By noon, the entire group had reached Torvares’ estate.

The gates were open, and the sprawling grounds felt almost too quiet for what lay ahead. The sheer number of people had a weight to it—Lionsguard, northerners, and whatever civilians had decided to tag along, all under one banner, headed straight for the capital. As they moved through the gates, Ludger couldn’t help but look over the assembled crowd with a wry grin.

“Well,” he said aloud, mostly to himself but loud enough for a few nearby to hear, “since we’re headed for trouble, might as well bring the ones who’ll make the most noise.”

A few chuckles rippled through the group.

But it didn’t last long.

Viola’s voice reached him as she stepped out from the garden, her tone sharp as ever.

“If you didn’t want noise,” she called out, “you shouldn’t have gone looking for a challenge from another guild.”

Ludger turned to face her, his smirk turning into a slight smile.

“Fair enough,” he replied. “But we both know that you would have done the same if you were in my shoes.”

Viola raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused, but she didn’t argue. She was still, however, amused by the chaos surrounding them.

Behind her, Luna walked quietly—always silent, always composed in her maid uniform, her hands folded neatly before her. Her expression, as usual, was unreadable, though there was something quietly reassuring about her presence, the way she stood by without feeling the need to speak.

As Ludger caught her eye for a brief moment, he nodded. Luna’s soft, steady gaze was a quiet reminder of the calm amidst all the movement.

Before he could say anything else, a few guards appeared behind them, moving with the subtle efficiency they always carried. They weren’t heavy-handed, just vigilant—ready for whatever might unfold from here.

And then, of course, Torvares arrived.

The old lord approached the group from the main entrance, his robes dark against the bright day, the weight of his presence not in his size, but in his sharp, steady gaze. His eyes flicked from Ludger to the rest of the crowd, his expression still as unreadable as always.

“So,” Torvares said, breaking the momentary quiet, “this is how you intend to travel, then?”

Ludger shrugged, his smirk reappearing.

“More or less,” he said. “Might as well make an impression before we reach the capital. Though if you ask me, we’re already making one.”

Torvares gave a dry chuckle, but there was a flicker of something else in his gaze. A sense of approval? Concern? It was hard to tell.

“Just make sure it’s the right one,” Torvares said, before stepping forward to address the group more directly. “We’ve already caused enough commotion. The last thing we need is to look like we can’t manage our own house.”

Ludger nodded, his smile disappearing for a moment as he turned his attention back to the task at hand.

It was time to leave Torvares’ estate and continue toward the capital.

As they prepared to move again, Ludger glanced sideways at Viola.

“So,” he said casually, “how was your visit with your boyfriend?”

Viola froze.

Then her face went red in a way that had nothing to do with anger.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she snapped, a little too fast.

Ludger raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. He just waited.

Viola exhaled sharply and crossed her arms.

“I stayed a few days,” she continued, tone quieter now. “Tried talking to Lucius. He… didn’t talk much back.”

She hesitated, then added, “He’s still down. Really down. His father was the only family he had left.”

Ludger didn’t make a joke.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t even smirk.

That alone made Viola glance at him, surprised.

If even Viola—loud, relentless, impossible to ignore—couldn’t lift Lucius’ spirits, then the situation was worse than it sounded.

Mourning was normal. Necessary, even.

But isolating yourself for months afterward?

That was dangerous.

Ludger’s thoughts turned cold and clinical, the way they always did when he saw a problem forming.

A mind left alone too long started looping.

Looping turned into fixation.

Fixation turned into bad ideas.

And bad ideas, given enough time, turned into bad choices.

In this world, a weak body got you killed.

A weak mind got others killed too.

“That’s not good,” Ludger said finally.

Viola nodded slowly. “I know.”

“He shouldn’t be alone right now,” Ludger continued. “Not that long. Not with that kind of loss.”

Viola looked away.

“I tried,” she said.

“I know,” Ludger replied.

He didn’t blame her.

But he made a mental note anyway.

Lucius Hakuen was grieving.

And grief, unattended, had a habit of becoming something much worse.

Once everyone was ready, the convoy finally began to move.

Carts creaked forward in practiced rhythm, wheels biting into the road as banners were rolled and formations settled. The noise of preparation faded into the steady cadence of travel. Lionsguard at the core. Northerners flanking loosely, loud but alert. Guards moving ahead and behind.

Ludger took his place at the front.

The runic carriage—usually reserved for transporting high-value goods to the Velis League—glided forward smoothly, enchantments humming faintly beneath the floorboards. From there, he could see the road stretch out ahead, the city gradually shrinking behind them.

His thoughts didn’t rest.

If he were one of the many enemies the Lionsguard had made, this would be the moment to move.

Public attention fixed on the frost labyrinth contest.

Ludger traveling openly.

Political eyes glued to the capital.

Lucius would be exposed.

Ludger’s jaw tightened slightly.

He wasn’t stupid—Lucius, that was. He would recognize manipulation. He’d sense intent the moment someone tried to push him, flatter him, or guide his grief toward a convenient direction.

But that didn’t mean he would fight back the way he once had.

Not now.

Grief dulled instincts. Exhausted resistance. People didn’t need to be fooled to be used—sometimes they just needed to be tired enough not to push back.

Ludger exhaled through his nose.

He felt like sighing.

Every time he solved one problem, three more landed in his lap, each one quieter, more personal, and harder to crush with force.

He stared down the road, fingers resting lightly against the froststeel at his wrists.

The convoy rolled on.

And somewhere, unseen, other people were already deciding how to take advantage of the moment.

As the runic carriage glided forward, Ludger let his thoughts move ahead of the road.

After this is done… then what?

Once the capital situation was settled—once the contest for the frost labyrinth was resolved and the message had been delivered clearly enough that no one could pretend to misunderstand it—he would have room to breathe. Briefly. And that breathing room needed to be used properly.

If the Lionsguard had the numbers, the path forward would be obvious.

He would challenge every guild that had tried to pressure them. One by one. Legally. Publicly. Use the same old laws they had tried to weaponize against him and strip them of their labyrinths in return. Consolidate resources. Break monopolies. Force accountability.

But that wasn’t something that could be rushed.

Each challenge required preparation. Political groundwork. Logistics. Personnel capable of managing additional territory without collapsing under the weight of it. Done sloppily, it would stretch the Lionsguard thin and create more problems than it solved.

It was a long game.

And right now, there was a more immediate threat.

Verk.

The Rodericks.

Whatever was left of them—and whoever stood behind them.

They were still out there, hiding in sealed tunnels, shadow guilds, and places where paperwork went to die. The recent movements in the capital all but confirmed it. When the system strained, parasites always tried to feed.

Ludger’s eyes hardened.

After the arena. After the labyrinth contest.

That would be his focus.

Not prestige. Not expansion for its own sake.

Elimination.

Cutting out the remnants before they could reorganize. Before they could turn grief, fear, or political confusion into weapons. Verk and the Rodericks had already shown what they were willing to do when given time and cover.

He wouldn’t give them either.

The convoy rolled onward, wheels humming softly beneath him.

Ludger rested his chin lightly against his hand.

One problem at a time.

But when this one was finished, he wouldn’t be playing defense anymore.

Ludger didn’t get to brood for long.

The door to the runic carriage slid open, and before he could even look up properly, two familiar weights collided with him.

Hard.

The twins landed on his lap with practiced accuracy, small hands immediately going for his face like it was a shared project.

“—Hey.”

His cheeks were pulled in opposite directions. Again.

Elaine stood at the door, arms crossed, expression perfectly calm as she watched the scene unfold.

“I don’t want you with face marks when you’re twenty-five,” she said flatly. “You already look intense enough without permanent dents.”

Ludger tried to speak. Failed.

“Mmph—”

He carefully peeled one tiny hand off his cheek, only for the other twin to double down, clearly offended by the attempt.

“That’s not—fair,” Ludger managed, voice distorted. “I’ll have marks if they keep doing this every day.”

The twins laughed. Loudly. Victorious.

Elaine smiled faintly, utterly unmoved.

“Then consider it character development,” she said. “You keep telling everyone scars are proof of experience.”

“This is different,” Ludger said, finally freeing one cheek only to have the other pulled harder. “These aren’t battle scars. This is domestic violence.”

The twins squealed, apparently delighted by the new phrase.

Elaine closed the carriage door behind her.

“Try not to scare the capital too much,” she added. “At least not until after lunch.”

Ludger sighed as best he could under assault, letting his head rest back against the seat.

So much for quiet planning.

He glanced down at the twins, who were now arguing over which cheek was better.

…Yeah.

Whatever happened in the capital, this was still his most dangerous battlefield.

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