Ludger made his way through the arena’s stone corridors, the roar of the crowd vibrating through the walls like distant thunder. Even with thick stone barriers between them, he could hear individual voices, shouting his name, chanting Lionsguard, laughing, arguing, betting.

That energy pressed against him like a rising tide, eager and hungry.

But before stepping into the arena proper, he slipped into the waiting chamber, a small enclosed space lined with benches, racks of weapons, and a single water table. Here, for a moment at least, the noise dulled.

Only one other person stood inside. Rufas Dalmoren.

The imperial guard straightened when he saw Ludger enter, though his posture was relaxed, casual even, one gloved hand resting against his belt, the other tugging lightly at the edge of his cloak. He wore standard imperial armor, polished to a steel shine, the black lacquered plates reflecting the chamber lanterns in razor-sharp lines.

Rufas had aged up in reputation lately. Since the Rodericks vanished from the capital, leaving disaster and political vacuum behind, he had stepped into roles he once only circled. Higher authority. More responsibility. Greater eyes watching him.

Even if the imperial guard had failed to find any trace of the missing senators, Rufas had risen in the chaos rather than sunk beneath it. Ludger blinked at him.

“Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.

Rufas shrugged, expression unreadable. His lips tugged into something like a half-smile, though it came and went in the space of a breath.

“You’re popular these days,” he said. “Hard to get near you without a wall of people in the way.”

The non-answer made Ludger’s brows narrow just a fraction. The fact that Rufas was waiting in the private chamber, not the corridor, not the stands, not with the imperial delegation, meant something. He didn’t linger in places like this without purpose.

Yet he offered no explanation. No official message. No warning. Just a shrug. And Ludger, who had seen enough shifting motives in the last two days to fill a ledger, felt a faint tightening in his chest. Whatever brought Rufas here, it wasn’t by chance. And it wasn’t small.

Rufas took a slow breath, gaze drifting briefly to the weapons rack before settling back on Ludger’s face. The faint shrug he’d offered a moment ago faded, replaced by a more serious weight in his eyes.

“I wanted to apologize,” he began, voice low. “To you, specifically.”

Ludger frowned slightly.

“For what?”

Rufas’s jaw tightened.

“You’ve done more than most to stabilize the empire. You helped secure the Velis deal, strengthened trade, and gave the empire something stable to build on. And we…” he exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration flickering in his voice, “… let this happen.”

He gestured vaguely toward the arena, toward the shouts, toward the whole spiraling mess.

“Your rights to the frost labyrinth are being contested openly. The ashbound compact exploited a loophole and added new ‘members’ to their guild after the original fighters lost. They shouldn’t be allowed to do that.”

His hands flexed at his sides, armor seams creaking softly.

“I should have stopped it. I should have blocked the request. I should have… something.”

Ludger listened quietly, then shook his head.

“I’m doing what’s best for the Lionsguard,” he said. “This is just part of the job.”

Rufas blinked, thrown slightly by how calm Ludger sounded. Ludger crossed his arms.

“If they want to bring in replacements, fine.”

A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll welcome the challenge.”

Rufas raised an eyebrow, unsure he’d heard that right.

Ludger continued, tone turning sharper, more deliberate.

“The more people reveal their schemes to me, the less I have to guess who my enemies really are.”

He lifted his chin slightly, clear, resolute.

“Let them come into the light.”

Rufas stared at him for a moment, then huffed out what might have been a laugh, equal parts disbelief and admiration.

“You haven’t changed,” he murmured. “And thank the stars for that.”

Rufas shifted his weight, the plates of his armor clicking softly against one another. His expression turned earnest, an uncommon sight for someone so deeply embedded in imperial command.

“If there’s anything I can do to make this right,” he said, “say it. This whole situation… shouldn’t have become such a mess.”

There was fatigue in his voice, fatigue born from months of trying to hold the capital together while half of its leadership had vanished into thin air.

“If I hadn’t been so buried in the search for the Rodericks,” he added quietly, “things would never have escalated like this.”

Ludger tilted his head.

“Are things messy only because they disappeared?”

Rufas’s gaze flicked away.

“No.”

One word. Hard. Sharp. Final. Ludger frowned, curiosity pricking at him.

“Why can’t you explain?”

Rufas’s jaw tensed. Silence filled the room like smoke. Whatever the answer was, he wasn’t allowed to speak it.

Ludger studied him a moment longer, then exhaled softly and rubbed his chin. The puzzle was interesting, politics always were, but it wasn’t why he was here. And it certainly wasn’t worth gnawing on right now.

His thoughts pivoted to something more practical, something he actually needed.

“There is something you can do,” Ludger said.

Rufas’s eyes lifted, cautious.

“What?”

Ludger crossed his arms, expression thoughtful.

“Introduce me to the most knowledgeable and respected guildmaster you know who isn’t covered in bad rumors.”

Rufas blinked.

“…What for?” he asked, frowning.

Ludger shrugged.

“My guild is expanding fast. I want to learn new things. Strategies. Structures. Leadership. I don’t know everything, and it’s easier to pick up wisdom from people who already built strong guilds.”

Rufas stared at him for a long moment, taking in the simplicity and honesty of that request. No vengeance. No political maneuver. No hidden blade. Just a twelve-year-old guild leader wanting to grow. Rufas’s expression softened, genuine respect replacing tension.

“All right,” he said quietly. “I can do that.”

Rufas adjusted the fall of his cloak, a faint glimmer of nostalgia softening the stern lines of his face.

“Actually,” he began, “there is someone who fits what you asked for.”

Ludger lifted his chin slightly, listening.

“My uncle,” Rufas continued. “Before Varik took the position, he served as guildmaster of the Silver Talon Order for thirty years. Built half the system we still use today, trained some of our strongest officers, negotiated with foreign guilds, quelled riots, dismantled corruption, three decades of leadership without a single stain on his record.”

There was quiet pride in his tone now.

“He won’t mind meeting you. In fact, I think he’d enjoy it.”

Ludger nodded, filing the information away. A man with thirty years of clean reputation and organizational brilliance? That was gold worth mining.

“Good,” he said. “Set it up.”

He hesitated a moment, eyes narrowing, not in aggression, but in curiosity.

“Anything else?”

Rufas blinked.

“Anything else… what?”

Ludger shrugged, but the look in his eyes was sharper than his voice.

“You’re being weirdly helpful today,” he said. “Like suspiciously helpful. Almost creeping me out.”

For a heartbeat, Rufas just stared. Then he let out a surprisingly genuine laugh, low, short, almost disbelieving.

“Ludger,” he said, shaking his head, “you’ve helped me a lot more than you realize.”

Ludger studied him in silence, unsure what to do with the warmth in that statement. He wasn’t used to receiving gratitude expressed that plainly. It made something inside him twist uncomfortably. Instead of prodding deeper, he did what he always did with complicated emotions: ignored them entirely and moved on. He leaned back slightly, voice casual.

“Fine. Then teach me something.”

Rufas blinked.

“…Teach you?”

“Your combat style,” Ludger clarified. “How do you fight?” He tapped his chest lightly. “And can you teach me the basics?”

Silence stretched. Rufas stared at him like he’d asked for the imperial crown, the treasury keys, and a dragon mount all at once.

“…You’re serious.”

Ludger blinked slowly.

“Obviously,” he said.

Rufas’s eyebrows climbed halfway to his hairline.

“You’re something else.”

“And?”

Another beat of silence. Rufas finally let out a breathless, astonished laugh, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I swear, you’re weird. You walk around with mana like a storm, knock out vice guildmasters before lunch, win duels with stone marbles, and somehow you’re still just…”

He gestured vaguely in Ludger’s direction.

“…this random kid is obsessed with absorbing every martial art he sees.”

Ludger only shrugged, perfectly unbothered.

“Learning is convenient.”

Rufas stared at him, then shook his head again, smiling despite himself.

“Stars help me,” he muttered, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Rufas cleared his throat, easing into a more formal, almost instructional tone.

“My fighting style isn’t exactly built for bare fists,” he began. “It’s designed for weapon users, swords, spears, polearms.”

His gloved hand traced an invisible line through the air, demonstrating the shape of a strike.

“But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t learn it.”

He met Ludger’s gaze directly.

“It isn’t a secret art, but it is a specialized one. Outside my family and a handful of Silver Talon elites, very few people have mastered the whole framework.”

There was pride in his voice now, not arrogance, but genuine respect for the tradition he’d inherited.

Ludger nodded, absorbing the explanation.

Internally, however, another thought flicked across his mind:

Was Rufas trying to butter him up?

Flattery wasn’t common from imperial guards, not deliberate flattery, anyway. And Rufas had already been unusually helpful today. He was either trying to impress his family legacy upon Ludger, or he was preparing the ground to raise the value of what he was offering.

Neither bothered Ludger. But he didn’t show any of that on his face.

He kept his expression neutral, even mildly curious.

“Good to know,” he said. “If the basics translate, I’ll take them. Man can never have too many tools.”

Rufas’s lips twitched into a faint smirk.

“Tools,” he repeated. “Right. That’s one word for it.”

Ludger only stared back, unblinking. The guard exhaled, half-amused, half-resigned.

“Very well. Once this arena madness ends, we’ll see what we can start.”

“Right now will do the trick.”

Rufas watched Ludger dumbfounded…

Ten minutes later, the stone gate leading into the arena rumbled open, sunlight spilling across the waiting chamber floor. Ludger stepped forward, and the noise outside surged instantly, cheers, whistles, shouts of his name, the kind of raw excitement that shook air and bone.

He walked out beneath the towering archway, boots crunching across sand still marked by yesterday’s battles. Some scars in the arena floor hadn’t even been repaired, cracked earth from impacts, scorched patches from spells, a small crater where Varkas’s body had landed. They almost felt like signatures.

The narrator’s voice boomed out overhead, magically amplified, lively and brimming with anticipation:

“ENTERING THE ARENA… THE BOY WHO NEEDS NO INTRODUCTION!”

The crowd roared like a living creature.

“AFTER YESTERDAY’S DISPLAY OF STRENGTH AND SKILL, THE ENTIRE CAPITAL KNOWS HIS NAME!”

Ludger didn’t pause. He walked calmly to the center, arms loose at his sides, aura steady, gaze fixed straight ahead.

“LUDGER OF THE LIONSGUARD!”

That earned a thunderous shout, echoing off stone, shaking dust from the stands, rattling armor plates on the guards nearby. The narrator continued, voice dropping to a dramatic rhythm.

“AND YET… DESPITE THE OVERWHELMING DOMINANCE WE WITNESSED YESTERDAY…”

Silence rippled through the crowd, anticipation threading every breath.

“…THE ASHBOUND COMPACT STILL HAS MEMBERS READY TO CHALLENGE HIM!”

Murmurs spread like wildfire. Skepticism. Curiosity. Excitement.

“WHO ARE THESE NEW FIGHTERS?” the narrator asked, tone theatrical. “WHERE DID THEY COME FROM? AND HOW, AFTER SUCH DEVASTATING DEFEAT, DOES ASHBOUND STILL HAVE WARRIORS LEFT?”

The crowd buzzed, leaning forward, eager for answers.

“TODAY’S MATCHES PROMISE SOMETHING EVEN MORE INTERESTING THAN YESTERDAY’S…”

A beat of dramatic pause.

“…BECAUSE NO ONE KNOWS WHAT TO EXPECT.”

Ludger rolled his shoulders once, relaxed and ready. Yesterday had been a show of strength. Today would be a test of intent.

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