Ludger headed home as dusk settled over Lionfang, the streets dimming into long shadows and quiet conversations. His thoughts drifted, uninvited. Was it rude of him to compare lizardmen to beastmen? The question lingered longer than he expected. He thought about that because Raukor was fine in using their scales for forging…

From what he’d heard, and from the reports Yvar had gathered, the lizardmen fought intelligently. They used formations. Crafted weapons. Adapted tactics when pressured. On the surface, that put them close to people. Close to northerners. Close to beastmen. But there was a line.

They were humanoid, yes, but not reasoned in the same way. Their violence wasn’t driven by culture, survival, or choice. It was instinct layered with structure. Purpose without reflection. They didn’t negotiate. They didn’t surrender. They didn’t build futures beyond the next cycle of dominance.

Beastmen did.

Raukor’s people fought hard, drank hard, lived hard, but they understood restraint. Loyalty. Consequence. They could choose peace, even if they preferred readiness.

Lizardmen, from every account, could not. Ludger’s mind began to branch anyway. What if that wasn’t entirely true? What if there were exceptions? What about evolution? He caught himself and stopped the thought cold.

Not now. He’d be traveling to the capital tomorrow. New variables. New dangers. New eyes watching his every move. This wasn’t the time to unravel philosophical threads about the nature of violence in this world. Some questions could wait. Some problems demanded action first.

Ludger reached his door and stepped inside, letting the weight of the day settle behind him. Tomorrow would bring enough to think about. He didn’t need to borrow trouble from the world ahead of schedule.

Ten minutes later, Ludger was flat on his back.

The twins had tackled him with the kind of enthusiasm only children could manage, one from each side, limbs everywhere, laughter sharp and victorious. He let it happen, arms coming up just in time to keep them from headbutting him as they settled on his chest like conquering heroes.

From the floor, he watched his parents in the other room. They were packing.

Not hurried. Not panicked. Methodical. Elaine folded clothes with the same calm precision she used for everything else. Arslan checked documents, then checked them again, setting aside what would be needed for the road to the capital. Ludger frowned.

“That’s part of the reason I wanted to fight alone,” he said, looking up at them past the twins’ heads. “To keep you away from the capital.”

The twins paused their climbing just long enough to look at him, then resumed, entirely uninterested in strategy.

“Then why are you going?” Ludger asked.

Arslan didn’t look up.

“Because danger isn’t polite enough to stay in one place,” he said. “The capital isn’t safe. But neither is Lionfang. Avoiding it doesn’t change the odds, it just changes the scenery.”

He finally met Ludger’s gaze.

“If something is coming, it won’t politely wait for us to step aside.”

Elaine set a folded garment down and turned.

“And because hiding us would make things worse,” she added.

Ludger blinked.

“What?”

Elaine walked closer, expression gentle but firm.

“If you start moving your family away from where you are,” she said, “people will notice. They always do. And they won’t think you’re being careful.”

She knelt slightly so she was closer to eye level.

“They’ll think you’ve identified your weakness.”

Ludger went still.

“If everyone knows you’re willing to stand alone,” Elaine continued, “but suddenly your family disappears whenever things get dangerous, then you’ve drawn a very clear line. You’ve told them exactly where to aim if they want leverage.”

She straightened.

“Keeping us close says the opposite,” she said. “That we’re not something you panic over. That you trust your position enough not to flinch.”

Ludger stared at the ceiling, the twins’ weight warm and solid on his chest. It clicked. If he hid them, he confirmed their value as hostages. If he guarded them openly, they became part of the normal landscape. And normal things were harder to weaponize. Arslan crossed his arms.

“You don’t protect people by pretending they don’t exist,” he said. “You protect them by making sure no one thinks targeting them will work.”

Ludger exhaled slowly.

“…You’re right,” he admitted.

Elaine smiled faintly.

“I always am,” she said.

The twins chose that moment to cheer, as if they’d won something important. Ludger let his head fall back against the floor, a small, resigned smile tugging at his lips. He still didn’t like it. But he understood it. And understanding, in the end, mattered more.

Arslan’s eyes drifted to Ludger’s hands.

The froststeel gauntlets caught the lamplight easily, their pale blue surface reflecting just enough to draw attention without demanding it. The extensions flowed cleanly into the forearm guards, practical and precise—very Ludger.

“They look good,” Arslan said after a moment. “Raukor does solid work.”

Ludger nodded. “He does.”

Arslan rolled one shoulder absently.

“I would’ve asked him to make me something too,” he went on, tone casual. “If froststeel didn’t hate my mana.”

He snorted softly.

“Honestly, fighting without mana these days is starting to feel boring.”

That made Ludger glance up. He hadn’t seen his father fight in a long time. Not since Arslan had taken the full mantle of guildmaster. Paperwork, meetings, command decisions, those had replaced the blade.

Still…

“You probably go to the frost labyrinth when I’m not looking,” Ludger said.

Arslan didn’t deny it. He just smiled faintly.

“Old habits,” he replied.

Ludger thought for a moment, then said, “You could always get materials from elsewhere. Other regions. Other parts of the empire. Even outside it. The guild has the funds.”

That was true. They had a lot of funds. Arslan’s smile tightened.

“That’s exactly the problem,” he said. “I’m having trouble spending money when you’re around.”

Ludger frowned slightly.

“What?”

“Every time I think something’s expensive,” Arslan continued, “you walk in having done something that looks like it cost a shit ton.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

“Shit ton! Shit ton! Shit ton!”

Both twins repeated it instantly, loud and proud.

Elaine’s head snapped around. Her glare could’ve peeled paint.

Arslan coughed. “Ah.”

Ludger immediately raised his hands. “I didn’t say that.”

Elaine looked between them slowly.

“…I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m annoyed.”

The twins giggled, clearly pleased with themselves. Arslan rubbed the back of his neck, forcing an awkward smile.

“Anyway,” he said quickly, “nice gear.”

Ludger nodded again, lips twitching just a little. Even in a world of labyrinths, politics, and looming chaos… Some things never changed.

Later that night, long after the house had settled into silence and even the twins had finally fallen asleep, Ludger was still awake. He practiced in his room.

Not recklessly. Not loudly. He cleared a small space with restrained earth mana, just enough to move freely, then centered himself and activated his Magic Warrior skills . His movements were slow at first, measured punches, careful steps, controlled kicks. Every transition was deliberate, mana woven tightly into muscle and bone instead of spilling outward.

The gauntlets answered immediately. With water attunement, his mana felt subtly different, denser, smoother, as if the froststeel was reinforcing its shape rather than merely carrying it. When he layered Freezing Enchantment over a strike, the cold formed faster than before, sharper and more stable, the ice clinging to his fists with far less resistance.

[Freezing Enchantment + 05 XP]

[Freezing Enchantment + 05 XP]

[Freezing Enchantment + 05 XP]

[Freezing Enchantment + 05 XP]

Experience flowed in steadily. But so did the cost.

Freezing Enchantment was demanding. It wasn’t a passive effect, it required constant output, constant correction. Cold wanted to spread, to escalate, to consume more mana than strictly necessary. Even for Ludger, the drain was noticeable. High. Still, it didn’t overwhelm him.

Thanks to his Sage skills, his mana circulation remained clean and efficient. Recovery overlapped expenditure instead of lagging behind it. He could keep the enchantment active far longer than most fighters could manage, and still hold a meaningful reserve instead of scraping the bottom of his pool.

He paused, flexed his fingers, and let the ice sublimate into mist. Using this kind of power in the capital would be… effective. Visually striking. Difficult to ignore. A clear demonstration of control, refinement, and overwhelming capability. But Ludger wasn’t fully convinced that was what he wanted.

Mana-heavy displays invited excuses. People blamed artifacts. Preparation. Specialized builds. They looked for ways to dismiss what they saw instead of accepting it. If he really wanted to make a point, one that observers, guilds, and nobles couldn’t talk their way around, then spectacle wasn’t the answer. He pictured it instead.

Stepping into the arena. Letting them come at him with everything they had.

And answering with nothing but his body. Fists. Legs. Timing. Positioning. Impact. No enchantments. No visible amplification. Just the quiet, unmistakable message: I don’t even need mana to handle you fuckers.

That would linger. Ludger sat back down on the edge of his bed, gauntlets cooling against his skin, mana settling back into calm circulation. He didn’t need to decide yet. The option existed, and that, more than any single technique, was what made him dangerous.

The next morning, the space in front of the guild was crowded. Very crowded.

Ludger stood at the steps and stared at the mass of people with a flat expression. Banners fluttered lazily. Packs were strapped on. Weapons were checked and rechecked, not out of necessity, but habit.

Half of the Lionsguard had gathered. Not because they were ordered to. But because they had free time. Ludger sighed.

He briefly wondered, not for the first time, if he should be more of a tyrant. A stricter hand. Hard rules. Fewer personal choices. A guild that moved only when commanded. Then he discarded the thought. That wasn’t his style. And it wasn’t what had made the Lionsguard strong.

Still… it was a lot of people. And that wasn’t even counting the northerners. Two hundred of them stood off to the side, loud, relaxed, and completely unbothered by the early hour. They laughed, argued, drank something that definitely wasn’t appropriate for the morning, and compared weapons like this was a festival instead of a political powder keg.

Ludger rubbed his temple. They ate meat like they drank water. Their supplies for the trip would be drained fast.

He briefly wished, very briefly, that he could just use the underground tunnels. Move quietly. Avoid logistics. Avoid feeding a migrating horde that could empty a town’s stockpile in a day. But that wasn’t an option. They were expected in the capital.

Sneaking in would only raise more suspicion than arriving loudly and openly ever could. So there was nothing to do but accept it. Orders were given. Groups formed. Carts began to move. The noise slowly organized itself into something resembling a procession.

Ludger walked at the front, hands behind his back, expression calm. As Lionfang fell behind them and the road stretched forward, he glanced once at the sheer size of the group trailing him. Then he sighed again. This time, softer. Not in frustration. In resignation, thanks to the direction they were heading first.

The capital was about to learn something important, whether it wanted to or not.

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