Torvares still didn’t say anything. He didn’t confirm it. He didn’t deny it.

He simply stood there, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make the truth unavoidable.

Ludger let out a slow breath, the kind that came from resignation rather than relief. With that single non-answer, several things finally made sense, too many things, in fact.

So that’s why.

That was why Torvares had been cautious to the point of frustration. Why negotiations had stalled instead of being forced. Why every suggestion that involved speed or pressure had been met with restraint instead of support. It hadn’t been fear of the regent alone.

It had been proximity.

Ludger’s mind moved quickly, laying out the consequences with cold clarity. Lionsguard already stood out, too effective, too independent, too successful for a frontier guild. It had drawn attention once and survived because that attention could still be framed as useful. Necessary. Contained.

But that balance shattered the moment an imperial bloodline entered the picture. Even if Eclaire wasn’t a recognized heir. Even if she had no legal claim. Even if her existence had been deliberately erased from official records. She was still imperial blood.

That meant Lionsguard wasn’t just a powerful guild anymore, it was potential leverage.

If the guild grew too fast, it wouldn’t be seen as ambition. It would be seen as preparation. If it expanded too openly, it wouldn’t be success, it would be consolidation. Every victory would be reinterpreted as positioning. Every acquisition as a power grab.

And worst of all… If the Empire ever decided to act, Lionsguard wouldn’t be treated as an asset.

It would be treated as a hostage situation.

An imperial child raised inside a private military organization, even one with no throne claim, wasn’t something the regent could ignore. It would justify surveillance. Intervention. Forced “protection.” Any move could be framed as acting in the Empire’s best interest.

Ludger clenched his jaw slightly. If he pushed the guild too hard now, he wouldn’t just endanger himself or his people. He’d put a target on everyone.

On his family. On Viola. On the trainees. On Eclaire herself.

That was the real trap. Not politics. Visibility.

Ludger understood then why Torvares had tried to steer the conversation away earlier. Why he had pushed for strengthening from within instead of expansion. Why he had wanted weapons standardized and people trained rather than territory seized.

It wasn’t cowardice. It was containment. Ludger looked at Torvares again, expression unreadable.

You should have told me, he thought.

But another thought followed just as quickly, heavier than the first.

And I wouldn’t have…

That realization settled uncomfortably in his chest.

Because it meant that from this moment on, there was no such thing as a simple move for Lionsguard anymore. Every step forward would echo far beyond Lionfang. And the margin for error had just disappeared.

Ludger stood up.

The chair scraped softly against the floor, the sound cutting through the heavy silence more sharply than any raised voice could have. He didn’t look at Torvares again. He didn’t look at Arslan either. There was nothing left to say that would improve the situation, and arguing now would only burn time and goodwill without changing the facts.

So he left.

No farewell. No closing remark. Just a quiet turn and a steady walk out of the room, boots echoing faintly down the corridor until the sound faded.

He was annoyed, deeply so, but not angry enough to be reckless.

That distinction mattered.

As he walked, his thoughts tightened into something cold and unpleasantly clear. There was no real answer to be wrung from Torvares anymore. Not because the old lord was unwilling, but because it was obvious he couldn’t give one.

Torvares wasn’t acting alone. He never had.

Whatever truth sat at the center of this situation was wrapped in layers, alliances, obligations, safeguards meant to prevent exactly this kind of exposure. Sealing spells, binding oaths, magic contracts written so tightly that speaking the wrong word could cost a life. Maybe several lives.

Insane things, Ludger thought grimly. The kind politics always resorts to when honesty becomes inconvenient.

He could press. He could threaten. He could demand. And Torvares would still remain silent. Not out of defiance, but because the price of the truth was too high.

Ludger slowed near the outer doors, exhaling through his nose as the tension bled off into something more controlled. He didn’t like being maneuvered. He didn’t like discovering that the board had been set long before he ever sat down to play.

But there was one thing he was certain of. Torvares would never gamble with Viola’s life. Not for power. Not for influence. Not even for the Empire itself.

That single certainty was the only reason Ludger hadn’t already turned back and forced the issue.

He stepped outside into the open air, jaw set, eyes steady.

Fine, he thought. If I can’t learn everything…

Then he would plan around the silence.

And make sure that no one, not regents, not nobles, not forgotten heirs, ever had the chance to use Lionsguard as a bargaining chip.

After Ludger’s footsteps faded, the room stayed quiet for a long while.

Torvares was the first to move. He let out a slow, tired sigh and finally allowed some of the tension to drain from his shoulders. He looked toward the closed door, then gave a faint, humorless chuckle.

“I was expecting to be punched,” he admitted. “At least once.”

Arslan didn’t respond immediately.

Torvares shook his head slightly. “He’s more controlled than I thought. Or maybe he’s just learned where anger stops being useful.”

He folded his hands behind his back, gaze unfocused as his thoughts moved elsewhere. “If someone directly threatened his family,” he continued quietly, “he’d burn everything to the ground without hesitation. I’m certain of that.”

Then his eyes hardened.

“But for now, there’s no immediate danger. Not as long as everyone involved keeps their mouths shut. Silence is the shield here. As long as it holds, everything stays… acceptable. On the surface, at least.”

Arslan exhaled slowly.

“I was going to ask what your goal was,” he said at last. “Behind all of this.”

He glanced at Torvares sidelong. “But I’m guessing I wouldn’t get an answer.”

Torvares didn’t deny it.

Instead, he turned his head and studied Arslan more closely. “You’re not angry,” he said. “Not at me. Not at him. Why?”

Arslan gave a short, dry laugh.

“Because I’ve caused you enough trouble already,” he replied. “More than enough. I don’t think I’ve earned the right to be angry at you for this.”

Torvares blinked, then smiled faintly, sad, but genuine.

“That’s… fair,” he said.

They fell silent again, the weight of unspoken consequences hanging between them. Outside, Lionfang went on as if nothing had changed. And on the surface, that was still true.

Arslan broke the silence with a steady breath.

“I’ll keep managing the guild the same way we always have,” he said. “Quietly. Carefully. I’ll make sure Eclaire isn’t exposed, and that nothing about her stands out enough to invite questions.”

He paused, then added, more dryly, “And I’ll talk to Ludger. Make sure he doesn’t do anything… insane.”

He shook his head a fraction. “Easier said than done.”

Torvares gave a faint huff of agreement but didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t agree with how you handled this,” Arslan continued. There was no accusation in his tone, just honesty. “Dragging something like this into our lives without consent isn’t something I’ll ever approve of.”

He looked Torvares straight in the eyes.

“But,” Arslan said, “I do believe you did the right thing in one regard. You protected the girl.”

A brief pause.

“Or,” he added, “you passed the problem into someone else’s hands.”

Torvares inclined his head once, accepting that framing without protest.

“I won’t pretend otherwise,” he said quietly. “And I know I’ve lost Ludger’s trust because of it.”

He straightened slightly. “I’ll work to earn it back.”

Arslan studied him for a long moment, then gave a slow nod.

“That’s good,” he said. “Because if you think gaining Ludger’s trust will be difficult…”

His expression hardened just a little.

“Then you should know you still have to earn someone else’s,” Arslan continued. “Elaine’s.”

He let that sink in.

“That’s a long path,” Arslan finished. “I can tell better than anyone else.”

Torvares didn’t argue.

He simply nodded again, this time more deeply than before, fully aware that the distance between them had just become measured not in words, but in years of actions yet to come.

Torvares didn’t linger.

He offered Arslan one last nod, then turned and left the office, his footsteps measured as he headed back toward the waiting carriage. Within minutes, the weight of his presence was gone from the guildhall, carried away down the road toward his estate.

Only then did Arslan allow himself to exhale.

The breath left him slowly, shoulders sagging just enough to betray how much effort he’d been spending holding everything together. He leaned back against the desk and rubbed a hand over his face.

He wasn’t surprised that Ludger had pieced things together.

His son had always done that, seen patterns others missed, followed inconsistencies to their logical conclusions. Ludger had known something was wrong for a while. Too many half-answers. Too much careful redirection. But he’d never imagined it was anything on that scale.

An imperial child.

Hidden inside the guild.

That was beyond what he’d expected.

What did surprise Arslan was how Ludger had responded once he understood.

Walking away like that, without a word, without even a parting glance, wasn’t something Ludger did. Not to allies. Not to enemies. Not to anyone who still mattered. Usually, he talked things through. Smirked. Defused tension with that infuriating calm of his.

This time, he hadn’t. That silence said more than any argument could have.

Arslan frowned, staring at the door Torvares had exited through.

It meant Ludger wasn’t just disappointed.

He was angry. Truly angry. And that worried him.

Ludger was at his most dangerous when he stopped engaging, when he internalized instead of reacting, when calculation replaced emotion instead of balancing it. Finding something that genuinely pissed him off could be… educational.

Or catastrophic.

Arslan didn’t know which this would be.

He straightened, resolve settling in.

I’ll have to watch him closely, he thought.

Because whether this anger became a hard-earned lesson, or the start of something far more volatile, would depend on what Ludger chose to do with it.

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