Ludger knew at a glance what he was looking at.

This boy wasn’t just surviving, he was waiting. Watching. Hungry in a way that had nothing to do with food. The kind of kid who could grow into a leader… or a monster. Someone with enough physical talent and emotional abandonment to be shaped by the first person who offered him a purpose.

A child like this was exactly the type underworld guilds preyed on. A perfect pawn.

A future Ragdar. Ludger exhaled quietly, the cold morning air curling out of his mask like steam.

“…Found him,” he muttered.

And the boy’s sharp brown eyes snapped toward him immediately.

Ludger stepped toward the group without altering his expression or pace. The kids froze at his approach, shrinking back instinctively,even the tallest boy, though only for a split second. His sharp brown eyes never fully left Ludger, calculating, wary, already sizing him up the way a street survivor learned to measure danger.

Ludger stopped a few steps away, hands loosely in his pockets.

“Any of you know a guy named Ragdar?” he asked.

The reaction was immediate—shoulders tensed, gazes widened, glances shot between one another. Kids that age could hide their hunger and their fear, but not their shock.

The tall boy stepped forward, chin slightly lifted. A brave move. Or a reckless one.

“…Why are you asking?” he said.

Ludger stared at him for two seconds, dead silent.

Then he shook his head once. “Wrong question.”

The boy stiffened.

“If you wanted to hide the connection, you should’ve said ‘no’ immediately,” Ludger continued. “Words matter. Timing matters more.”

The kid swallowed, fists tightening at his sides. Behind him, the other orphans exchanged nervous looks.

Before the tall boy could give a defensive retort, Ludger waved a hand slightly.

“Relax. I’m not here to pick a fight. I got some money from him—to pay for things you might need.”

Several of the kids blinked in confusion. The tall boy’s guarded expression flickered with doubt. It was the kind of hopeful suspicion only a child in a broken place could wear—wanting to believe, but too used to disappointment to fall for anything blindly.

“I’ll explain more if you want,” Ludger said. “Follow me to the tavern.”

There was hesitation. Of course there was. Children who lived in half-abandoned buildings learned quickly not to trust strangers, especially masked ones asking about dead men.

But hunger was a powerful motivator. So was the tall boy’s subtle nod to the others. One by one, they got up.

Ludger walked at an even pace toward the tavern, not checking over his shoulder. He could feel their footsteps following, small, quick, unsure. When he entered the tavern, a dim, dusty place with cracked mugs and a bartender who looked like he slept in his apron, Ludger didn’t bother sitting first.

He reached into a pocket, pulled out a gold coin, and placed it on the counter. The bartender’s eyebrows shot up so fast they almost left his forehead.

“Bring all the food you have in storage,” Ludger said. “And don’t ask why.”

The bartender didn’t need more encouragement. He snatched the coin like it was a divine offering and scurried to the kitchen.

“Sit,” Ludger told the kids.

They scattered into seats at two tables, still unsure but unable to ignore the scent of bread already wafting out from behind the counter.

Ludger took a seat in the corner, alone, half-shaded, back to the wall. From there he watched them with that cold, thinking stare of his, elbows resting loosely on his knees. He could feel the weight of the moment settling in. Trying to give a new path to a kid whose brother he had just killed. It wasn’t lost on him. Not even slightly.

“…This is going to bite me in the ass someday,” Ludger muttered under his breath.

But he stayed seated.Because walking away from someone like that kid…was exactly how another Ragdar was born.

It didn’t take long for the tavern to come alive with motion. The bartender burst from the kitchen with a tray loaded to the brim, loaves of warm bread, bowls of thick stew, pitchers of milk, sliced fruit, hard cheese, smoked meat. More food followed, dish after dish until both tables were nearly buckling under the weight. The smell alone was enough to make the kids tremble.

But none of them moved. Not because they weren’t starving, Ludger could see the way their eyes locked onto every plate, the way their fingers twitched, the way their throats bobbed when they swallowed down instinctive hunger.

They didn’t eat because the tallest boy lifted a hand. And the others listened.

He stood behind his chair like a quiet guardian, staring at Ludger with a mixture that didn’t belong in a child’s face, suspicion, pride, caution, and a flicker of something that might’ve been fear.

The others waited for his signal.

“You need something?” the boy finally asked, voice low, steady despite the tremble in his arms. “Bandits don’t send people to help us. Ragdar… he left years ago. He didn’t come back. So why are you doing this?”

The question was simple. Brutal. Honest. Ludger met his gaze without flinching, hands intertwined calmly on the table in front of him. He didn’t soften his tone. He didn’t pretend he was a hero. He didn’t smile. It would’ve been insulting.

“Ragdar died,” Ludger said.

The words hit harder than he expected. A few of the younger kids gasped quietly. One girl covered her mouth. The tall boy’s expression didn’t crack, but his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Ludger continued, voice steady.

“He died fighting. And before he did, he told me about this village. About kids like you.” Ludger paused, watching the taller boy absorb every word. “Helping you was his dying wish. I’m just respecting that.”

No one spoke. No one breathed.

The kids looked at each other, not for permission, not for understanding, but for confirmation that they’d actually heard the same thing. The tall boy’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with conflicting emotions Ludger didn’t try to decipher. Instead, he gestured toward the feast.

“Eat,” he said simply. “Before it gets cold.”

The tall boy didn’t move for several seconds. Then, slowly, he gave a small nod.

The children surged forward like floodwater breaking through a dam, hands grabbing bread, spoons clashing against bowls, laughter and muffled sobs mixing with the scent of food. Hunger overpowered hesitation. Relief overwhelmed fear. For the first time in who knew how long, they ate like they might never see another meal.

The tall boy sat last, grabbing only a modest portion, glancing at Ludger every few seconds like he was waiting for something else to be demanded of him. But Ludger just leaned back in his chair, watching silently. He had fulfilled Ragdar’s final request. And somewhere deep in his mind, he wondered just how far this decision would ripple.

The meal didn’t end so much as collapse under its own weight. The kids devoured everything in sight until their bodies simply couldn’t take any more. A few of the smallest ones slumped back in their chairs with unfocused eyes and swollen stomachs, groaning like they’d just survived some kind of blissful torture. One boy lay draped over the table with a half-eaten loaf still clutched in his hand. Another girl pressed both palms to her cheeks, mumbling that she might actually explode.

Ludger let them have the moment. He’d seen the same thing before, orphans, street kids, Northerners fresh after famine. Hunger wasn’t something you talked someone out of; you just survived it, one overloaded stomach at a time.

When the chaos finally quieted and only weak groans filled the tavern, Ludger pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. The tired creak of wood almost sounded loud compared to the muffled sounds of digestion happening around him.

The tall boy, still alert despite the food, straightened up immediately, eyes sharp again. The others lifted their heads slowly.

“Pack whatever’s left,” Ludger said, tone as flat and businesslike as if he were addressing trained recruits. “Bread, fruit, meat, whatever you can carry. You’ll appreciate it later.”

Some of the kids blinked as if they couldn’t process being given more.

“The rest of what I’m about to say is up to you,” Ludger continued. “If you want to learn how to read, write, do basic math… or learn basic magic from scratch—”

That got every eye in the room focused on him.

“—then go north. To Lionfang. Ask for the Lionsguard.”

Shock. Confusion. Hope. They all flickered across the children’s faces like firelight.

“You won’t be freeloading,” Ludger added before anyone got the wrong idea. “You’ll get shelter. And in return, you’ll help water the fields, move supplies, maybe work in the workshops. Nothing dangerous. Nothing criminal.”

A few kids exchanged hesitant glances.

“Anyone interested,” Ludger finished, “spread the word.”

Silence hovered for a beat.

Then one of the younger boys whispered, “Work… for a guild? For real?”

Another tugged at the tall boy’s sleeve. “Do you think we could… actually go?”

The tall boy didn’t answer them—not yet. His eyes were on Ludger, weighing him, weighing the offer, weighing the meaning behind all of it. Ludger didn’t push. He’d given the choice.

He turned toward the door, adjusting his cloak. Whether any of them came north wasn’t up to him. He’d already walked far enough into trouble to say he’d done his part. Now the village would decide the rest.

The village shrank behind him as Ludger walked back toward the nearest spot where he could sink into his tunnels. The day was cold, the wind biting at his clothes, but his thoughts were louder than the chill. Every step echoed the same irritating truth he was trying very hard not to acknowledge.

Being selfish is easy.

It was easy to think only of himself. Easy to be sarcastic. Easy to play the aloof, cold, pragmatic brat that everyone assumed he was. That version of him took no effort at all. It required no vulnerability, no responsibility outside of the immediate circle he claimed as “his people.” No thinking beyond the next fight or the next threat lurking around Lionfang.

But what he had done in that village… The choice he made to step in, feed them, and give them a way out… That wasn’t selfish. And it definitely wasn’t sentimental. It was inconvenient. Time-consuming. Troubling. A long-term responsibility he hadn’t asked for.

Yet, he knew with the same clarity he felt during a killing blow, that ignoring a place like that was the real stupidity.

Leaving that tall boy alone, ignored, and directionless would’ve made him the next Ragdar. Ignoring entire villages like that would birth more underworld guilds, more smugglers, more mercenaries, more chaos. Doing the hard thing, intervening early, wasn’t kindness. It was pragmatism.

He wasn’t saving those kids because he was soft. He was saving himself the headache of fighting ten Ragdar replacements ten years from now. Ludger clicked his tongue as he approached the hidden entrance to his tunnel.

“…Fantastic,” he muttered to himself. “I’m becoming a responsible person. Ew. Becoming a responsible adult sure makes my skin crawl.”

The earth parted at his touch, and he stepped inside the darkness, letting it seal behind him.

He let out a long sigh, half exhaustion, half irritation.

Because now, after dealing with the underworld, potential future criminals, and the cracks in the Empire’s shadow, he had to face something even worse.

Something infinitely more dangerous than assassins, berserker draught maniacs, or collapsing tunnels. A birthday party. Viola’s birthday party.

“Great,” Ludger muttered, dragging a hand down his face as he tunneled north. “From criminals and corpses… straight into sentimental social stuff.”

He felt the familiar weight of dread settle in.

“Why is this harder than destroying a guild? Well, unlike most people, I will probably turn fifteen a second time… better be a bit sentimental now and then. They deserve my sincerity.”

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