The next morning, Ludger woke up early. Not to train. Not to meditate. Not to review duel formats or enemy profiles. Instead, he went into the garden.

The estate grounds were still quiet, dew clinging to leaves and stone, the capital beyond the walls only just beginning to stir. Ludger rolled up his sleeves, stood barefoot on the earth, and placed one hand down.

Mana flowed. Earth rose from nothing, clean, refined, obedient. Not a violent surge, not a spell meant to impress. Just controlled creation. Clay-like stone formed in his hands, shaping itself as if it had always wanted to be something more.

Fendrel waited by the gate.

The merchant and artistic appraiser, watched in silence, eyes wide, quill forgotten in his fingers. Ludger worked steadily. A figurine formed. Then another. And another.

Each one small enough to fit in a palm, but detailed, flowing cloaks, sharp stances, wind caught mid-motion. He could have mass-produced them easily. Identical copies, perfect symmetry, no wasted effort.

He didn’t. Each piece had variation. A different pose. A shifted angle. One mid-stride, another mid-leap. Some calm. Some aggressive. Some playful. Subtle changes in expression, stance, balance.

They weren’t replicas. They were interpretations. Fendrel swallowed.

“You’re… doing this from raw mana?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ludger replied without looking up.

“And shaping them manually?”

“Yes.”

Fendrel stared as Ludger finished another piece, smoothing the last edges with a thumb before setting it aside to harden.

“…These will sell absurdly well,” he murmured.

That was when something else happened.

Thunk.

A chop landed squarely on Ludger’s head. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to be very deliberate. He paused, blinked once, then slowly looked over his shoulder. Kaela stood there, arms crossed, expression somewhere between fury and humiliation.

“…Why,” she asked carefully, “are you making so many small sculptures of me?”

Ludger looked at the line of figurines. Then back at her.

“Efficiency,” he said.

Kaela’s eye twitched.

“And why,” she continued, stepping closer, “are none of them the sexy ones I specifically want?”

Fendrel cleared his throat nervously.

“If I may,” he said quickly, sensing danger, “the figurines of the Wind Enchantress are currently among the most sought-after items in the capital.”

Kaela froze.

“…What.”

“Children adore them,” Fendrel continued, warming to the explanation. “Stories of a lone wind mage hunting bandits, freeing kidnapped children, dismantling criminal dens single-handedly, it resonates very strongly.”

He gestured toward the figurines.

“These versions, in particular, emphasize heroism rather than… aesthetics. Parents buy them in bulk.”

Kaela stared. Slowly. Her face turned red. Then she looked angry. Then tired. Then somehow all three at once.

“…I am being marketed as a children’s role model,” she said flatly.

“Yes,” Fendrel replied. “Extremely successfully.”

Kaela turned toward Ludger.

“You did this on purpose.”

Ludger finally looked up from his work.

“I needed something people would buy quickly,” he said. “And trust. I am doing you a favor for dismantling your fame as a home wrecker.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“You scare criminals. Children like you. Parents approve of you.”

Kaela opened her mouth. Closed it. Then groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

“I wanted dangerous,” she muttered. “Mysterious. Alluring.”

“You got inspirational, and safe for work, ” Ludger said.

Fendrel nodded enthusiastically.

“Very inspirational.”

Kaela looked at the row of figurines again, tiny wind enchantresses frozen mid-battle, mid-leap, mid-victory.

“…I hate this,” she said.

Another lump of earth rose obediently from the ground, already halfway shaped before his fingers even touched it. As he refined the form, his expression shifted, not surprise, not irritation, just recognition.

Kaela clicked her tongue and crossed her arms hard enough that her leather creaked.

“I’m not blind,” she said. “You’ve got some nerve, you know that? Making me work and humiliating me at the same time.”

Ludger didn’t look up.

“Turning you into the closest thing you can be to a role model isn’t humiliation,” he replied evenly. “It’s damage control.”

Kaela stared at the back of his head for a second, then let out a long sigh.

“…You’re impossible,” she muttered.

She glanced toward the estate walls, then beyond them, toward the city.

“There are people watching,” she said. “Not crowds. Not yet. But enough.”

That made Ludger’s fingers pause for half a heartbeat.

“Other guilds,” Kaela continued. “Scouts. Veterans. ‘Tough guys.’ The kind who don’t clap and don’t shout. They’re here to measure the Lionsguard.”

She looked back at him.

“And before you ask, no, the rumor that you’re fighting alone hasn’t spread beyond your own people.”

That earned a faint tightening around Ludger’s eyes. Fendrel, who had been happily cataloging figurines, froze.

“…Alone?” he repeated.

His mouth dropped open.

“You’re… you’re facing them alone?” he asked, looking between Kaela and Ludger as if hoping one of them would laugh.

Ludger finished the figurine, set it down carefully, and finally turned.

“Yes,” he said.

Fendrel swallowed.

“But, guild duels are, those are usually group affairs. Champions, at least. Teams—”

“I know,” Ludger replied.

Kaela smirked faintly, though there was tension under it.

“That’s why they’re here,” she said. “They’re trying to figure out if it’s bravado or insanity.”

Ludger picked up the next piece of earth.

“Let them watch,” he said. “It saves me time later.”

Fendrel stared at him in stunned silence. Somewhere beyond the estate walls, quiet eyes were already taking notes.

Eventually, Ludger stopped.

The last figurine settled into shape, the earth hardening as he withdrew his mana. He straightened, brushing his hands together as if he’d simply finished a mundane task instead of casually creating high-demand art from nothing.

He looked at Kaela.

“If something happens,” he said, “help the northerners too.”

Kaela snorted.

“Right now?” she replied. “They’re still in the process of making all the booze in the capital evaporate.”

Ludger paused.

“…Evaporate?”

“Taverns are packed,” Kaela continued. “The keepers are thrilled. People are challenging them to drinking contests nonstop.”

Ludger frowned slightly.

“Why would anyone enjoy that?” he asked. “Is the money really worth having your entire establishment covered in vomit afterward?”

Kaela shrugged.

“Apparently, yes.”

She glanced past him, eyes narrowing just a little.

“Anyway,” she said, already turning away, “I’ll get back to work.”

She didn’t explain further, but Ludger noticed it anyway. Viola was approaching.

Kaela vanished deliberately at that moment, slipping away with perfect timing. It was a strange habit, but a familiar one, she enjoyed creating just enough mystery to make people wonder if Ludger had been discussing something they weren’t supposed to hear. Ludger ignored it.

Viola stopped in front of him, her presence impossible to miss. At her waist hung her new sword, the one Raukor had forged. Clean lines. Balanced. Purpose-built rather than decorative. Ludger glanced at it, then back at her.

“Did you come to challenge me to a spar?” he asked.

Viola blinked.

“…No,” she said. “It’s breakfast.”

He nodded once.

“Good,” he replied.

That made her frown.

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Ludger said calmly. “Just checking priorities.”

Viola sighed. Some things, apparently, never changed.

By the time breakfast ended and people began preparing to move, the estate had settled into a strange rhythm, too calm for what loomed ahead, too busy to feel peaceful. Gear was checked. Messages were sent. Guards rotated shifts with practiced efficiency.

Ludger stepped outside with the twins perched on his shoulders, one hand holding each small leg to keep them steady. They were awake now, mumbling to each other and pointing at anything that caught their attention, entirely unconcerned with politics, guild rivalries, or the fact that half the capital was quietly holding its breath.

Someone was waiting at the gate. Varik.

The guildmaster of the Silver Talon Order stood with his arms crossed, cloak draped loosely over one shoulder. Ludger had worked with him a few times in the past, enough to know the man was competent, cautious, and very tired even on a good day.

Today, he looked worse.

Dark circles sat under his eyes, and his posture carried the stiffness of someone who hadn’t slept properly in days. When his gaze landed on Ludger, it sharpened, then immediately slid upward.

To the twins. Sitting on Ludger’s shoulders. Varik’s expression shifted from guarded to exasperated in the span of a breath.

“…It’s been a while,” he said finally. “And somehow, I didn’t expect this

.”

Ludger tilted his head slightly. “Good morning to you too.”

Varik rubbed his face with one hand.

“I really didn’t expect you to be so relaxed,” he said. “Not before something this big.”

Ludger studied him for a moment.

“You look exhausted,” he said. “Is that because of the contest?”

Varik didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

He lowered his hand and looked around the street instinctively before continuing, voice dropping just enough to matter.

“This is the perfect moment for the Rodericks to strike back,” he said. “Their most hated guild is back in the capital, loud, visible, and concentrated. If they’re going to move openly, or quietly, this is it.”

Ludger’s grip on the twins’ legs tightened a fraction.

Varik met his eyes.

“That’s why I came,” he continued. “If something happens, if things turn ugly, you can’t just go around killing everyone who looks suspicious.”

The words were careful. Deliberate.

“Dead enemies don’t talk,” Varik said. “And bodies erase trails. Evidence matters right now. More than vengeance.”

Ludger listened without interrupting. When Varik finished, there was a brief silence. Then Ludger spoke covering the hears of the twins with his hands and pressing the other ears against his head.

“I won’t kill them,” he said calmly.

Varik let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“But,” Ludger continued, voice flat and precise, “I will keep them alive.”

Varik frowned slightly.

“To make sure,” Ludger added, “that anyone who targeted my friends or my family regrets being ever born.”

The twins laughed since their ears were tickling, kicking their feet lightly against Ludger’s chest.

Varik stared at him for a long second. Then he nodded slowly.

“…That,” he said, “might actually be worse.”

Ludger didn’t deny it. The gate opened wider, the capital waiting just beyond. And whatever was about to happen, none of them would be able to pretend it was an accident.

After a while, the convoy reached the arena.

The moment the stone structure came into view, Ludger recognized it.

The same place.

Years ago, he had stood here alongside Viola, younger, smaller, surrounded by nobles pretending their children’s competitions were about honor instead of politics. The polite version of violence. The nobles’ child olympics, wrapped in silk and rules.

Now? Now it was loud.

The arena roared with noise, vendors shouting, spectators arguing over seats, guild colors flashing everywhere. People were still pouring in through the gates, the stands filling faster than the guards could manage. This wasn’t a private affair anymore. It was a spectacle, just like Torvares had warned.

Bread and circus. Ludger exhaled slowly.

He turned and lifted the twins off his shoulders, handing them carefully to Elaine. They immediately latched onto her, eyes wide as they stared at the towering arena and the sea of people. Elaine met his gaze.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she said.

Ludger nodded. “I’ll do something effective.”

That didn’t reassure her, but she let him go.

He stepped forward, froststeel bracers catching the light, gauntlets resting easily at his sides. The noise of the crowd seemed to dull around him, not because it faded, but because his focus narrowed.

He glanced once more at the arena floor. Then he said, calmly, almost casually:

“It’s Show time.”

And walked in.

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