The next morning, Ludger woke up with one clear thought in his head, he needed to find a wind mage.

That was the next step, and probably the hardest one. Lionfang had healers, elemental mages, even a few runecrafters. But wind? That was rare. Too wild, too costly to train, too easily turned destructive.

He sat at the table, absently spooning through his breakfast while turning the idea over in his head. Maybe one of Maurien’s students. Maybe a wanderer from the east. Or maybe, 

The door creaked open.

“—you took your sweet time,” Ludger said without looking up.

Arslan stepped inside, brushing road dust from his cloak. He looked tired but satisfied, the faint grin of someone who’d spent a week negotiating, fighting, or both. The smell of travel clung to him, iron, leather, and cold air.

“I’d call it timely,” Arslan replied. “Guild recruitment takes effort. Especially when the locals keep asking if the Vice Guildmaster’s the same ‘little demon’ who flattened their road toll post last season.”

Across the table, Elaine finished wiping a bit of porridge off Arash’s chin. She turned her gaze on her husband, calm, almost sweet, before her tone dropped a few degrees below freezing.

“Did you, by any chance,” she asked, “find any pretty ladies to help you with that effort?”

Arslan froze mid-step. His grin stayed where it was for exactly one second too long before collapsing under the weight of her stare.

“Please,” he said quickly, raising both hands. “Those times are long behind me, dear.”

Elle babbled something unintelligible, as if mocking him.

Ludger smirked into his breakfast, not bothering to hide it. “Welcome home, Dad.”

Arslan sighed, dropping into the nearest chair like a condemned man. “You could at least pretend to be on my side.”

“I’m eleven,” Ludger said flatly. “I know better.”

Elaine smiled faintly at that, the kind of smile that said case closed. Arslan just groaned.

Arslan leaned back in his chair, regaining some of his old swagger as he reached for a cup of tea. “Anyway,” he said, “I come bearing good news. I found some promising recruits out there—strong backs, clear eyes, and not one of them fainted when I mentioned the labyrinth work.”

Ludger glanced up from his plate, unimpressed. “Good for you. They’ll be waiting at the guild hall, I assume?”

Arslan nodded proudly. “Of course. They’ll want to meet the Vice Guildmaster as soon as possible.”

Ludger blinked. “Why me? You’re the Guildmaster.”

Arslan waved that away like it was irrelevant. “Because you’re the one who shapes them. I pick them, you temper them. Division of labor.”

Ludger frowned. “And how exactly did you ‘pick’ them? Based on what, exactly?”

Arslan tapped his chest. “Instinct.”

Ludger just stared. “That’s not an answer.”

Arslan smiled, completely unbothered. “It’s the only answer that matters. You’ll see when you meet them. Good potential, rough around the edges, but solid material.”

Ludger sighed. “I’d rather not. I’m supposed to be looking for a wind mage next.”

That made Arslan raise an eyebrow. “Wind, huh? You’re finally moving past the basics?”

“I need it for Overdrive balance,” Ludger replied. “Fire, earth, and water all have roles, but without wind, the cycle’s incomplete. I just don’t know any wind mages yet.”

Arslan leaned forward, intrigued. “We’ll talk through it. I want to hear what you’ve learned from the attunements, how they differ, how they-”

He stopped. Because both of them suddenly realized Elaine was watching.

She was still feeding the twins, expression calm, voice deceptively soft. “No guild business. No magic theory. Not at the breakfast table.”

Ludger froze mid-sentence. Arslan straightened like a soldier under inspection.

“Understood,” Arslan said quickly.

Ludger nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Elaine smiled, a perfectly cold, serene smile that promised consequences otherwise. The twins clapped their hands, unaware of the quiet terror they’d just witnessed.

Once breakfast was over, Arslan pushed his chair back with a satisfied grunt. “I’ll be staying home today,” he said, already reaching over to lift one of the twins, who immediately grabbed a fistful of his hair. “Elaine deserves a break, and I think it’s time these two learned that their father is also an excellent babysitter.”

Elaine raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Arslan turned to Ludger, smirking. “Guild management is still your problem for the day, Vice Guildmaster Lulu.”

Ludger stopped halfway through putting on his cloak. The sigh that escaped him could’ve wilted stone. That nickname was still alive, resilient, immortal, and apparently immune to embarrassment.

He’d made the mistake of reacting the first time the twins babbled it. Big mistake. Now everyone in the house used it as ammunition. Even Yvar had slipped once, under his breath, and Ludger hadn’t forgotten.

But he knew better than to protest. Mentioning it would just make it worse. So he said nothing, just adjusted his collar and walked to the door.

Behind him, Arslan’s laughter mingled with the twins’ squeals as they tugged at his hair and sleeves. Elaine was already giving orders like a field marshal, and Ludger caught himself almost smiling. Almost.

Then he stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him. The morning air was crisp, the sun catching the rebuilt streets of Lionfang.

“Vice Guildmaster Lulu,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “That one’s never dying.”

And with that, he headed toward the guild, resigned, calm, and silently plotting revenge on whoever had taught the twins to talk.

When Ludger pushed open the doors of the guildhall, the first thing that hit him was noise—the kind that didn’t belong in a place supposedly run by professionals.

Voices echoed off the stone walls, chairs scraped against the floor, and someone was clearly arguing about who could punch harder. The sound alone made his eye twitch.

He stepped inside and scanned the room. Of course. Harold, Aleia, Selene, Cor, Yvar, and Aronia were all gathered in a loose half-circle, like bored veterans watching a street performance. And in the center of it all stood a cluster of kids. Actual kids.

Ludger blinked once. Then again.

They were definitely younger than him. One couldn’t have been older than ten, and another was holding their training sword backward.

He dragged a hand down his face. “Please tell me Father wasn’t drinking when he picked them up.”

Aleia snorted behind her hand. “If he was, it must’ve been the expensive kind. He looked way too proud about it.”

Ludger walked closer, the group parting a little as he stopped beside Yvar. “Alright,” he said flatly. “Explain before I lose faith in the entire recruitment process.”

Yvar adjusted his spectacles, looking far too amused. “Simple. The new recruits insisted on starting their training immediately. Said they didn’t come all the way to Lionfang to wait around doing chores.”

Ludger gave him a slow, skeptical look. “And my father didn’t… tell them to behave? Or, I don’t know, breathe quietly until spoken to?”

Yvar shrugged. “He told them to listen to their vice guildmaster.”

Which, of course, meant this mess was now his problem.

Ludger pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wonderful. He dumped them straight into my lap.”

Selene grinned from her seat on the railing. “Oh, come on, Lulu. You’re great with kids.”

Ludger shot her a flat stare. “That nickname is not leaving this room alive.”

The younger recruits, now realizing the small, serious boy in front of them was actually in charge, dead silent.

One of the kids—a boy with messy brown hair and eyes too bright for his own good—was studying Ludger with a curious, almost measuring look. Not mocking, not scared—just trying to figure him out.

Ludger frowned. “What?”

The boy straightened a little but didn’t look away.

Ludger exhaled through his nose, already feeling a headache brewing. “Alright,” he said, scanning the little group. “Let’s start with the obvious. Why do you even want to join the Lionsguard? You’re too young, too green, and, no offense, too weak. This job isn’t a game. People die doing what we do.”

For a moment, the kids hesitated, shifting nervously under his gaze. Then the brown-haired boy stepped forward. “We want to serve Lady Viola Torvares!” he declared, voice cracking halfway through the name.

Ludger blinked. “Come again?”

Another kid, a small girl with her hair tied in a crooked braid, nodded eagerly. “Yeah! We heard she trained here! That she fought the northerners and helped protect the town! So we’re gonna follow her example!”

“Lady Viola is the bravest noble in the north!” added a third, puffing out his chest. “She doesn’t act all high and mighty like the others. People say she helped build the walls herself!”

“She punched a knight once!” another boy shouted. “Right in the face!”

That got a few enthusiastic nods from the group.

Ludger stared at them, completely expressionless. “Viola’s not even part of the guild,” he said flatly.

“Doesn’t matter!” the brown-haired boy said immediately. “She’s our hero! She helped rebuild Lionfang! Everyone says she fights like a storm and doesn’t back down from anyone!”

“Even her hair shines when she fights!” one girl added dreamily. “Like a flame, they said!”

Ludger pinched the bridge of his nose again. Of course. Of course his father’s “instinct” had led him to recruit a bunch of Viola Torvares fan club members.

Behind him, Selene was biting her lip to keep from laughing, and Yvar looked two seconds from taking notes purely for blackmail material.

Ludger just sighed, muttering under his breath, “Perfect. I’m running a daycare for noble fangirls now.”

The group of kids, still buzzing with energy after their heroic speeches, leaned forward expectantly. One of them—short, freckled, and grinning like he already imagined himself hurling fire across the battlefield—raised a hand.

“So, uh… what do we start with first?”

Another chimed in before Ludger could answer. “Fireball, right?”

“Or Overdrive!” said a third, eyes gleaming. “I heard Vice Guildmaster Ludger can blow up monsters with his fists!”

A fourth clapped excitedly. “Yeah! We’re ready to train like heroes!”

The guildhall went quiet for a second. The older members looked on, some amused, others waiting to see what Ludger would do.

Ludger just stared at the kids, expression unreadable.

Then he crossed his arms and said, dead serious, “Discipline.”

The excitement instantly deflated.

“Before you learn Fireball, Overdrive, or how to hold a sword without stabbing your own foot, you’ll learn how to follow orders. Without that, you won’t survive long enough to learn anything else.”

The kids exchanged uneasy glances.

“So…” one asked slowly, “what do we do first?”

Ludger pointed toward the door. “One lap around the town.”

The silence stretched again.

“…Around the whole town?” another asked, as if hoping he’d misheard.

“Yes,” Ludger said flatly. “Now.”

The word cracked through the air like a whip.

The group froze for half a heartbeat—then scrambled all at once, chairs falling, boots clattering against the floor as they sprinted for the exit.

Selene snorted, crossing her arms. “As usual, the kid is serious.”

Yvar adjusted his spectacles. “Do you think they’ll make it back?”

Ludger watched the door swing shut behind the last recruit. “If they don’t,” he said dryly, “then my father’s instincts were worse than I thought.”

As the door slammed shut behind the last of the recruits, the guildhall fell into a moment of stillness—broken only by the fading sound of small boots echoing down the street.

Then Harold let out a low whistle. “You know,” he said, leaning against the wall, “that looked… familiar.”

Selene laughed softly, stretching her arms behind her head. “Familiar? It’s exactly how we started. Remember? Arslan picked up a bunch of random kids, called us ‘promising,’ then threw us at the first bandit camp that blinked wrong.”

Aleia smirked, propping her bow beside the table. “I still have the scar from that. He said it would ‘build character.’”

“Character, my ass,” Harold muttered. “We almost died building that ‘character.’”

Cor grunted from his seat near the window, eyes half-closed. “That’s Ludger’s method. Throw the children at a problem until either the problem breaks… or the children get better at breaking it.”

That earned a few chuckles.

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