Arslan’s office was usually a place of order thanks to Yvar’s help, scrolls neatly stacked, his gear displayed on racks, a faint smell of ink and steel. Today, it was a battlefield. Because the twins refused to let Ludger go.

Elle was sitting on Ludger’s lap, gnawing on a wooden practice token. Arash was wrapped around Ludger’s torso like a sleepy brown scarf, face buried in his shoulder.

Arslan rubbed his temples.

“I swear, these two turn into a storm whenever you’re not home…”

Ludger shrugged.

“They are like you.”

Arslan gave his son a flat look.

“That is not the word I’d use.”

But there was relief in his eyes. The kind only a father feels when a disaster finally ends, his endless babysitting nightmare was over. He leaned back in his chair.

“So. Tell me everything.”

Ludger did—briefly, calmly, and without dramatics: The sealed labyrinth theory. The nobles controlling access. Torvares preparing negotiations. The need for coordinated action.

Arslan listened carefully, arms crossed, brow furrowed deeper with every detail.

When Ludger finished, Arslan exhaled long and slow, the kind of sigh that carried the weight of years of command.

“Labyrinth infiltration…”

He muttered it like tasting danger on his tongue.

Ludger adjusted Elle’s position as she tried to climb his shoulder.

“We need to move on them all at once.”

Arslan lifted a brow.

Ludger clarified:

“If we hit one labyrinth at a time, they’ll escape to another. If we hit all sealed ones simultaneously, we cut off their exits.”

Arslan nodded slowly, absorbing the logic.

“Multiple teams…”

“Teams with specific skills,” Ludger added.

“Scouts. Mages with magical awareness. Heavy frontliners. Some trackers if possible.”

Arslan tapped his fingers on the desk.

“We’ll need five, maybe six properly balanced parties.”

Ludger tightened his hold on Arash as the baby wiggled.

“Seven. If the deepest labyrinth is connected to the others, we need a reserve group.”

Arslan cracked a faint smile.

“Always planning for the worst.”

Ludger met his eyes evenly.

“Always.”

Arslan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. I’ll begin drafting the team lists. And I’ll speak with Torvares about which labyrinths we’re likely to get access to first.”

He leaned forward, gaze serious.

“You’ve given us direction, Ludger. Now let the adults handle the paperwork.”

Ludger didn’t argue. He knew Arslan was right. Arslan glanced at the twins now fully asleep on Ludger, drooling on his shirt. He smirked.

“But before any labyrinth crusade…”

He gestured toward the door.

“…take them home.”

Ludger stood carefully, the twins clinging instinctively.

As he moved toward the exit, Arslan added:

“Good work, son.”

Ludger paused, just a moment. Then nodded once and walked out, two tiny anchors attached to him, ready for whatever came next.

The house was quiet when Ludger returned, unusually so.

Elaine wasn’t home yet, and the flickering lanterns cast long shadows across the walls. The twins were still clinging to him with the tenacity of sleepy koalas, but their strength finally gave out the moment he carried them into their room.

Elle curled instantly into her blanket. Arash flopped face-first into his pillow like a felled tree. Ludger pulled the covers over both of them.

“Sleep.”

Not a command, just a fact, and they obeyed it.

He stepped out, closed the door softly, and the house sank into stillness.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months, he sat down at the old wooden table, folded his arms, and let himself think.

No enemies. No explosions. No political messes. No children climbing his ribs. Just him and the weight of reality.

He opened his status window mentally, eyes narrowing at the near-maxed numbers.

SAGE — Lv 99

One more level.

He already knew what happened at Lv 100.

A stat surge. A final class feat. But… that wasn’t the problem. His fingers tapped the table, slow and controlled. He had grown stronger. But his enemies had grown smarter. Fights were getting harder.

Not because he was weak, but because the world was catching up or perhaps it was the inverse. His mana pool kept him alive more times than he wanted to admit. His techniques were versatile. His class combinations gave him raw adaptability.

But…

“…I need more.”

Not as greed. Not as pride. As necessity.

His Sage abilities were evolving, but he still lacked: Large-scale battlefield control. High-tier defensive options. A sustainable method to replenish mana mid-fight. Better midair combat tools. An advanced weapon compatible with his runes and Overdrive

His pride? It didn’t matter.

If someone handed him better gear, stronger armor, he’d take it. If someone gave him training in a style he’d never seen, he’d master it. If someone told him his growth method was inefficient, he’d change it.

Progress was everything. Pride meant nothing.

He stretched his fingers, feeling the residual tremors from Overdrive.

“…Gear first,” he muttered.

His outfit from Coria had been powerful, but not perfect. It strained during the final explosion. He needed something stronger.

Then spells.

And then—

Labyrinths.

Sealed ones. Dangerous ones. Ones that might hide the Rodericks or the remnants of Verk. He would need everything for those. Gear. Stats. Skills. Allies.

He leaned back, eyes half-lidded.

“No pride. Only progress.”

He’d take any advantage. A new armor. Even a new class if the opportunity came.

Anything that let him stand in front of a labyrinth and walk out alive, with his enemies crushed behind him. The house creaked as night settled. Ludger breathed slowly, mind sharpening into focus.

The forge was already roaring by dawn, heat spilling out into the street like a warning. Sparks shot from the chimney, and the air smelled of burning coal and metal stress.

Ludger stepped inside. Two months away. Two months without supervising Raukor’s questionable “experiments.” Two months during which the lion beastman could have simply walked off and found a tribe to punch things with. But he hadn’t.

Raukor stood exactly where Ludger expected, massive arms folded as he judged a glowing blade with a glare intense enough to bend steel by intimidation alone. The fur on his arms shimmered faintly from the heat, and his mane was tied back like a warrior-smith straight out of scrolls.

He turned just enough to acknowledge Ludger. Yellow eyes narrowed. Then he sniffed. Once. Twice. A low rumble vibrated in his chest.

“…You smell like beastmen.”

Ludger blinked. The forge hammer froze mid-air on Raukor’s anvil, waiting for an explanation. Ludger deadpanned:

“That’s weird. I didn’t tackle any of them.”

Raukor snorted like a warhorse.

“Hmph. So why?”

Ludger shrugged.

“I was in the Primal Groves.”

Raukor’s eyebrow twitched, his version of shock.

Ludger added, voice flat and casual:

“Ran into trackers, elders, some beastman factions trying to kill each other, got involved in diplomacy. If you’re interested, I can tell you the whole story.”

Raukor’s expression didn’t change. He turned his back. Lifted the hammer. Brought it down on hot metal with a thunderous clang.

“No.”

Ludger blinked.

Raukor continued hammering, tone unreadable:

“Not interested.”

Another hammer strike. Sparks exploded.

“Don’t care.”

Another blow.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Ludger waited. A final strike came, heavy and precise, the kind Raukor only used when he was secretly absorbing information he pretended not to want. The beastman set the blade aside and finally looked over his shoulder.

“…Did you bring anything useful back?”

The forge hissed as Raukor quenched the heated blade. Steam filled the air, curling around them like ghostly coils.

Ludger stepped closer, examining the raw materials piled around, ingots, froststeel chunks, plates of alloyed iron, boxes of reagents. His fingers tapped the workbench rhythmically.

“I’ll help you in the mornings.”

His tone was simple, already planning.

“But I also need to craft some things for myself.”

Raukor arched a brow.

“Gear?”

Ludger nodded.

“Extensions for my forearm guards and shin guards. Reinforcement pieces. Attack conduits.”

Raukor grunted approvingly. He always liked Ludger’s practicality, no shiny capes, no ornament fluff, just weapons and armor built to kill and survive. But his ears tilted back slightly as he looked at the froststeel block on the table.

“There is a problem.”

Ludger raised an eyebrow.

Raukor lifted the froststeel chunk with one hand. Even cold, it radiated elemental density.

“This metal works best with water-attuned mana.”

He set it down with a heavy clunk.

“Your earth mana will not flow through it well. It resists you.”

Ludger already knew the feeling, froststeel was incredible for water mages, but for geomancers? It was like trying to push mud through a frozen pipe.

He folded his arms.

“So I need other materials?”

Raukor nodded once.

“Unless you adapt. Water attunement can be trained. But it will take time.”

Ludger held his chin, thinking.

Earth-attuned mana was his battlefield core, his Overdrive foundation, his destruction techniques, his melee-style shaping. If he tried to force earth mana into froststeel during combat, the efficiency would tank.

He would lose speed. Lose power. Lose precision. But…

A thought hit him.

Magic Warrior.

He remembered the skills flow from that class, how it allowed him to shift his mana’s “texture,” to match elemental requirements of weapons or techniques.

He smiled faintly. Raukor frowned.

“What.”

Ludger shook his head lightly.

“It’s fine. I’ll adapt.”

He tapped his forearm guard.

“Let’s forge the extensions first. Prototypes. Test flow, test conductivity.”

Raukor’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

“Good. Testing is necessary before final metal choice.”

He lifted several half-forgotten molds from a crate, simple shapes, rough frames meant for attaching to existing armor.

“We begin with base steel and alloy mix. No froststeel yet.”

Ludger nodded.

“Then, once the prototypes work, we’ll upgrade with something stronger.”

Raukor bared his teeth slightly, beastman approval.

“Yes. A weapon is not made by rushing. It is made by learning the flaws of its first shape.”

Ludger couldn’t help a thin smile.

“Then let’s start.”

Raukor slapped a heavy slab of metal onto the anvil, sparks flying like angry fireflies.

“Good. Bring your mana techniques. We forge and break until it is perfect.”

Ludger stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves. Already, he could see it:

New arm guards. New shin guards. A refined mana channel. A stable platform for runes. And possibly, an eventual froststeel hybrid once he mastered water resonance. He wasn’t thinking about beauty. He was thinking about efficiency.

More tricks. More tools. More growth. He would never let pride limit him. Only progress mattered.

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