Word of the party, and especially of the sculpture, didn’t just spread. It exploded.

By the next morning, rumors had already sprinted through Meronia. By noon, they crossed the neighboring territories. And by the following day, they were whispered across the entire Empire with the speed of a plague and the enthusiasm of gossip-starved nobles.

“Did you hear? Lord Torvares’s half grandson made a sculpture of Lady Violette so lifelike it looked like she stepped out of the past!”

“I heard it moved.”

“No, you fool, it didn’t move. But the colors! The detail! They say it was like a living memory carved from the earth itself!”

“Who is that boy, Ludger?”

“The sculptor prodigy?”

“The earth mage who builds fortresses and kills criminals and makes art that makes grown men cry?”

“That one!”

Every time someone repeated the rumor, it grew sharper, brighter, more unbelievable, and more irresistible. Nobles who hadn’t even attended the party began sending letters to Torvares and Arslan, begging for descriptions. Some even tried bribing servants for sketches.

But sketches weren’t enough. So, instead of returning home once the party ended, carriages began rolling toward Lionfang, one after another, a colorful parade of wealthy families and their staff.

Some came respectfully. Most came arrogantly. All came with the same goal: To commission a sculpture from Ludger. Their requests poured in like a tidal wave.

“We wish a memorial of my late mother, exact likeness, natural colors!”

“My family desires a heroic depiction of our ancestor on the battlefield!”

“We want our children sculpted together, only the best!”

“What is the price? Money is no issue!”

The Lionsguard hall was soon buried under stacks of parchment, formal commissions, handwritten pleas, thinly veiled demands. Yvar nearly fainted with excitement and stress. Arslan needed two cups of northern brew to deal with the influx. Even Kharnek wandered into the hall at one point, looked at the mountain of noble requests, grunted disapprovingly, and left.

There was only one problem. A rather BIG one. Ludger was gone. Completely vanished.

No one saw him leave. No one noticed him slip out. One servant swore he saw “a shadow sprinting on the manor roofs at dawn,” but that could’ve been anything. Even Maurien couldn’t sense his trail.

Which meant… All these nobles, with all their demands and gold and desperation, Had come to Lionfang to throw themselves at empty air. And oh, they tried.

They registered official jobs at the Lionsguard guild, dozens, then hundreds. Requests for custom sculptures offering rewards so absurd Yvar went pale reading them:

1,000 gold for a lifelike memorial bust.

2,000 for a family tableau.

5,000 for an original Ludger “masterpiece.”

One even offered an entire estate

in exchange for “priority sculpting rights.”

By the end of the week, there were so many commissions that the Lionsguard had to dedicate an entire room just to store them, stacked from floor to ceiling like tribute to a runaway deity of earth and stone.

And still, more nobles kept arriving at Lionfang’s gates, asking the same question:

“Where is Ludger?

When will he accept our commission?

Why can no one find him?”

And the answer, whispered with equal parts awe, fear, and resignation, was always the same:

“He disappeared to avoid sentimental praise.”

And with each passing day, Ludger’s legend grew. The genius sculptor. The unstoppable mage. The runaway prodigy who fled emotional conversations harder than assassins. And Lionfang, once a border town, found itself becoming the center of every noble’s map. All because Ludger dared to create something beautiful… and then immediately bolted for his life.

Raukor leaned his massive frame against the doorframe of his forge, arms crossed, fur bristling faintly in irritation at the constant parade of nobles that had marched through Lionfang over the past days. Now, finally, the streets outside had quieted, no carriages thundering by, no overly perfumed aristocrats poking their noses where they didn’t belong.

He let out a grunt of relief. “Looks like most of the nobles finally left,” he said, voice rumbling like gravel.

Inside the forge’s corner, surrounded by metal scraps and the scent of heated ore, Ludger sat cross-legged on a stone stool, hood up, sleeves rolled, hammer glowing faintly with mana. He tapped a small blade delicately, repairing every dent and imperfection from the knives he had forged over the last ten days.

To anyone else, it looked like he was meditating with tools. Raukor watched him for a long moment before speaking again.

“So,” he said, brow lifting, “how long do you plan to hide in here?”

Ludger didn’t look up. He calmly pressed his glowing hammer against the metal, letting the Repair skill smooth the edges in perfect lines. “Until the dust clears,” he said simply.

Raukor snorted. “Dust? You mean nobles.”

“Same thing,” Ludger replied.

Finally, he looked up, eyes half-lidded in that calm, deadpan way that made it impossible to tell if he was joking. “And besides… I’m learning something important here.”

Raukor narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “…Forging?”

“Forging,” Ludger confirmed. “And also how to avoid emotional conversations. Which is equally valuable.”

Raukor shook his head slowly. “You’re strange, kid.”

Ludger shrugged, turning the repaired blade in his hand to check the shine. “Doesn’t matter. As long as I’m learning, I’m fine staying hidden.”

Raukor grunted in agreement, crossing his arms again. “Well… at least my forge is quieter than the streets.” He paused. “Except for you.”

Ludger tapped the hammer again, mana humming through it. “Be grateful. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

Raukor gave him a side-eye. “That’s what worries me. When someone like you usually stays quiet, trouble usually comes later.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Then it’s good I’m learning how to make swords. I’ll need them.”

Raukor sighed, but a hint of pride flickered in his eyes. At least the kid wasn’t running this time. He was sharpening himself instead.

Ludger knew he couldn’t keep hiding in Raukor’s forge forever. If anything, the nobles sniffing around Lionfang were only going to get louder, more persistent, and more irritating. But right now? Staying out of sight gave him something more valuable than peace.

Preparation time. Time to sharpen skills that had nothing to do with punching monsters or skewering smugglers.

While he hammered a dent out of one of Raukor’s test knives, he found his thoughts drifting, unwelcome, but steady, back to the sculpture he’d made for Viola. That one. The one that had turned half the empire upside down and nearly caused a bidding war outside Lionfang’s gates.

More importantly, he remembered the effect it produced.The same kind of effect Aronia’s Effigy had generated, but… different. Deeper. Emotional. Protective. Anchored in blood, memory, and the legacy of Torvares’ line.

He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t aimed for it. But the system responded anyway. It made him realize something unsettling: Combat alone wouldn’t be enough for the future. Not with what the empire was becoming. Not with underworld guilds, shadow nobles, engineered conflicts, and berserker draughts lurking behind every corner.

He needed skills that shaped territory, protected civilians, strengthened allies. He needed influence that worked even when he wasn’t present.And the new artifact confirmed it:

Violette’s Embrace Monument 

Grade: Epic

Range: 1,200 meters

Duration: 12 hours.

Effect:

— +25% Max Health, +25% Max Mana, +25% Max Stamina to all individuals living under House Torvares’ protection.

— Triples resistance to mental manipulation, charm, coercion, and fear effects.

— Emotional Anchor: Individuals gain a steady morale boost when near the monument, reducing fatigue and sharpening focus.

— Legacy Bond: Direct descendants of House Torvares gain an additional +5% All Stats while in the vicinity.

Note:

Effect shaped by craftsmanship, mana harmonization, sculptor’s intent, symbolic representation of legacy, and the combined emotional resonance of mother and daughter.

It wasn’t just a statue. It wasn’t just art. It wasn’t even just a buff. It was a territorial anchor, a stabilizing force for Meronia and every town under Torvares rule. Something that strengthened their people against corruption, fear, and political manipulation.

And Ludger… had made it almost by accident. He exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Great,” he muttered to himself. “Now I’m doing a civic infrastructure project.”

He could almost hear Yvar screaming in delight somewhere in Meronia. Still… he couldn’t deny it. This was something he needed. Something Lionfang needed. Something Torvares needed. Something that could protect everyone when Ludger wasn’t physically there to cave heads in.

More skills like this, non-combat, territory-level, support-focused, would keep them alive.

Raukor snorted from across the forge, misinterpreting Ludger’s grim expression.

“What, you burn yourself on the forge again?”

Ludger didn’t bother correcting him. He just kept hammering, the faint glow of the Repair skill coating the hammer. Preparation mattered. And for once, the pragmatic choice looked a lot like the sentimental one.

But if it kept his family, and his territory, safe? He could live with that.

Ludger ended up staying hidden in Raukor’s forge far longer than he had originally planned, but it was difficult to walk away when every hour spent there paid dividends. The beastman blacksmith, for all his stern silence and perfectionist tendencies, quickly discovered a truth he would never admit out loud: having Ludger nearby made his success rate skyrocket.

Not a slight improvement. Not a subtle adjustment. A staggering, absurd leap in consistency that no master craftsman should logically achieve simply because a twelve-year-old boy was standing in the same room.

Raukor’s response to this discovery was… predictable.

He “casually” left more and more flawed pieces in the corner of the workshop.

A dented knife here. A breastplate with a micro-fracture there. A spearhead that cooled unevenly. A hammer that had warped just enough to be annoying. And he never said a word about it.

He just placed them within Ludger’s line of sight every morning like offerings to a very particular household spirit. Then he left for his forging cycles, pretending not to watch as Ludger walked over, summoned his mana-coated hammer, and began tapping repairs into the metal with steady, efficient precision.

Ludger didn’t complain either. Grinding a rare class to higher levels was exactly the kind of excuse he needed to stay hidden from nobles who were currently hunting him like starved beasts searching for their personal sculptor.

So he worked. Hammer glowing with mana. Surface smoothing under each controlled strike. Cracks disappearing. Edges straightening. Froststeel resonance stabilizing. And eventually, the system rewarded him.

[Magic Blacksmith – Level Up!]

Magic Blacksmith — Lv. 5 (+5 STR, +5 INT, +5 DEX)

New Skill Acquired: [Quality Proficiency Lv. 1]

Quality Proficiency (Passive):

Greatly increases the chance that forged items emerge at a higher grade than expected. Enhances structural integrity, magical conductivity, and overall finish.

Ludger stared at the window for a long moment, eyebrows slowly sinking.

“No animation,” he muttered. “No special effect. Just… passive.”

He preferred active skills, something he could push mana into, control, and feel. Passive boosts just sat in his status window like quiet roommates. But he couldn’t deny the value. If even half of his future creations came out one grade higher… no blacksmith in the empire could match that consistency.

And leveling the class was easier now that he’d found the obvious loophole: If repairing damaged gear gave him experience, damaging gear created more things to repair.

He could already picture it, lightly scuffing random adventurers’ blades, putting tiny dents in their shields, “accidentally” over-bending their spear tips, then offering repair services for free. A perfect, endless loop of class experience. Putting the morality of the matter away, it was perfect, but it was probably better not to give his mother a reason to scold him or to damage the name of the guild.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“…I could walk into the training yard and break twenty weapons just by looking at them wrong,” he murmured. “Then fix them all. Easy levels. Another option is to buy old stuff, fix and resell it, that also would level up my merchant job”

Raukor glanced over from the forge, one furry eyebrow raised. “You say something?”

“No.”

The beastman snorted and returned to melting froststeel.

Meanwhile, Ludger went back to repairing the latest batch of Raukor’s discarded test pieces, fully aware that his time hidden in this forge was running short. The nobles wouldn’t give up forever, his sculpture had spread across the empire like wildfire.

But for the moment? He had a quiet workshop, a rare crafting class leveling rapidly, and a pile of flawed gear waiting to be improved.

And in Ludger’s mind, that was the perfect justification to keep hiding a little longer… At least until he felt prepared for the next wave of trouble breathing down his neck.

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