.

He’d been worrying them all, his mother, his father, even the guild members who tried not to show it.

Ludger leaned back, closing his eyes again. “…Guess I overdid it.”

He wasn’t about to stop working altogether, that wasn’t who he was. But maybe he could slow down a little. At least when other people were around.

He made a quiet mental note to himself: Hold back a bit. Not because he was tired. But because if he didn’t, the people around him would never stop worrying. With that thought, he finally stood up, stretched his arms, and cracked his neck.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Back to work… just not all of it at once.”

And for the first time in a while, Ludger’s steps down the hall weren’t weighed by urgency, just a calm, steady rhythm.

After getting up, Ludger decided not to rush for once. He joined his family at the table, a rare slow breakfast where no one was half-asleep or discussing logistics between bites. The morning light spilled through the open window, carrying the faint scent of the fields outside. Elaine was feeding the twins, Arslan was already on his second cup of coffee, and for a moment, the house actually felt… normal.

As the others talked, Ludger quietly moved his fingers under the table, sending faint pulses of mana through the floor. A few motes of dust drifted from the corners, windowsills, and the upper beams, pulled together and compressed into a tiny ball that rolled neatly into his hand.

He flicked it into the fireplace before anyone noticed. Truth was, with his level of earth control, he could manage every speck of dust in the house down to a grain, even track the movement of crumbs if he wanted to. But doing that openly would probably earn him another lecture from his mother about “overusing magic for chores.” So he kept it subtle.

“Ludger,” Arslan said, breaking his thoughts. “I’ll be out for a few days.”

Ludger looked up, brow furrowing. “Out?”

“Yeah.” Arslan leaned back, stretching his shoulders. “You’ll handle command while I’m gone. Yvar will keep you updated on all the boring stuff.”

Ludger groaned softly. “That sounds like a punishment.”

“It’s called responsibility,” Arslan said with a grin. “Anyway, I’m heading out to recruit new members from the nearby villages. We’ve been relying too much on House Torvares to send us people lately. Can’t let that start looking suspicious.”

Ludger nodded slowly. “So you’re going to make it look like we’re doing it the formal way.”

“Exactly.” Arslan stood, fastening his sword belt with practiced ease. “Can’t have Lord Torvares doing all the heavy lifting or someone in the Empire will start asking questions.”

Ludger leaned back in his chair. “You’re getting political now.”

“I’m getting careful,

” Arslan corrected, flashing a small smirk. “Anyway, don’t blow anything up while I’m gone, kiddo. Try to make the guild look stable.”

Ludger exhaled through his nose, watching him head for the door. “No promises.”

Elaine shot him a warning glance.

He raised both hands in mock surrender. “Fine, minimal explosions.”

That earned him a faint smile before Arslan waved goodbye and stepped outside, leaving Ludger with breakfast, family, and the quiet weight of command for the next few days.

This would be a new kind of trial for Ludger.

He was used to giving orders in the field, where decisions were split-second, lives depended on them, and his magic could physically shift the battlefield. Out there, his authority was unquestionable because results were visible, a wall raised, a monster crushed, a team saved.

But inside the guild? Administrative work was a different beast entirely. No immediate danger, no mana flow to read, no enemies to outthink, just reports, schedules, funding requests, supply manifests, and the eternal agony of “documentation.”

He wasn’t exactly built for that. Still, as he cleared his dishes and got ready to leave, Ludger knew it had to be done. Leaving all the paperwork to Yvar and Aronia while he sat comfortably at home didn’t feel right, not when he was supposed to be the Vice Guildmaster.

If Arslan trusted him with command, then he’d handle it properly. Even if it meant drowning in numbers instead of monsters.

He stood, stretched, and adjusted the scarf around his neck. “Alright,” he muttered to himself. “No magic explosions. No shortcuts. Just… bureaucracy.”

He said the word like it was a curse. When he arrived at the guild a short while later, Yvar was already there surrounded by stacks of parchment, and Aronia was tapping her foot impatiently as two recruits tried to carry in another pile of reports.

Ludger exhaled and stepped inside. “Morning. Let’s get this over with before I change my mind.”

Aronia smirked faintly. “Welcome to the real battlefield, Vice Guildmaster.”

He didn’t argue. Just rolled up his sleeves, sat down, and began sorting through the first stack. Compared to fighting sahuagins or drilling stone under storm winds, this felt… dull. But necessary. And Ludger didn’t skip what was necessary.

Ludger never really bothered to ask why there was so much paperwork in the first place. He just assumed it was one of those administrative mysteries that Yvar and Aronia somehow thrived on.

He wasn’t particularly interested either, until he started reading through the stacks.

Half an hour in, his brows furrowed. By the one-hour mark, he was scowling. Then he pulled out one particular sheet, reread it twice, and stared at Yvar.

“…Why the hell are we getting complaints about shop prices?” Ludger asked flatly. “Aren’t we a guild? Not a market patrol?”

Yvar, sitting behind his own mountain of papers, gave a polite but clearly strained smile. “Ah. That would be because we’re also the governing force of Lionfang, remember?”

Ludger blinked. “Governing force?”

“Yes,” Yvar said, adjusting his glasses with the kind of professional cheer that was half a coping mechanism. “Lord Torvares officially granted the Lionsguard the right to oversee civil matters within the town. That includes disputes, trade regulation, property upkeep, and, apparently, shop pricing.”

Ludger stared at him, deadpan. “So I’m not just the Vice Guildmaster. I’m also a tax officer.”

“Technically, yes,” Yvar said. “Congratulations, you’re now part of local government.”

Ludger pinched the bridge of his nose. “That sounds like a punishment.”

Yvar chuckled softly. “Authority always does. It has its demerits, but also its merits.”

“Such as?”

“Well,” Yvar began, leaning back in his chair, “it gives the Lionsguard control over trade flow, taxes, and law enforcement inside Lionfang. We can decide which goods are prioritized for import, which merchants receive licenses, and what rates are applied to contracts.”

He flipped through another stack and handed Ludger a page. “In other words, we don’t have to rely on the Empire’s red tape or noble intermediaries anymore. If we handle it well, it builds stability, and profit, for both the guild and the people.”

Ludger skimmed the paper, lips curling into a faint, sardonic line. “So it’s more power.”

“Exactly,” Yvar said with a knowing smile. “And with power comes paperwork.”

Ludger exhaled through his nose. “You enjoy saying that, don’t you?”

Yvar didn’t deny it, he just smiled wider and slid another stack toward him. “If it helps, Vice Guildmaster, this is one of the lighter days.”

Ludger eyed the new pile and muttered, “I miss the sea monsters already.”

By midday, Ludger realized that paperwork wasn’t just about numbers and trade. It was about people — and people, apparently, were worse than monsters.

Half the complaints were ridiculous. The other half were infuriating.

He skimmed through the next document and sighed. “A baker accusing a brewer of stealing his yeast? Really?”

Yvar didn’t even look up from his own desk. “Happened twice this month. Just sign that one. We already confirmed the brewer’s yeast comes from imported grain, not stolen stock.”

Ludger grunted, scribbled his signature, and shoved it aside. “Next.”

“A farmer demanding compensation because the earth wall you built around his field is attracting too many rabbits.”

Ludger frowned. “Attracting rabbits?”

“Apparently, they like digging near reinforced soil.”

“I could fix that,” Ludger muttered, cracking his knuckles. “One pulse and the burrows are gone.”

Yvar looked up sharply. “Please don’t solve civic complaints with tremors.”

“Fine.” Ludger scrawled his signature again, dead-eyed. “Next.”

“Carpenters wants permission to rebuild two damaged fences on the southern street,” Yvar continued. “They say the last reconstruction order came from you, after that sand wall incident.”

“Right,” Ludger said. “The one where the drunk mercenary drove a cart through it. Harold mentioned while laughing.”

“Yes. They want your authorization to hire additional help.”

He scribbled another signature, but this time paused. “You know, I could just fix the fences myself.”

Yvar groaned. “That is the bribe method, Ludger.”

Ludger blinked. “Bribe?”

“You fix things for free, they stop complaining,” Yvar explained, rubbing his temple. “That’s not governance. That’s buying silence.”

Ludger crossed his arms, unimpressed. “It’s efficient.”

“It’s also why we now have people claiming you personally owe them home repairs,” Yvar said dryly. “You’ve created expectations.”

“Great,” Ludger muttered. “I’ve become a construction company.”

The next problem forced him to leave the guild,  a shouting match between a blacksmith and a leatherworker about shared space in the marketplace. Ludger arrived, listened to both sides, and seriously considered knocking their heads together to settle it.

Instead, he sighed and used his earth magic to quietly expand the market corner by a few meters. Problem solved.

When he got back, Yvar was waiting with crossed arms. “You expanded city property again, didn’t you?”

Ludger said nothing.

Yvar pinched the bridge of his nose. “Vice Guildmaster, I am begging you to stop solving disputes with manual terraforming.”

Ludger leaned on the desk, smirking faintly. “Well, it worked.”

“Yes,” Yvar said flatly, “but so does paperwork, when done properly.”

By the end of the day, Ludger had signed more papers than he had thrown punches. It didn’t make him feel powerful. If anything, it made him nostalgic for simpler problems, the kind that bled when you hit them.

By the time Ludger finally trudged back home, the sun was setting and his brain felt like it had been ground into paste by parchment and signatures. His back ached, his wrist hurt, and the only monster he’d fought all day was a merchant who refused to admit his price list was outdated.

He pushed the door open and muttered to himself, “I wonder how many days I’ll last before I lose my mind doing this nonsense.”

Elaine looked up from the kitchen table, teacup halfway to her lips. Her expression froze, calm, but dangerously so.

“Nonsense?” she repeated, her voice deceptively soft.

Ludger stopped mid-step. “…I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she said sweetly, setting the cup down with a quiet click. “And since you’re still standing there, I’ll assume you’re about to explain yourself.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just, paperwork, mom. Endless complaints, trade disputes, people arguing over fences and yeast. Feels like I’m wasting time.”

Elaine’s expression hardened. “That ‘nonsense,’ as you call it, is people’s lives, Ludger.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the sharp tone.

“You might not see it as a battlefield,” she continued, rising from her chair, “but those papers you’re signing? They decide who gets paid, who stays fed, who has a home after the next storm hits. You think protecting them only happens with walls and magic?”

Ludger opened his mouth to reply, but no words came.

Elaine sighed, the heat in her eyes softening just slightly. “You built the guild to protect people with swords and strength. But a guild that lasts needs more than that. It needs someone who can lead when the fighting stops.”

Ludger lowered his gaze. “…Yeah.”

She walked over, resting a hand briefly on his shoulder. “You don’t have to like it,” she said, quieter now. “But you do have to take it seriously.”

He nodded slowly. “I get it.”

“Good,” she said, heading back to her tea. “Now eat something before you start calling tax forms an act of war.”

Ludger exhaled through his nose, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Too late for that,” he muttered, heading to the table.

Elaine didn’t reply, but he could tell she was smiling too.

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