Two weeks passed in a blur of sweat, dust, and repetition.

The kids had gone from barely holding their stances to moving with something resembling coordination. Sparring drills no longer ended in chaos, and weapon training had turned from wild swings into measured strikes. When they got hurt, Ludger healed them immediately.

But Ludger’s real satisfaction came from something far less flashy. They could read.

Not perfectly, not yet, but the progress was undeniable. When he handed them short passages, they could sound out nearly every word. The longer, more complex ones still made them pause, their lips moving as they silently pieced the syllables together, but they were learning.

And that meant it was time for the next step. Magic.

Ludger had been waiting for this phase, but there was one logistical problem, he only had one copy of his handwritten Mana Bolt Manual.

Sharing one book between five kids was asking for chaos.

He stood in the training yard that morning, the single booklet in hand, looking at the expectant faces of his recruits. Then, with a resigned sigh, he looked toward the large stone wall bordering the courtyard.

“…Alright,” he said. “Change of plan.”

He planted his palm on the ground. The mana pulsed through the earth with a low thrum, and in seconds, five slabs of smooth stone rose from the soil, each one as tall as a man, perfectly flat and polished like unfinished marble.

“Stand back,” Ludger said as he drew in more mana, his right hand glowing with a faint brown hue.

The Principles of Mana Flow.

How to Gather and Focus Energy.

The Structure of a Bolt.

Every symbol, every instruction, was carefully inscribed. The faint scent of scorched earth filled the air as the runes glowed faintly, then cooled into clean, dark etchings.

It was the first time he’d ever tried something like this, using geomancy for large-scale inscription instead of direct combat or reinforcement, but it worked shockingly well. The process was even faster than writing with ink.

Within minutes, five walls stood covered in clear, precise script, each an identical version of his manual.

The kids stared in awe. “You… made stone books,” Renn whispered.

“Almost there,” Ludger said simply, brushing dust off his hands.

But as he stepped back to admire his work, he couldn’t help muttering under his breath, “Still… this isn’t three thousand B.C. I need to find a better solution for this.”

“I don’t know what you meant by that,” Arslan, watching from the side with folded arms, snorted. “But you could just hire a scribe.”

Ludger ignored him, turning to the kids. “Alright. Read every word on the first wall three times. Slowly. Out loud. When you can explain how mana forms a circuit, we’ll begin your first casting drills.”

The recruits nodded in unison, eyes bright with determination. And as their hesitant voices began to echo through the training yard, Ludger allowed himself a faint, tired smile. Primitive or not, it worked.

Arslan eventually excused himself, mumbling something about “inspecting the north wall” — which Ludger translated to avoiding paperwork and children in equal measure.

With his father gone, the courtyard settled into a comfortable rhythm. The recruits stood in front of the stone slabs, reading aloud in uneven, stilted voices while Ludger corrected pronunciation and posture in equal measure. The wind was calm, the sunlight steady, a rare moment of peace.

Then the peace ended.

“Wow, this place looks different! Did you build a mini fortress while I was gone?”

Ludger didn’t even have to turn his head. The voice carried too much confidence to belong to anyone else. Kaela.

He’d erected tall stone walls around the training yard specifically to prevent onlookers from watching his lessons. The kids were still rough around the edges, and the last thing he needed was half the town gossiping about how the Vice Guildmaster was teaching children magic. The walls were high enough that even seasoned climbers would think twice.

But apparently, Kaela wasn’t most people.

When Ludger finally looked up, there she was, perched casually on top of the wall, legs crossed, cloak fluttering in the breeze. She looked perfectly at home up there, as if sitting several meters above the ground was the most natural thing in the world.

She waved down at him with a grin. “Hey, Vice Guildmaster! Training the next generation of prodigies, huh?”

Ludger’s expression didn’t change. “You do realize those walls are there to keep people out, right?”

Kaela leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her palm. “Oh, come on. You think a few rocks can stop me? You should know better, I’m light on my feet.”

“I should’ve made them taller,” Ludger muttered.

The kids, meanwhile, were staring at her like she was some mythical creature. Renn whispered, “Is that the wind lady again?” and Marie elbowed him hard enough to make him yelp.

Kaela just laughed, clearly enjoying the attention. “Relax, I’m not here to steal your secrets. Just checking in. You’ve been so busy teaching, I thought you might’ve forgotten your favorite wind mage.”

“I hadn’t,” Ludger said flatly. “That was intentional. I have no favorite wind mages.”

“Ouch,” Kaela said, pressing a hand to her chest in mock pain. “Still as charming as ever.”

Ludger rubbed his temples, already feeling the headache forming. “If you’re going to sit there, at least stay quiet. The kids are learning. Stay there, very visible, where my mother can easily find you and snipe you with a Mana Bullet.”

Kaela nodded solemnly. “Got it. Silent observer mode. Still, that was a good one.”

“Yeah, very good… I taught her the basics, though. If you want to bet with your life on the line, be my guest.”

Five seconds later, she added, “So what’s the lesson today? Reading? Spells? How to stare people into submission like you do?”

Ludger sighed. “Silent observer mode clearly failed.”

Kaela grinned wider. “Can’t help it. You’re too fun to mess with.”

He gave her a flat look, then turned back to the kids, pretending she wasn’t there. But he could already tell, peace was a luxury he wouldn’t be enjoying for the rest of the afternoon.

After a few rounds of reading and repetition, Ludger finally let the kids move on to practice.

Their mana output was almost negligible,  flickers of faint blue light, barely enough to disturb a leaf, but that was fine. The goal wasn’t power; it was control.

He watched carefully as they raised their hands. The air shimmered faintly above their palms, unstable but forming. Each time someone’s flow wobbled or dispersed, Ludger stepped in.  quick, precise corrections on posture, breathing, or mana focus.

“Slow down. Don’t force it,” he said evenly. “Mana isn’t water. It’s energy. Guide it, don’t spill it.”

The kids listened. They learned. Fast. Children, he’d noticed, absorbed things differently,  less analysis, more instinct. Their minds adapted to rhythm and repetition faster than any adult student he’d ever trained.

He faintly recalled something from his old life, malleable neural pathways, or something along those lines. Maybe he was remembering it wrong, but the logic fit. Kids were easier to shape because their minds were still flexible, able to form new links without the resistance of habit.

He was mid-thought when Kaela’s voice drifted lazily from her perch on the wall.

“So,” she said, “why are you teaching random children to read, anyway?”

Ludger didn’t look up. “Because knowledge keeps people alive.”

Kaela smirked. “That’s cute. But come on, don’t you just want them to become good little pawns for your guild?”

The words hit the air like a stone through glass. Ludger stopped mid-step and slowly turned his head toward her, expression flat, eyes sharp. The look wasn’t angry, it was cold.

“Don’t speak of the Lionsguard like that without proof,” he said, his tone quiet but edged. “You don’t know what we stand for.”

Kaela blinked, surprised by the sudden weight in his voice. For a moment, her usual grin faltered. He turned back toward the recruits, adjusting one of their stances as he continued, “And for the record, it’s none of your business.”

“Wrong,” Kaela shot back immediately, crossing her arms. “My little sister is one of your recruits, remember? That makes it my business.”

Ludger let out a long, quiet sigh, the kind that said he didn’t have the energy for this argument, but would finish it anyway.

“I don’t want braindead members in my guild,” he said finally. “I want people who can think, strong and smart.” He glanced up at her, his tone bone-dry. “Preferably the kind who can understand what a wall is supposed to be for.”

Kaela blinked, then huffed out a short laugh despite herself. “Okay, fair. I walked into that one.”

“You jumped into it,” Ludger corrected.

“Semantics,” she said, waving him off, though her grin had returned.

Ludger ignored her, refocusing on the kids, their shaky mana control, their wide eyes, their determination. Pawns? No. He wasn’t training followers. He was building people who could stand on their own and could contribute.

The guild didn’t need soldiers. It needed thinkers who could survive long after he was gone.

In the end, it only took three days for the kids to start firing their first successful Mana Bolts.

Three days of shaky control, mana flares, and occasional near-explosions—but by the third afternoon, the courtyard echoed with the crack of properly formed projectiles slamming into practice dummies. Their bolts were weak, barely more than glowing marbles, but they were consistent.

Ludger didn’t show it, but he was impressed. They were learning faster than some of the adult recruits had. Of course, Kaela had to be there for all three days.

Every. Single. One.

She had apparently made it her mission to “check on Tali’s progress,” though Ludger was fairly certain she just enjoyed getting under his skin. Every morning he’d find her sitting casually on the wall, swinging her legs, calling down commentary like an overexcited spectator at a tournament.

And every morning, he silently hoped his mother would notice.

Just one clean mana bolt through the distance, from the kitchen window, maybe. That’d solve a lot of problems, he thought more than once.

He even considered adding spikes along the top of the wall for good measure… but then realized that Kaela would probably just treat it as a challenge and jump inside instead. So that plan died quickly.

By the end of the third day, when the last of the recruits finally managed to fire a halfway stable bolt, Kaela clapped from her perch. “You know,” she said, smirking, “you’re something else. Not only are you ridiculously good at learning, you’re good at teaching too. That’s not a common mix, kid.”

Ludger didn’t even glance up. “I’m aware.”

“Oh, come on,” she teased, “you could at least pretend to be humble.”

“I could,” he said, “but that would take effort.”

Kaela chuckled. “Fair enough.”

He ignored her after that, turning his attention to the notes he’d been scribbling in a small notebook. Watching the kids’ progress had given him a new idea, one that had nothing to do with magic directly, but with information.

He’d already seen how much time he lost rewriting manuals by hand. Teaching five people at once had been manageable, but if the guild kept expanding, this wouldn’t scale.

“Maybe I should hire some scribes,” he muttered to himself. “ To sell the manuals. Or…”

He paused, tapping his pen against the page.

…maybe I could build a simple pressing mechanism. Wooden frame, mana-driven stamp. Copy entire pages faster.

He frowned slightly, already sketching rough diagrams.

Kaela, still lounging on the wall, squinted down at him. “What are you plotting now?”

“Progress,” he said without looking up.

“Sounds boring.”

“It usually is.”

The faint sound of crackling mana filled the yard again as the recruits resumed their training, their bolts flying straighter each time. Ludger’s gaze lingered on them for a moment, then shifted back to his notes. Teaching, innovation, discipline, all just tools. And he was getting very good at sharpening them.

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