Morning came quietly.

Too quietly.

Ludger sat at the breakfast table with his family, hands wrapped around a cup that had long since gone lukewarm. The food was good, warm bread, fruit, something rich and filling, but he ate on autopilot, chewing without really tasting it.

He hadn’t slept much.

After talking with Hroth, his mind had refused to shut down. Threads kept looping back on themselves, Argarthia, the Emperor’s coma, Torvares’s quiet preparations, the idea of enemies who weren’t reacting to chaos but engineering it. Every time he’d closed his eyes, he’d seen the same thing: a board much larger than the capital, with too many hands already moving pieces.

So he’d thought. And thought. And thought some more.

Across from him, Elaine drank her tea in silence. Arslan flipped a page of a report he wasn’t really reading. Viola stabbed at her food with more force than necessary. The twins whispered to each other, unusually subdued for once as they tried to eat alone while painting their cheeks with food at the same time.

No one spoke.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy.

Ludger finally set his cup down and leaned back slightly in his chair, gaze drifting toward the window. The capital looked deceptively calm in the morning light. Clean streets. Orderly patrols. No sign that the city had nearly torn itself apart the day before.

The last thing he needed today was another round of battles.

Another day of attrition. Another parade of “challengers” sent to bleed him dry under the guise of tradition and legality. His body could handle it, probably, but the cost would keep stacking, and the information he’d leak would be far more valuable than any victory.

Hopefully, he thought, the punch he’d landed on Hroth yesterday would be enough. Enough spectacle. Enough fear. Enough deterrence.

Someone had been thrown clear out of the arena and into legend in front of the entire capital. That kind of ending tended to linger in people’s minds. Make them reconsider. Make them hesitate.

And hesitation was all he needed. Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took another bite of breakfast. If anyone was foolish enough to push for a third day after that… Then they wouldn’t be testing him anymore. They’d be announcing that they were ready to pay whatever price came next.

The silence broke with a soft knock.

A servant opened the door, stepped aside, and Rufas strode in, armor exchanged for a cleaner coat, posture as crisp as ever. He paused just long enough to incline his head.

“Apologies for the timing,” he said. “I didn’t want to interrupt breakfast.”

No one spoke. Every eye was on him.

“But,” Rufas continued, a faint edge of satisfaction in his voice, “I brought good news.”

Chairs shifted. Even the twins went still.

“Ashbound Compact has formally withdrawn,” he said. “They’ve acknowledged they no longer have the means, or the justification, to continue the contest.”

The room seemed to exhale all at once.

“The labyrinth rights are settled,” Rufas finished. “The Lizard Dungeons now belong to the Lionsguard.”

For half a heartbeat, there was silence.

Then it exploded.

Hands clapped Ludger’s back, once, twice, then more. Arslan laughed outright, pride breaking through his usual restraint. Viola grinned fiercely and hit Ludger’s shoulder hard enough to make him grunt. Even the twins piled in, small hands thumping wherever they could reach.

“Ow, easy,” Ludger muttered, shifting under the barrage as it started to genuinely hurt.

He didn’t pull away, though. He just smiled.

It was restrained. Controlled. The kind of smile that acknowledged the moment without fully stepping into it. Anyone who knew him could tell, it wasn’t reluctance. It was weight.

They noticed.

Elaine’s hand lingered on his shoulder a moment longer than the others. Arslan’s laughter softened. Viola’s grin faded just a little as she studied his expression.

They could all see it. Victory had been secured. The contest was over. The labyrinth was theirs.

But Ludger’s mind was already somewhere else, turning over secrets, alliances, and dangers that hadn’t come with fanfare or cheering crowds.

He would share them. Just not yet. For now, the Lionsguard had won.

Rufas cleared his throat once the noise settled.

“There’s one more thing,” he said. “I spoke with my uncle already.”

That made Ludger look up.

“He watched the matches,” Rufas continued. “All of them. Very closely. If you want, he’s willing to meet you immediately.”

Curious, then, Ludger thought. Or concerned.

He rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand, eyes unfocusing slightly as he weighed it. Immediate meetings were rarely just convenient. Sometimes they were tests. Sometimes they were traps wrapped in politeness.

Too convenient… or precisely timed?

Before he could decide, something latched onto his legs. Twice. Ludger looked down.

Elle had wrapped both arms around one of his calves, cheek pressed against it. Arash had claimed the other, legs locked tight, clinging with all the determination of a siege weapon several sizes too small.

“No,” Elle declared preemptively.

“You stay,” Arash added, nodding hard.

Ludger stared at them for a second, then sighed. “You two realize I’m not going to battle, right?”

They tightened their grip.

“Bodyguards,” Viola supplied helpfully, grinning. “Very fierce ones.”

Ludger snorted. “Seems my wannabe bodyguards want to come along as well.”

Rufas blinked, then smiled, the tension easing just a bit.

“That’s fine,” he said. “My uncle doesn’t hate liveliness. Quite the opposite, actually.”

The twins perked up at that, clearly taking it as approval.

Ludger shook his head slowly, a corner of his mouth lifting despite himself. “Alright,” he said. “But if they start interrogating him, that’s on you.”

Rufas laughed. “I’ll take responsibility.”

Ludger stood carefully, the twins still attached like determined parasites, and finally nodded.

“Let’s hear what he has to say,” he said.

Convenient or not, some conversations were better had sooner rather than later.

Elaine stopped him just before they left.

“Take care of them,” she said quietly, resting a hand on the twins’ heads.

Ludger looked back at her and nodded once. “I will.”

It wasn’t something she usually said. Not back in Lionfang, where everyone knew everyone, where danger was unfamiliar and allies were friends before they were titles.

But this was the capital. Here, Ludger had fewer allies as friends, and those weren’t the same thing.

Elaine understood that. So did he. Ten minutes later, they were out in the streets.

The capital was awake now, sunlight washing over stone buildings and broad avenues, the aftermath of yesterday’s chaos already buried under routine and noise. Vendors called out. Carriages rolled past. Guards stood straighter than usual, eyes lingering just a bit too long when they spotted Ludger.

The twins rode on his shoulders like they owned the place.

Elle sat proudly upright, hands resting on his head like reins. Arash leaned forward, pointing at everything that caught his attention, flags, balconies, a particularly large dog that earned an enthusiastic wave.

Ludger walked steadily through it all, ignoring the looks, adjusting his grip automatically whenever one of them shifted. Their weight was familiar. Grounding.

Rufas walked a step ahead, guiding them through the streets, glancing back once with a faint smile that said he hadn’t expected this particular entourage, but didn’t mind it.

Ludger kept his gaze forward.

The contest was over. The labyrinth was secured. But the capital was still the capital, and conversations here carried more weight than punches ever could.

With the twins on his shoulders and too many eyes watching, he headed toward the next meeting… already aware that whatever was said there would shape what came after victory.

Rufas glanced back over his shoulder as they walked, eyes flicking briefly to Ludger, and then to the twins perched up there like victorious banners.

“That trick with the magic swords,” he said, tone genuinely impressed, “that was something else. I’ve never seen so many mana constructs used like that. Not as formations. Not with that level of… restraint.”

Ludger opened his mouth to respond…

“Gate of Lionsguard!” Elle shouted.

Arash immediately joined in. “Gate of Lionsguard! Gate of Lionsguard!”

They bounced slightly on his shoulders with every chant, utterly delighted with themselves.

“Gate! Of! Lionsguard!”

Rufas blinked. Ludger froze for half a step.

“…You named it,” Ludger muttered.

The twins beamed.

“YOU said it!” Elle protested.

“Big gate!” Arash added helpfully, spreading his arms wide and nearly smacking Ludger in the head.

People started turning. At first just glances, curious looks drawn by the noise. Then longer stares as the words sank in. A few murmurs followed them down the street. Someone whispered. Someone else pointed, not subtly.

“Gate of Lionsguard,” Rufas repeated under his breath, amusement creeping into his expression. “That’s… going to stick, isn’t it?”

Ludger sighed. “I was hoping it wouldn’t.”

Too late. The twins kept chanting it like a war cry, completely unconcerned with the growing attention. Passersby slowed. Guards exchanged looks. A pair of adventurers openly stared now, eyes wide with recognition.

Ludger adjusted his grip on the twins and kept walking, face calm, ears burning just a little. Great, he thought. Now it’s a children’s song.

They didn’t make much small talk after that.

Rufas led the way in silence, clearly content to let the moment breathe. Ludger didn’t mind. His attention drifted inward while the twins more than made up for the lack of conversation, commenting loudly on everything. Statues were judged for “scariness.” A carriage earned boos for splashing water too close to the sidewalk.

Ludger let it wash over him, steadying his pace, grounding himself in the weight on his shoulders.

Then the street opened.

And the castle came into view.

It rose from the heart of the capital like a carved mountain, vast, layered walls of pale stone reinforced with darker bands, sigils etched so deeply they looked grown rather than chiseled. Towers climbed skyward in rigid symmetry, their tops bristling with watch posts, banners hanging stiff in the morning air. The outer walls were thick enough to dwarf entire buildings, gates tall enough to swallow siege engines whole.

Wards shimmered faintly if you knew how to look, old ones, overlapping generations of spellwork, patched and reinforced over centuries. Not elegant. Not unified. Powerful in the way accumulated fear and paranoia always were.

The twins went quiet for once.

“Big,” Elle whispered.

“Really big,” Arash agreed, craning his neck.

Ludger kept walking.

A bad feeling settled in his stomach.

The castle wasn’t just impressive, it was heavy. Not with authority, not with pride, but with inertia. Layers upon layers of history stacked without resolution. Traditions built to solve problems that no longer existed, now trapping the people inside them.

He’d expected to feel… something else.

Instead, as he looked at it, one thought surfaced clearly. This wasn’t a symbol of the Empire. It was a symbol of his problems.

A structure built to centralize control, now rotting quietly at the core. Power without direction. Secrets sealed behind walls too thick for truth to pass through easily. And now, a ruler lying in a coma somewhere deep inside, while everyone else pretended the building still stood because it should.

They kept moving toward it, step by step.

Ludger adjusted the twins on his shoulders, eyes never leaving the castle as it loomed larger with every block.

Whatever waited near wasn’t about ceremony or titles.

It was about decisions that had already been made, and the consequences that hadn’t caught up yet.

And he had the uncomfortable feeling that, whether he liked it or not, he was already part of that structure. Not as a subject. But as a weight pressing against it, testing where it would crack first.

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