Before either of them could add anything else, Ludger felt the shift.

A subtle one.

Elle’s grip on his hair loosened just a little. Arash’s chin bumped gently against the top of his head. Their excited energy, so relentless earlier, finally burned itself out.

Within moments, both of them were nodding, eyelids fluttering, small bodies swaying with the slow, inevitable pull of sleep.

Ludger tilted his head slightly to keep them balanced.

“Looks like my bodyguards are exhausted,” he said dryly. “Long shift.”

Julius smiled, the expression soft and unguarded. “They did a fine job.”

Rufas chuckled. “Protected you from the entire capital, no less.”

Ludger carefully turned, adjusting his stance so the twins could settle comfortably against his shoulders. “I should get them home. Morning naps wait for no one.”

Julius inclined his head. “Until later, then.”

Rufas mirrored the gesture. “Until later.”

Ludger nodded once in return. “Until later.”

He turned and walked away down the quiet street, the twins already asleep, the weight on his arms steady and familiar.

Behind him, Julius watched for a moment longer than necessary.

Then he smiled to himself. Some leaders learned through books. Some through battle.

And some, clearly, through carrying the people they cared about while the world tried to decide what to do with them next.

Once Ludger disappeared down the street, Rufas let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He glanced at his uncle. “So?” he asked. “What do you think of him?”

Julius watched the empty road for a moment longer, eyes lingering where Ludger had gone, before answering.

“I expected an arrogant brat,” he said honestly. “With that level of talent, it would’ve been normal, even understandable.” He shook his head faintly. “Especially with the way he fought in the arena. Clean. Decisive. Dominant.”

Rufas raised an eyebrow. “But?”

“But I didn’t see it,” Julius continued. “Not in the matches. Not here. He knows he’s strong, but he doesn’t worship that strength.”

He folded his arms, thoughtful. “He listens. He reflects. He questions himself. That’s rare in someone who’s never truly been stopped.”

Rufas nodded slowly. “You think it’s upbringing?”

Julius hummed. “Partly. A father who was once a strong adventurer tends to leave certain impressions. Discipline. Perspective. The understanding that power is something you survive long enough to regret misusing.”

He paused, then added, quieter, “But not all of it.”

Rufas waited.

“There’s something else there,” Julius said. “Something that forced him to grow faster than he should have. Responsibility taken too early. Choices made when there were no good options.”

He glanced back at Rufas. “That kind of pressure either breaks people, or gives them a spine.”

Rufas smiled faintly. “Looks like it did the latter.”

Julius nodded once. “Yes. And if he survives the changes that are coming…”

His gaze drifted toward the distant castle walls.

“…the continent might have to get used to his way of doing things.”

When Ludger returned to the manor, the twins were already fully asleep.

He carried them inside without waking them, movements practiced and careful. Elle was placed first, tucked in with the blanket pulled just high enough. Arash followed, turned on his side, one hand still clutching Ludger’s sleeve until Ludger gently freed it and smoothed his hair.

They didn’t stir.

Ludger straightened and stood there for a moment, watching them breathe, slow and even. Then he quietly closed the door.

In the hallway, the silence pressed in.

Alright, he thought. What now?

Training was the obvious answer. It always was. Drill, refine, test limits, push mechanics until something new snapped into place. Normally, he’d already be in a courtyard or an underground room experimenting.

But this was the capital.

Too many eyes. Too many ears. Too many people who would love to learn anything new about him, especially now. Training openly would just hand them data wrapped in a ribbon.

No.

He needed something quieter. Something subtler.

His thoughts drifted naturally to the new weight he could feel, not physical, not mana-heavy, but present all the same.

Guild Master.

More specifically… Morale.

Ludger leaned against the window frame, closed his eyes, and focused inward. Not on mana flow. Not on combat instincts. On connection.

He pictured Lionsguard.

Not as a formation. Not as units. But as people, on patrols, in training yards, guarding routes, eating meals, joking, complaining, working. He didn’t push power into them. Didn’t command anything.

He simply… acknowledged them.

Testing this didn’t require spectacle. And it didn’t require witnesses. Good.

Because if Morale grew with trust, shared burden, and intent.

Then this might be the most dangerous tool he’d gained yet.

And unlike his other abilities, it wouldn’t grow from fighting enemies.

It might grow from how he treated his own people. Ludger straightened, already planning his next steps. If the capital wanted to watch him… Then he’d make sure they missed the most important changes entirely.

Pretty much everyone at the manor had gone out.

Some to walk the capital. Some to shop. Some to talk. Some just to be somewhere else now that the pressure of the arena had finally lifted. The house felt strangely hollow without the usual background noise of people moving around with purpose.

Which left Ludger with very little to experiment on.

He ended up in the garden instead, stretched out on a stone bench with his arms folded behind his head, staring up at the sky. Not training. Not planning. Just… letting his thoughts drift while his body recovered properly for once.

That was when… The door burst open.

A wild, half-awake Viola appeared.

She shuffled out into the garden at a jog that was more habit than coordination, rubbing one eye aggressively while squinting at the sunlight with the other. Her hair was a mess, clothes wrinkled, posture slumped like she’d lost a fight against her bed and barely escaped.

“…Why is it so quiet?” she mumbled.

Ludger turned his head slightly. “Everyone went out.”

Viola stopped. Blinked.

“…Huh?”

She looked around as if the others might pop out from behind a bush if she stared hard enough. When they didn’t, she frowned.

“They just left?” she asked.

Ludger shrugged. “Looks like it.”

She groaned softly and rubbed her face with both hands. “I went back to sleep for, like, ten minutes…”

“Try an hour,” Ludger said.

That earned him a glare, half-hearted, unfocused, and immediately abandoned as she yawned wide enough to threaten her jaw.

She wandered over and dropped onto the grass nearby, sitting cross-legged and slouching forward. “So,” she said slowly, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Ludger replied honestly.

That seemed to confuse her more than anything else.

“…You?” she said. “Doing nothing?”

Ludger closed his eyes for a moment.

Then, deliberately, he equipped it.

The shift was subtle, almost imperceptible. No flare of mana. No pressure. Just a quiet internal confirmation as the Guild Master job settled fully into place.

Viola stiffened. She didn’t know why.

She just suddenly felt… steadier. More awake. Like the fog in her head thinned without warning. Her shoulders straightened a bit. Her breathing evened out.

She frowned and looked at Ludger.

“…Did you just do something?” she asked.

Ludger opened one eye, watching her reaction closely.

“Maybe,” he said.

Viola stared at him for a second longer, then shook her head. “Weird,” she muttered. “I feel… like I made some progress like I do after some harsh training.”

She yawned again, smaller this time, then squinted at him suspiciously.

“You better not be testing things on me,” she warned.

Ludger’s mouth twitched. Noted, he thought. Very noted. Ludger could tell the effects were there. Viola couldn’t.

There was no flicker of realization in her eyes, no sudden oh moment where she noticed something was different. She just felt… better. More awake. More grounded. And that alone told Ludger what he needed to know.

Morale wasn’t something people consciously perceived. It worked beneath the surface, nudging, reinforcing, smoothing edges rather than announcing itself.

More importantly, the skill wasn’t gaining any experience. Ludger frowned slightly.

So it wasn’t passive growth. It wasn’t something that leveled just because he had it equipped. That meant its development depended on conditions, actions, trust, shared effort. Just existing as Guild Master wasn’t enough.

Interesting. He shifted gears.

With a thought, mana condensed beside him. Stone gathered, compressed, and shaped itself into a rough but solid hammer, its head dense and heavy, the handle reinforced enough to survive abuse.

He caught it one-handed and passed it to Viola.

She grabbed it instinctively, and immediately felt the weight drag her arm down.

“…Oi,” she said, frowning as she adjusted her grip. “What is this thing made of, spite?”

“Stone,” Ludger replied. “Try swinging it for a bit.”

Viola looked at the hammer. Then at him. Then back at the hammer.

She didn’t swing it.

Instead, she straightened, eyes lighting up with sudden interest. “Teach me the magic swords.”

Ludger blinked.

“The summoned ones,” she added quickly, already animated now. “The floating ones. The formation stuff. That.”

She waved one hand vaguely in the air, mimicking blades orbiting an invisible center. “That was insane. Way cooler than… whatever this is.”

She nudged the hammer with her foot like it had personally offended her.

Ludger stared at her for a second, then sighed.

“So you don’t want to build strength,” he said.

Viola grinned unapologetically. “I want to build style.”

He rubbed his temple. Of course she did.

Still… Ludger glanced at her again, more thoughtfully this time. Despite the complaint, she hadn’t actually let go of the hammer yet. She was still holding it. Adjusting her stance. Testing the balance without realizing it.

Morale was working. Just not in a way he could brute-force.

“Fine,” Ludger said at last. “But after this, you’re not skipping the basics.”

Viola’s grin widened. “Deal.”

Somewhere deep inside, the system remained quiet.

Which told Ludger everything he needed to know.

This skill didn’t grow from commands.

It grew from shared effort.

Viola sighed theatrically, then hoisted the hammer properly.

“Fine. Fine,” she muttered. “Swing the stupid rock.”

She did.

Once. Twice. A third time.

The hammer cut through the air with a dull whoom, grass flattening where the head passed too low. Viola adjusted her footing, frowned, and swung again—harder this time.

Nothing changed.

No sudden lightness. No unexpected ease. No hidden boost kicking in.

Ludger watched closely, eyes narrowing. So it’s not that simple.

For a moment, he wondered if the problem was technical. Viola wasn’t officially part of Lionsguard. No contract. No oath. No formal recognition. Maybe Morale only applied to registered members. But that didn’t sit right.

He’d always thought of her as part of it. Not on paper, but in reality. She trained with them. Fought alongside them. Carried their banner as much as anyone else.

If Morale only worked on bureaucracy, then the skill was flawed. So he changed the approach.

“Drop the hammer,” Ludger said.

Viola blinked. “What?”

Before she could ask again, mana condensed in Ludger’s hand. A magic sword formed, clean, stable, humming softly as it aligned with his intent.

Viola’s eyes lit up immediately. “Oh, now we’re talking.”

Ludger didn’t give her time to prepare.

He stepped in and slashed.

Viola yelped, barely bringing the hammer up in time. Clang. The impact rattled her arms, forcing her back a step.

“Hey—!”

Ludger pressed.

Another strike. Then another. Controlled, precise, but relentless. Viola blocked again and again, teeth clenched as she adjusted, feet digging into the ground.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

The hammer was heavy. Awkward. But she adapted fast—turning blocks into partial deflections, letting the weight carry through instead of fighting it.

After the sixth block, she scowled. “What’s the deal?! You said basics!”

“This is basics,” Ludger replied evenly, bringing the sword down again.

She caught it on the hammer shaft, muscles burning now. “Since when do basics try to stab you?!”

Ludger shifted, preparing another strike. And then he felt it. A faint click. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a subtle internal acknowledgment.

[Morale + 01 XP]

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