Ludger absorbed her words in silence.

Then he asked the next question, the one that mattered.

“How do we close that gap?” he said. “And how does it actually help the city?”

Elaine didn’t answer immediately. She studied him again, this time with a faint, knowing smile. The kind that said she’d been waiting for him to ask that.

“You already know how,” she said.

Ludger frowned slightly. Elaine gestured toward him.

“Look at what you do with the kids in the guild halls,” she continued. “You teach them patiently. You correct without humiliating. You don’t demand loyalty, you build it.”

He nodded once.

“Now do that,” Elaine said, “without swords. Without spells.”

Ludger blinked.

“People don’t just need to learn how to survive,” she said. “They need to learn how to live better.”

She leaned forward.

“Teach crafts. Cooking. Basic trade skills. Organization. Things that make daily life easier and more stable.”

Ludger considered it. Elaine smiled faintly.

“You cook well,” she added casually.

He stiffened just a fraction.

“And you sing,” she continued, eyes glinting. “You always have.”

Ludger opened his mouth, then closed it.

“You don’t do it publicly,” Elaine said. “Only when you’re putting the twins to sleep. You hum. Softly. Like you don’t want anyone else to hear.”

She tilted her head.

“A vice guildmaster who sings,” she said. “Do you know how approachable that sounds?”

Ludger nodded slowly. It made sense. Too much sense. It would humanize him. Make him less… distant. Less like a walking list of violent rumors. But…

“I don’t like that much attention,” he admitted.

Elaine laughed quietly.

“I know,” she said. “That’s why it would work.”

Ludger exhaled.

A singing vice guildmaster. Teaching cooking. Teaching crafts.

It felt… inefficient.

And yet… He could already see the effect.

People who had shared food with him would listen to him. People who had learned something useful from him would trust him. Not because he was powerful—but because he was present.

He nodded once.

“…I’ll think about it,” he said.

Elaine smiled.

That meant he’d already decided.

After dinner, Ludger lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling while the house slowly went quiet.

Elaine’s words wouldn’t leave him alone. He hadn’t been using his roles as well as he could have. Not as vice guildmaster. Not as a teacher. Not as someone shaping a city instead of just defending it. There had always been reasons. Too many problems. Too many fires to put out. Politics. Labyrinths. Enemies moving in the dark. Every time he cleared one issue, two more surfaced somewhere else.

Efficiency demanded focus. Still… that focus had narrowed him. He exhaled slowly.

Speaking of unfinished problems… The thought clicked into place, and he frowned. The three. Torvares’ “recommendations.”

He’d almost forgotten about them. That alone bothered him.

He’d meant to keep an eye on them personally. Instead, he’d only heard about them through secondhand reports from guild members and instructors. Whenever Ludger was around, they seemed to vanish, always busy, always elsewhere, never in the wrong place, never in the right one either. Elusive. Too much so.

According to the trainees, while Ludger had been away dealing with pirates and the Velis League underworld, the three had gone through the training grounds efficiently. Quietly. They learned the basics fast. Two months was fast.

Not impossibly fast, but fast enough to raise an eyebrow. They had prior training, apparently. Enough to explain the pace. Maybe. But then there was the other detail. Healing Touch. They’d learned it without a single word from him.

No direct instruction. No lecture. No demonstration from the one person in the guild known for teaching it cleanly and safely. That was new.

Healing Touch wasn’t complex, but it wasn’t intuitive either. Most people needed guidance, corrections, warnings, at least a reminder not to push mana where it didn’t belong. Yet somehow, they’d picked it up. Cleanly, from the reports. No backlash. No injuries.

Ludger closed his eyes. Coincidences happened. But patterns mattered more. He’d been too busy to look closely. That was on him. Tomorrow, he decided he’d fix that. Some problems didn’t announce themselves with violence or politics. Some waited quietly, learned quickly, and stayed just out of reach.

The next morning, Ludger stood at the edge of the training grounds and watched.

No clipboard. No orders.

Just observation.

The trainees moved through drills in loose groups. Footwork. Breathing. Mana circulation. Some were focused enough to forget the world. Others were tense—shoulders too high, movements stiff, mistakes creeping in from fatigue rather than lack of skill.

Ludger exhaled slowly.

Then he began to hum.

Soft at first. Almost absent-minded. A simple melody, steady and even, carried just enough mana to settle rather than impose.

Some of the trainees didn’t hear it at all.

But they felt it.

Tension bled out of tight shoulders. Breathing evened. The dull edge of exhaustion softened into manageable strain. Movements smoothed. Focus sharpened—not forced, not artificial, just… easier.

Song of Ease did its work quietly.

A few trainees blinked, confused, then continued, only now with better timing. Fewer mistakes. Less frustration when corrected.

Ludger adjusted the rhythm slightly. It wasn’t teaching. It was support.

“Wow,” a voice drawled from behind him. “Didn’t know the Vice Guildmaster was moonlighting as a lullaby singer.”

Ludger didn’t stop humming. Kaela sauntered up beside him, hands behind her head, grin already loaded with trouble.

“You’re way too serious to be humming for kids,” she said. “What’s next? Bedtime stories?”

Ludger sighed. The humming tapered off.

He cleared his throat.

Then he sang.

When the night grew thick and the roads went quiet,

When doors were barred and hope felt thin,

A whisper rode on the cutting wind,

And fear learned how to breathe again.

Chains were forged by greedy hands,

Coins were weighed with children’s tears,

But the storm was counting footsteps

Of the ones who thought themselves safe here.

Chorus

Oh run, run, scum of the world,

The wind knows all your names,

She comes with steel and silent steps

And no one walks away the same.

Cages break and shadows fall,

Hear the storm answer the call—

The wind enchantress takes the night,

And the lost are coming home.

No banner flew, no trumpet cried,

No crown she wore, no oath she swore,

Just blades that sang through moonlit air

And locks that stayed locked nevermore.

By dawn the camps were empty husks,

By dawn the roads were clean,

Only footprints blown away

And screams that had not been seen.

Oh run, run, scum of the world,

The wind cuts sharper than blame,

She hunts the hunters, frees the bound,

And leaves you cursed by your own name.

Hold your gold, pray to your gods,

It won’t save you when she calls—

The wind enchantress takes the night,

And the lost are coming home.

The melody was light. The lyrics were not. The kids loved it.

They slowed their drills just enough to listen. Some grinned. Some whispered excitedly. A few started asking questions before the song was even done.

Kaela stopped dead.

Color climbed her face, fast. Beet red.

She glared at Ludger, teeth clenched, eyes promising violence.

“That,” she hissed, “is not funny.”

Ludger finished the last line calmly.

“It’s educational,” he said.

The kids immediately started arguing about which part was the coolest. Kaela pointed at him.

“I will stab you later.”

“Schedule it,” Ludger replied.

He went back to watching the trainees. They trained better after that.

The song hadn’t even fully faded when the familiar pressure settled behind Ludger’s eyes.

He didn’t stop watching the training grounds as the system surfaced.

Class: Bard — Lv. 10

Bonus per Level: +1 INT, +1 WIS, +1 DEX 

Skill Unlocked:

[Hymn for the Exhausted Lv.1] –  Those who hear the user’s song gain increased stamina regeneration. +10% stamina recovery speed per skill level.

Ludger read it once. Then again. He nodded slowly to himself.

“…That’s not bad,” he murmured.

At level one, it was modest. Helpful. Subtle enough that most wouldn’t even notice the change consciously, just that their legs didn’t burn as fast, that their breathing steadied sooner.

But at level one hundred? Ten times faster stamina recovery.

An army that didn’t tire. Fighters who could push past normal limits without collapsing. March longer. Hold lines longer. Fight longer. Ludger’s lips twitched.

He imagined it, him standing somewhere behind the line, singing calmly while chaos unfolded ahead. Blades flashing. Shields breaking. Soldiers sweating and bleeding… and never quite running out of breath.

It was ridiculous. And terrifying. And, annoyingly… Effective. He dismissed the interface before anyone noticed him standing still for too long.

The trainees were still moving better than before. Less sloppily. More evenly paced. No one questioned why. Ludger exhaled. He still didn’t like attention. But if singing meant fewer dead allies and more controlled battles… He supposed he could tolerate being a little famous.

By the time the training session ended, Ludger’s throat was starting to ache.

Not badly, but enough to notice. Singing and humming for hours, even with controlled flow, still counted as strain. He dismissed the trainees, gave the instructors a few quiet corrections, and decided not to push it further.

Instead, he walked. Lionfang was alive in the late morning. Stalls opening. Tools clinking. People shouting greetings across the street. None of it urgent. None of it dangerous.

At first, Ludger just nodded as he passed.

People noticed him immediately, some stiffened, some straightened, some bowed their heads a fraction too deeply, but he didn’t stop. Not yet. Let them adjust.

Then he saw something that held his attention.

A cooper reinforcing barrel hoops with a new alloy mix.

A woman repairing fishing nets with mana-guided thread.

An older man teaching two boys how to set stone supports without cracking the load-bearing edges.

Ludger slowed. When he approached, he didn’t lead with authority. He asked questions.

“How long does that hold under pressure?”

“What happens if the flow stutters?”

“Why that angle instead of a straight brace?”

At first, people answered carefully. Politely. Unsure.

Then they relaxed. They talked about their work. Their problems. What failed. What held. What they wished they had more time, or better tools, to improve.

Ludger listened. And the system responded faster than he expected.

Job Unlocked: Apprentice — Lv. 1

Bonus per Level: +2 Dex

Basic Learning: Increases learning speed when assisting skilled workers. Slightly improves mentor-apprentice relations.

Job Unlocked: Storehouse Assistant — Lv. 1

Bonus per Level: +2 INT

Planning Ahead:  Improves sorting, stacking, and spoilage prevention of stored goods.

Job Unlocked: Community Listener — Lv. 1

Bonus per Level: +2 WIS

Conversational Focus : Improves understanding of other concerns. Reduces misinformation spread through casual conversation.

Jobs unlocked quietly. One after another. No fanfare. No struggle. Just recognition.

It turned out that talking was far easier than grinding.

He’d assumed unlocking civilian jobs would require effort, formal teaching, demonstrations, structured exchanges. Instead, understanding the why behind their work was enough.

Still, Ludger didn’t just take.

When someone mentioned a recurring issue, he offered a solution. A small trick. A better way to solve. A structural insight. Sometimes he just helped lift something heavy and showed them how to do it without straining their backs.

That was his habit. Give something back. By the time he turned toward home, he’d spoken with more people in a single morning than he usually did in a month.

His throat was sore. His mana steady. His mind… lighter. Lionfang felt different when seen from street level. Less like a fortress.More like a place worth protecting.

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