As he jogged back through the fields toward the city, Ludger wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his gauntlet. The stench of goblin blood clung stubbornly, seeping into the leather, soaking into his shirt.

Too obvious. If Luna caught it again, sooner or later Elaine will too.

He slowed, exhaled through his nose, and raised his palm. A faint shimmer of mana coiled at his fingertips, condensing into a sphere of clear water.

[Create Water Lv. 18]

The liquid splashed over his arms, his face, his chest—washing away the smears of red before they dried. Again and again, he repeated the spell, rinsing blood off as soon as it stained his skin. Not waiting until it crusted and reeked, but killing the scent before it even spread.

The goblins’ stink still lingered faintly in the fabric, but far less than before. A few more castings, and he looked less like a butcher and more like a tired runner.

That’s better. If I’m going to grind monsters, I need to leave no trace. Clean fast, keep moving. Don’t give anyone a reason to ask questions.

He smirked faintly, adjusting the straps of his armguards as the city walls came into view. Even my weakest spells can sharpen me—if I use them right. Today it’s a washcloth. Tomorrow, who knows?

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he marked another goal: the Goblin Champion. A milestone waiting in the dark. He wasn’t ready yet, but when the day came, he’d walk into that fight clean, efficient, and ready to crush it.

By the time Ludger reached his home, he had rinsed himself clean with [Create Water], scrubbing the stink of goblin blood from his skin before it could cling. His breathing was steady, his smirk intact. To anyone looking, he’d only been out for another one of his long “runs.”

He slipped through the back door as usual, already planning to head for his room. But then he heard it—silence.

Not the comfortable quiet of a house winding down, but the heavy kind that pressed on the chest.

The living room lamps were lit, though no one spoke. Elaine sat on the couch, her posture rigid, hands clenched tightly together on her lap. Her embroidery needle lay discarded on the table, thread tangled mid-stitch. Viola sat beside her, not bouncing with restless energy for once but slouched forward, elbows on her knees, lips pressed tight. Luna stood just behind them, her usual mask calm, though the way her hands folded behind her back looked almost forced.

None of them even noticed Ludger at first.

He leaned against the doorway, raising a brow at the sight. “What’s with the funeral faces? Don’t tell me Viola finally burned water.”

Viola’s head snapped up, cheeks flushing red. “I told you, I don’t do that anymore!” Her protest rang sharp in the still air, but it didn’t carry its usual fire.

Elaine’s lips twitched faintly, as though she wanted to scold him, but the expression quickly dissolved back into worry. She exhaled softly, eyes clouded.

Luna’s gaze flicked to Ludger, steady and cool as always, though there was a subtle weight in it—like she was measuring how he’d react to the mood.

The silence lingered a moment longer before Ludger pushed off the doorway, smirk faint but pointed. “Alright, then. If nobody’s dead, someone better start talking.”

Elaine finally looked at him, her voice low and strained. “News came from the border… and it isn’t good.”

The words fell heavy, dragging the room back into quiet once more.

Elaine didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached to the table beside her, where a folded letter lay with its seal already broken. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she picked it up and extended it to Ludger.

“It came this morning,” she said, her voice thin.

Ludger took the parchment, the familiar scratch of his father’s handwriting spilling across the page:

To my family,

Don’t worry. We’re fine. The fighting is steady, but we’re holding. Lord Torvares is still pushing hard, but his presence keeps the men sharp. We’ll remain at the border a while longer, until things stabilize.

Keep the house warm. Don’t let Viola slack off in training. And tell Ludger to eat more—he’s too thin for his own good.

—Arslan

The tone was casual, almost joking, the kind of words meant to reassure. Ludger’s lips pressed into a line as he folded the letter back up.

Three months since they last showed their faces here. Six months since I saw Aronia at all. The druid’s absence troubled him. She had been the one keeping their party alive at the border, and now she was still out there—working, holding broken soldiers together while others came home for breath.

Elaine sat rigid, eyes fixed on nothing. “He says not to worry.”

Her words carried no conviction. Ludger glanced at her, noting the tightness in her jaw, the way her shoulders hunched as though carrying something heavier than she wanted to admit. Elaine’s hands, usually so steady when managing coin and contracts at the tavern, fidgeted in her lap.

She knows more. The tavern’s a crossroads—merchants, mercenaries, all passing through with whispers from the front. She’s hearing things Arslan won’t put in a letter.

Viola leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, trying to look unbothered. But her foot tapped against the floor in restless rhythm. “He always says that. ‘Don’t worry. We’re fine.’ It’s a lie.”

Luna remained silent behind them, her gaze flicking to Ludger for the briefest moment before returning to the shadows.

Ludger smirked faintly, though there was no humor in it. “If he tells us not to worry, then it means there’s something worth worrying about.”

Elaine closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. “…Yes.”

The word was quiet, almost swallowed by the room.

Elaine pressed her palms together tightly, as though the pressure might steady her trembling fingers. She stared at the floor, voice low, almost reluctant.

“There are things the letter doesn’t say. Things I’ve been hearing at the tavern.” She swallowed, then looked up, eyes clouded with fear and anger. “It sounds as though the Empire is… giving up on that border.”

Viola sat upright, her face hardening. “What do you mean, giving up? That’s insane! If they abandon the border, the barbarians will just—”

“I know,” Elaine cut in sharply, then softened, as if her own words had startled her. “I know. But it’s hard to tell who is truly pulling the strings. Merchants, soldiers, even wounded veterans—every whisper says the same thing. Supplies are thinning, reinforcements delayed, orders from the capital twisted in ways that weaken the front. And all of it pushes in one direction: Lord Torvares is being forced to fight with less.”

Her hands clenched tighter, knuckles whitening. “It reeks of politics. His enemies in the capital are influencing decisions, dragging their feet, cutting support, so that when the border falters, it will be laid at his feet.”

Viola’s fists balled on her knees, her voice rising in anger. “So they’d rather see him fail than protect their own lands?!”

Elaine’s lips pressed thin. “Power means more to them than land. Or lives.”

Ludger leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, smirk thin but edged with steel. So it’s true. The war isn’t just against barbarians. It’s against vultures in silk, circling for a chance to gut Viola Grandfather’s name.

Luna remained silent, her gaze steady, but her expression unreadable.

The room was thick with gloom again, the weight of it pressing against Ludger’s chest. Yet beneath it, his mind was already turning. If the Empire won’t protect the border, then it’s up to the ones still standing there. And when they fall, the rest of us will be next.

Elaine’s voice dropped lower, almost as if speaking the words aloud gave them more weight.

“And it isn’t just the war itself,” she said. “The rumors point to the labyrinth as well. After all this time, it seems the Empire has decided to… give up on it.”

Ludger’s brow arched, but he stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“The barbarians have been using it too long, funneling their strongest through its depths. Every day, they grow bolder—stronger. The veterans who pass through the tavern whisper that their warriors fight like men possessed, their shamans wielding strange mana the border troops can’t match. It all points to the labyrinth feeding them.”

Viola clenched her fists. “So instead of cutting it off, the Empire’s just… walking away?”

Elaine nodded grimly. “That’s what it looks like. The Empire assumes the barbarians won’t march beyond the border towns if left to their dungeon. That they’ll stay put so long as they have their labyrinth to grow fat on.”

Ludger’s smirk curled bitter. So the Empire thinks it can buy peace with cowardice. Abandon the labyrinth, abandon the families holding the frontier, and pretend the fire won’t spread past the walls.

Elaine’s expression darkened further. “It’s a gamble. One made from the safety of the capital, with the cost paid in border blood.”

The room went silent again. Viola’s breath came sharp and angry, her face red with fury. Luna’s eyes narrowed faintly, as though committing every word to memory.

Ludger leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, gaze sharpening. If the Empire can’t take back the labyrinth, someone else will have to. Otherwise, every day the barbarians stay inside it, they’ll come out stronger—and the border weaker. Until one day, there’s nothing left to stop them from marching further.

Ludger stayed quiet, leaning against the wall with arms folded, eyes half-lidded as he studied the room. Elaine’s worry sat heavy, Viola’s anger simmered like a boiling pot, and Luna—as always—was a blade sheathed in silence.

Inside, his thoughts churned. Is it even worth the hassle to get involved in this mess? The border wasn’t his battlefield. He was eight now. He had his own grind, his own goals. Strength, independence, influence—that was what mattered. Not cleaning up the Empire’s cowardice.

And yet… he glanced at Viola. She wasn’t hiding her expression at all. Eyes narrowed, fists clenched, her mind clearly racing. Plotting. She’s already thinking about what to do. That reckless fire in her isn’t going to burn out just because the Empire gave up.

It wasn’t hard to predict the outcome. Viola would try something, sooner or later. And when she did, he’d be dragged along whether he wanted it or not.

Ludger’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Lord Torvares… the old bull isn’t the type to retreat. If the capital wants him dead, he’ll dig his heels into the dirt out of spite. He’ll bleed the border dry before letting them win. And that means Viola—hell, all of us—will be tied to his last stand whether we like it or not.

He exhaled slowly, smirk fading into a thin, grim line. Politics, war, labyrinths… all messes I’d rather avoid. But if they’re coming anyway, then I need to be ready. Because once her Grandfather dies—or refuses to die—the storm will roll downhill straight toward us.

The silence stretched until Elaine finally excused herself, muttering something about needing air. Viola stayed behind, arms crossed, still fuming quietly on the couch. Her eyes burned with that restless fire Ludger knew too well—already spinning some half-baked scheme about the border, about proving herself.

When she finally stormed off toward her room, Luna’s gaze followed her until the door shut. Only then did she step closer to Ludger, her voice pitched low, meant only for him.

“She’s plotting,” Luna said simply, silver eyes narrowing. “I can feel it. Your sister won’t sit still. Not when the border, and Lord Torvares are all in play. She’ll act.”

Ludger snorted softly, shrugging one shoulder. “Of course she will. That’s Viola.”

“You sound unconcerned.”

“I’m not,” Ludger replied flatly. His smirk was faint, but his tone carried no humor. “But what can I do? Chain her to the wall? If she decides to throw herself into the fire, nothing short of knocking her unconscious will stop her. And I don’t have the luxury of following her around just to keep her alive.”

Luna studied him, sharp and unreadable.

Ludger exhaled through his nose, his gaze drifting toward Elaine’s empty seat. “I can’t leave my mother behind. Not with all this circling around us. Not safe for her body—and not safe for her mind, either. If Viola runs off, she runs off. But me? I’m staying here.”

The words were blunt, heavy, and true. He wasn’t going to gamble Elaine’s safety on Viola’s recklessness. Not now.

Luna gave the faintest nod, though her eyes lingered on him, thoughtful. “Then you’ll need to prepare. Because when she leaves… she won’t leave quietly.”

Ludger smirked again, sharper this time. “No. She never does.”

Once Luna slipped away, the house grew still again. Ludger remained where he was, leaning against the wall, eyes fixed on the flickering lamp in the living room. His smirk had long since faded.

He didn’t think his father would die. Arslan was too stubborn, too reckless, and had a party that had dragged him through worse already. Harold’s axe, Selene’s discipline, Aleia’s precision, Aronia’s healing—they made him harder to kill than most.

But surviving and returning weren’t the same thing.

Ludger rubbed his thumb against the edge of his armguards. Three months gone. And now this letter, telling us not to worry, written like a man scribbling over a bleeding wound. He’s alive, sure. But “alive” doesn’t mean he’s coming home soon.

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and quiet. If the border really is being left to rot, then they’ll be stuck there longer than anyone wants to admit. Lord Torvares won’t back down, and my father won’t leave his side. Which means… waiting. Endless waiting.

The weight of it pressed down, heavy and irritating. Elaine’s strained smile, Viola’s plotting fire, Luna’s steady watch—it all hinged on the men at the border, on decisions being made far away in halls of power that didn’t care about them.

Ludger’s fists clenched at his sides. I hate it. Sitting here, waiting, pretending it’ll all sort itself out. If I can’t change the war, then I’ll change myself. That’s the only thing I control.

The lamp guttered, shadows stretching across the room. Ludger stood there a moment longer in silence, then turned and headed for his room, mind already moving back to his next plan for training.

That night, the house was quiet again, the kind of silence that followed heavy words and tired hearts. Ludger sat on the edge of his bed, unstrapping his shin guards, when a soft knock came at his door.

“Ludger,” Elaine’s voice whispered.

He frowned slightly but didn’t tell her to go away. A moment later, the door opened, and she slipped inside, her hair loose around her shoulders, her face pale in the lamplight.

For once, she didn’t scold him for being awake so late. She simply sat down beside him on the bed, folding her hands tightly in her lap.

“I know you’ve noticed,” she said quietly, her voice trembling but firm. “Viola… she won’t sit still. Not after hearing this news. She’ll do something reckless.”

Ludger kept his eyes on her, waiting. Elaine drew a breath, then looked at him directly. “When that time comes, I want you to go with her. Keep her safe.”

The words hit harder than he expected. Ludger blinked, caught off guard. “…You’re telling me to go with her? You?”

Normally she clung to him, protective to the point of suffocation, terrified of even the smallest risk. But now—now she was telling him to leave her side, to step into danger for someone else.

Elaine’s lips trembled, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I want you here, Ludger. More than anything. But I know her. She’ll throw herself into the fire, and no matter how much I try to stop her, she won’t listen. If she’s going to run headlong into danger… she needs you with her. You’re the only one I can trust to protect her.”

For the first time in a long while, Ludger didn’t have a ready smirk or a sarcastic jab. He simply stared at her, silent, a faint weight pressing on his chest.

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