They weren’t striking at the labyrinth. They weren’t attacking the guild. They were attacking legitimacy. Trying to put a hand on the wheel without ever admitting they wanted to steer.

Slow. Clean. Public.

Ludger exhaled through his nose.

“They’re done watching,” he said quietly.

Yvar nodded.

“And now,” Ludger continued, eyes cold, “they want to see how loud I am when I answer.”

The game had moved to a different board. And this one had witnesses.

Ludger let the words settle. Then he asked the question Yvar  was avoiding.

“…Can they take the labyrinth from us?”

Yvar didn’t flinch.

“Yes,” he said. “In theory.”

Ludger’s eyes sharpened.

“There’s an old law,” Yvar continued. “It was meant to prevent monopolies during the early expansion years. A guild can formally contest another guild’s control over a labyrinth by claiming they can manage it more effectively and distribute its resources more broadly.”

He paused.

“It’s rarely used now. Too messy. Too public. And it risks exposing everyone involved.”

Ludger smiled. Not wide. Not warm. Just enough.

“Good to know,” he said.

Yvar hesitated, then pressed on. “If the challenge is accepted, the matter doesn’t go straight to force. Both parties negotiate first. Terms. Oversight. Limitations.”

“And if they don’t agree?” Ludger asked.

“Then it becomes a competition,” Yvar said. “Controlled. Measured. Clear conditions. Output. Safety. Efficiency. Public benefit.”

Ludger nodded slowly. A contest. Transparent enough to be legal. Structured enough to be political. Dangerous enough that only those confident in their position would push it forward. He could already see the angle.

“So this isn’t about removing us,” Ludger said. “It’s about testing whether we’ll blink.”

Yvar nodded.

“They want leverage. Or justification.”

Ludger’s smirk deepened.

“Then we don’t panic,” he said. “And we don’t refuse.”

Yvar looked at him carefully.

“We let them bring it to the table,” Ludger continued. “On our terms.”

He handed the parchment back.

“If they want to compete,” he said calmly, “we’ll show them what competence actually looks like.”

Ludger folded the parchment once more, precise, controlled.

“I’ll talk to my father,” he said. “We’ll decide how to end this quickly.”

Yvar nodded, relieved, but only slightly. He knew that tone. Quick, for Ludger, didn’t mean simple.

“And the message?” Yvar asked. “You said this should send one.”

Ludger looked at him then.

Really looked. For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just lifted his head a fraction, eyes narrowing as something old and sharp surfaced, something that hadn’t been needed in a while.

Then he smiled. It wasn’t wide. It wasn’t cruel. It was… unsettling.

The kind of smirk that suggested calculations had already finished, and the conclusion was unpleasant for someone else. Yvar felt a chill run down his spine.

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Yvar said carefully.

“You don’t,” Ludger replied. “Not yet.”

He turned back toward the training grounds, the noise of drills drifting faintly in the distance.

“They want to contest our competence,” Ludger continued calmly. “That means they want a public process. Rules. Metrics. Comparisons.”

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“So we give them one.”

The smirk lingered.

“A clean one,” he added. “One that makes it very clear why this law stopped being used.”

Yvar swallowed. He’d seen that expression before. Every time Ludger wore it, someone else learned a lesson they hadn’t realized they were volunteering for.

“I’ll prepare the groundwork,” Yvar said.

“Good,” Ludger replied. “And Yvar?”

“Yes?”

Ludger’s eyes flicked briefly toward the city walls. Toward the north. Toward the frost labyrinth beyond.

“Make sure everyone’s hear about this.”

Yvar nodded slowly.

Because whatever message Ludger planned to send… It wasn’t meant to be subtle.

That night, Ludger brought the matter home. Not to the dinner table. Not in front of Elaine or the twins. He waited until the house had settled, until the lamps burned low and the noise of the city softened into background presence.

Arslan was in his study, reviewing reports he already knew by heart.

“You heard about the contest,” Ludger said, closing the door behind him.

Arslan nodded.

“Yvar gave me the outline,” he replied. “Enough to know it’s political pressure, not a direct move. But he didn’t know what you were planning.”

Ludger leaned against the wall, arms folded.

“I do,” he said.

Arslan looked up.

“We crush them,” Ludger continued. “Openly. Cleanly. By the book.”

Arslan’s brow furrowed.

“Crush,” he repeated. “That’s a strong word.”

“It’s the correct one,” Ludger said calmly. “If we treat this like a misunderstanding, it happens again. If we treat it like a precedent, it spreads.”

He met his father’s gaze without hesitation.

“They’re not just contesting the labyrinth. They’re testing whether the Lionsguard can be pushed without consequence. If they lose narrowly, others will try again. If they lose decisively, they won’t.”

Arslan leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.

“We don’t need more enemies,” he said carefully. “And exaggeration creates them. Especially in public.”

Ludger shrugged.

“Then they shouldn’t volunteer,” he said.

Arslan studied him for a long moment.

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And you already know how far you want to go.”

“Yes.”

Arslan exhaled slowly.

“I won’t let you turn this into a spectacle,” he said. “We solve the problem. We don’t humiliate half the region.”

Ludger nodded once.

“I don’t need spectacle,” he replied. “I need clarity.”

Silence stretched between them. Arslan finally spoke again, quieter this time.

“If you do this your way,” he said, “people will remember.”

Ludger’s expression didn’t change.

“That’s the point.”

Arslan closed the report in front of him.

“…All right,” he said. “Show me what you’re planning.”

Ludger straightened. The smirk didn’t return. This wasn’t amusing. This was intent.

Ludger didn’t waste time easing into it.

“We lure them into the open,” he said. “And we do it cleanly.”

Arslan didn’t interrupt. He waited.

“We spread it through the Empire,” Ludger continued, voice level. “Official channels. Merchant routes. Guild registries. That the Lionsguard and the contesting guilds will face each other publicly to determine ownership of the frost labyrinth.”

Arslan’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Face each other how?”

“Duels,” Ludger replied. “Guild against guild. As many as they want. Whatever format the law allows.”

Arslan leaned forward.

“And the Lionsguard?”

“They don’t fight,” Ludger said. “I do.”

Silence filled the room.

“One after the other,” Ludger went on, as if discussing logistics instead of violence. “No ambushes. No tricks. No excuses. I fight their representatives alone and crush them completely.”

Arslan finally spoke.

“That would humiliate them.”

“Yes.”

“And it would make enemies.”

“Yes.”

Arslan studied his son carefully now. Not the plan, the expression behind it. Ludger wasn’t angry. He wasn’t excited. There was no bloodlust there. Just cold certainty. The kind that came from already running the outcome in his head and finding it acceptable.

“You’re calmer than I ever was,” Arslan said slowly. “But don’t mistake that for restraint.”

Ludger didn’t respond.

“In your reasoning,” Arslan continued, “you’re still hotheaded. You just burn colder.”

He leaned back, shaking his head faintly.

“You really are a mix,” he said. “The best parts of me. The best parts of your mother.”

A pause.

“And most of the worst parts of both.”

Ludger shrugged lightly.

“If we don’t end this decisively,” he said, “it becomes a cycle. Challenges. Reviews. Pressure. Each one quieter than the last, but never stopping.”

Arslan exhaled.

“And if you fight them all?”

“Then the law does its job,” Ludger replied. “No one contests what they can’t afford to lose.”

Arslan closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, there was no anger there. Just a father weighing risk against inevitability.

“…You realize,” he said, “that once you do this, the Lionsguard stops being just another guild.”

Ludger met his gaze.

“We already did,” he said.

The room went quiet again. Outside, Lionfang slept, unaware that its future was being argued not with words, but with the promise of what would happen when words ran out.

Ludger didn’t let the silence linger.

“There’s more,” he said.

Arslan looked up again, already bracing himself.

“If they challenge us,” Ludger continued, “then the wager shouldn’t stop at our labyrinth.”

Arslan’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

“We make it mutual,” Ludger said. “They put their labyrinths on the table.”

That earned a pause.

“The law allows it,” Ludger went on calmly. “If two guilds contest ownership based on competency, both sides can stake assets related to labyrinth management. Not gold. Not favors. Labyrinth rights.”

Arslan leaned forward slowly.

“So if they accept…”

“We don’t just defend ours,” Ludger said. “We take theirs.”

Silence pressed in again, heavier this time.

“If they win,” Ludger added, “they gain the frost labyrinth. If they lose, ownership of their contested labyrinths transfers to us. Clean. Legal. Public.”

Arslan studied him closely.

“And if they refuse?”

Ludger shrugged.

“Then they look like cowards,” he said. “Or opportunists. Either way, they lose credibility. They challenged first. If they back down when the stakes are equal, no one will take their next move seriously.”

Arslan exhaled slowly.

“That would end this fast.”

“That’s the point,” Ludger replied. “Most of them won’t accept. They’re testing us because they think the cost is low. Raise it, and they scatter.”

He tapped the table lightly with one finger.

“A few will still come,” he continued. “The confident ones. The desperate ones. Or the stupid ones.”

“And those are the ones you fight,” Arslan said.

“Yes.”

Arslan leaned back, eyes closing for a moment as he ran the implications through his head. Guilds backing down en masse. Pressure evaporating without a single blow. And for the ones who didn’t…

Loss of territory. Loss of prestige. Loss of future leverage.

“You’d be turning their move into a purge,” Arslan said quietly.

“Into a filter,” Ludger corrected. “One that saves us months, maybe years, of incremental challenges.”

Arslan opened his eyes again.

“And if you win,” he said, “the Lionsguard controls more labyrinths than anyone in the region.”

Ludger nodded.

“Which means more resources. More oversight. More responsibility.”

Arslan snorted softly. “You say that like it’s a minor inconvenience.”

“It is,” Ludger replied. “Compared to constant interference.”

Another pause. Arslan looked at his son for a long moment.

“This will change how everyone treats us,” he said.

“Yes.”

“It will scare people.”

“Yes.”

“And it will put a target on your back.”

Ludger’s expression didn’t shift.

“It already is,” he said.

Arslan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“…You’re not wrong,” he admitted. “I don’t like how clean this is. That usually means it hurts someone badly.”

Ludger tilted his head slightly.

“That’s why it works.”

Arslan let out a quiet, resigned laugh.

“You really are your mother’s son,” he said. “All teeth, no hesitation.”

Ludger shrugged.

“If they wanted mercy,” he said, “they shouldn’t have started with paperwork.”

The decision wasn’t made yet.

But Arslan already knew, it was going to be hard to argue against results that decisive.

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