The guildhall’s doors groaned as Ludger pushed them open. Dust motes swirled in the stale air, disturbed for the first time in days. The place was cavernous but empty—rows of tables overturned or left to rot, a long counter lined with cracked mugs and dried stains of ale. Cobwebs stretched lazily across the beams above, and the smell of mildew mixed with the sour tang of old liquor.

It wasn’t surprising. A guild that had lost its name lost its people too.

They crossed the creaking floor, their footsteps echoing in the hollow space. Viola wrinkled her nose. “This is disgusting. How is this supposed to be a guild?”

“Look around,” Ludger said dryly. “It’s what happens when one collapses.”

Luna stayed quiet, eyes sharp, scanning every shadow.

Then they spotted him—on the far side of the balcony, sprawled on the wooden floor like a discarded sack. A middle-aged man, snoring loudly, one arm wrapped possessively around a half-empty bottle. Another bottle lay tipped over nearby, its contents long since spilled into the floorboards.

His appearance told the story before his mouth ever could. His once-broad frame had gone soft, his gut pressing against a loose, sweat-stained shirt. His face was rough with an unkempt beard streaked in gray, skin sallow from years of poor drink and poorer sleep. His hair, long enough to tie, hung in greasy clumps over his face.

The lines around his eyes were deep, not from laughter but from years of frowning, squinting, and drowning himself in bottles. Even in sleep, his jaw twitched, teeth grinding faintly, like a man haunted by the weight of failures he couldn’t escape.

The reek of booze rolled off him in waves, sharp enough to make Viola gag and cover her nose.

“This?” she hissed, eyes wide. “This is the teacher? He looks like he’s been wasting away for years!”

Ludger narrowed his eyes, studying the man. A wreck. Which means her Grandfather sent us here for a reason.

The man snorted mid-snore, coughed, and clutched the bottle tighter.

Ludger’s smirk was cold. “Well. Looks like class is about to get interesting.”

The man’s snoring hitched into a wet cough. He stirred, blinking blearily as the bottle rolled out of his grip and clinked against the floor. His bloodshot eyes cracked open, and he squinted at the three figures looming over him.

“Ahhh… finally,” he slurred, voice gravelly from drink and sleep. “You bastards came back… took you long enough. Where’s my cut, eh? Don’t tell me you lost the shipment again…”

Viola froze, mouth half open. “What?”

Luna’s brow arched slightly, but her face remained calm.

Ludger, however, smirked. Oh, this could be fun. He folded his arms and leaned against a nearby table, playing it straight.

“Yeah,” Ludger said evenly, nodding once. “We had some… trouble on the road. Bandits. Took half the goods.”

The man groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Knew it… knew I shouldn’t’ve trusted you lot… bloody useless, the whole bunch of you.” He waved a hand, trying to sit up but nearly toppling over again. “What about the gold, eh? Don’t tell me that’s gone too.”

Viola looked at Ludger like he’d grown another head. What are you doing? her eyes screamed.

Ludger didn’t blink. “Of course not,” he said smoothly. “We’ve got the gold. Just waiting on your brilliant instructions… boss.”

The man blinked at him, swaying slightly, then let out a raspy laugh that turned into another cough. “Hah! Brilliant, he says… smart lad. Smarter than the rest of ‘em, at least.” He clutched for his bottle again, realized it was empty, and tossed it aside.

Viola hissed under her breath, “Are you seriously playing along with this drunk?”

“Yes,” Ludger muttered back, smirk tugging at his lips. “Because it’s funny.”

The man slumped back against the wall, chuckling to himself. “Finally got someone who listens… maybe there’s hope for this sorry lot after all…”

He drifted back toward half-sleep, still mumbling.

Ludger tilted his head, watching him. If this is the teacher Torvares sent me to… then either he’s insane, or he knows something we don’t.

Viola buried her face in her hands. “We’re doomed.”

Ludger crouched nearby, chin in hand, smirking as the drunk rambled about “shipments” and “useless underlings.” Part of him wanted to keep stringing the man along—there was no telling what kind of nonsense might spill out.

But after another round of slurred curses and half-chuckles, even Ludger’s patience wore thin. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and held up a hand. Mana flared briefly.

[Create Water]

A splash of cold water burst into existence and crashed over the man’s face.

He jerked upright with a strangled cough, sputtering as he wiped his dripping beard. “Wh-what the hell—?!” His eyes darted wildly, and his hand shot up.

A surge of mana pulsed. Ludger’s eyes narrowed as a wall of stone appeared—not rising from the cracked floorboards, but simply manifesting out of thin air at the man’s side. A chunk of rock just… popped into existence, jagged and uneven, slamming down beside him with a heavy thunk.

It wasn’t positioned to protect him. If anything, it left him just as exposed, the placement almost random.

Viola jumped back, eyes wide. “Whoa! He just—”

Ludger frowned. That’s not how earth magic is supposed to behave. It’s supposed to draw from the ground, not conjure itself midair.

The man coughed again, swiping water from his eyes, blinking blearily at them. He was awake, yes—but not fully there. His gaze struggled to focus, his posture slouched, and his breathing carried the stale edge of alcohol.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” he rasped, voice low but unsteady.

Ludger tilted his head, arms folding across his chest, smirk tugging faintly at his lips. “That’s a better question for you.”

The jagged rock at the man’s side crumbled into dust, leaving only the sour smell of booze behind.

Ludger pulled the folded parchment from his pack and tossed it lightly onto the man’s chest. “Here. Read this. It’s from Lord Torvares.”

The man blinked, squinting at the seal like it might sprout teeth. He fumbled with the wax, tore it open, and dragged his eyes across the text. His lips moved as though reading silently to himself, but every other line he stopped to rub his face with both hands, groaning.

“…damn letters… can’t even see straight…” he muttered, smearing water and grime over his already sallow skin. He blinked again, tried to focus, then let the parchment drop with a weary sigh.

“Torvares,” he rasped, yawning so wide his jaw popped. “I remember hearing something… a while back. He wanted me for something. A proposal. A position. I told him to shove it.”

Viola’s mouth fell open. “You refused Grandfather?”

The man waved a hand lazily, reaching for the empty bottle at his side before realizing it was dry. “Didn’t want the trouble. Didn’t want the leash. Thought that was the end of it. Guess my answer didn’t matter, huh?” He gave a crooked, bitter grin, rubbing his temples. “Now here I am, and instead of his messengers, I get—what? Three kids dumped at my doorstep?”

He barked out a humorless laugh, coughing halfway through. “Has the old bastard finally lost his mind, or does he just want to waste my time?”

Ludger studied him in silence, eyes narrowing. So, you said no—and yet here we are. Which means her Grandfather doesn’t care what you want. He only cares what you can teach us.

“Maybe both,” Ludger said at last, his tone sharp and dry.

The man squinted at him, eyes bloodshot but just a little clearer now. “Hah. You’ve got his tongue, at least. Sharp as a blade.”

Viola crossed her arms, frowning. “Sharp, but useless if this guy just sleeps on the floor all day.”

The man ignored her, stretching out with a groan like his bones had rusted years ago. “Fine. If Torvares insists… let’s see if I can remember how to deal with brats.”

The man stretched, joints cracking, then dragged himself to his feet with a grunt. He swayed once, caught his balance against the wall, and rubbed his eyes again.

“Alright, brats,” he rasped. “If Torvares wants me to waste my time, then let’s start simple. Your first test…” He swept his arm lazily across the dusty, cobweb-choked hall. “…clean the guild.”

Viola’s face twisted in outrage. “What?! That’s not a test, that’s— that’s free labor!” She jabbed a finger at him, her wooden sword rattling against her back. “You just want to use us like a bunch of servants!”

The man yawned so hard it looked painful. “Smart girl. Took you less than a minute to figure it out.” He smirked faintly, crooked teeth showing through his unshaven beard. “Now get to it.”

Viola sputtered, half-furious, half-scandalized. “That’s ridiculous! Ludger, tell him this is ridiculous!”

Ludger, arms folded, leaned against a half-broken table. He scanned the guild again: overturned chairs, grime layering the floor, the sour smell of rot from spilled ale that had soaked into the planks. His smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. A test, huh? Maybe he’s not as gone as he looks.

“Cleaning, huh?” Ludger said slowly. “Guess it’s one way to see if we quit before we start.”

Viola gawked at him. “You can’t be serious!”

“I’m always serious,” Ludger said, though his eyes gleamed with amusement.

Luna, already pulling a cloth from her pack, said calmly, “I’ll start with the windows.”

Viola threw her hands up. “Unbelievable! I didn’t come here to sweep floors!”

The man lowered himself back onto his rickety chair, fishing around for another bottle. “Then you’ll learn nothing. Guild’s not just glory and rewards, girl. It’s dirty work first. Always dirty work first.”

Ludger smirked. So, the old drunk does have a lesson buried under the booze… I sure hope so.

Viola stomped her foot, glaring at both of them like she’d been personally betrayed. “This is humiliating! Grandfather sends us to learn magic, and instead we’re stuck doing chores for some drunk! I should be sparring, not scrubbing floors!”

Still, she yanked a broom from the corner and jabbed it at a pile of dust, muttering curses under her breath the whole time. Every stroke looked more like she was trying to kill the dirt than sweep it.

Ludger smirked faintly, already dragging a broken chair upright so he could move it aside. “Complain all you want, but we’re going to be here for a while. You want to live in a pile of filth? Or do you want a place that doesn’t smell like a drunk’s socks?”

Viola huffed, cheeks puffing out, but she didn’t stop sweeping. “Still feels like we’re being scammed.”

“Probably are,” Ludger said, voice dry. He kicked aside a bottle, then added, “But better to get it done than waste more energy whining about it.”

Luna, wiping down a cracked window with calm precision, glanced their way. “Besides, if we stay here, it’s our home too. Keeping it clean is practical.”

Viola groaned theatrically. “Even you’re siding with him?!”

Ludger smirked, leaning on the broom he’d grabbed. “Welcome to reality. It’s a dirty floor and no one else is going to clean it for you.”

On the far side of the hall, the drunk man snickered softly into his beard, watching them through half-lidded eyes. He didn’t seem interested in the dust or the overturned tables—his gaze lingered instead on how they worked.

The three of them fell into a rhythm—dust rising in choking clouds as brooms scraped and cloths dragged across warped wood. Viola muttered complaints under her breath, Luna worked in silence, and Ludger methodically shifted furniture, clearing space like he was moving pieces on a board.

A chair creaked from the far side of the hall. Ludger glanced over just in time to see the drunk haul himself up with a groan, stretch until his back popped, and wander toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Viola demanded, broom in hand like she was ready to hit him with it.

The man didn’t even look back. “Out.” The door slammed behind him, and that was that.

Silence hung heavy for a moment. Viola sputtered, nearly choking on indignation. “He just—he just left! He told us to clean and then he left!”

Luna kept wiping down the window, her expression calm but sharp. “Did you expect him to help?”

“I expected him to at least pretend!” Viola said, stabbing her broom into the dirt pile like it was his face.

Ludger set a broken stool aside, jaw tight. If he comes back with another bottle while we’re in here choking on dust, I swear I’ll knock the light out of him. His smirk returned, faint and dangerous. That’d be one lesson he wouldn’t forget.

But he didn’t voice it. He just went back to moving the tables, silent, methodical, already knowing this “teacher” was going to be nothing like Yvar—and maybe that was the point.

Once the door slammed behind the drunk, Ludger exhaled through his nose and rolled up his sleeves. “Fine. Let’s make this quick.”

He snapped his fingers, mana sparking faintly as a stream of [Create Water] burst from his palm. He let it splash across the filth-caked tables, soaking years of grime into something that could actually be wiped away. Another flick of his wrist summoned [Cold Wind], sharp and clean, blowing dust out through the broken shutters instead of letting it choke them.

The difference was immediate. What would’ve taken hours of coughing and swearing shrank into something manageable.

Viola, still grumbling, actually paused mid-sweep to stare. “Wait—so you’ve had that the whole time, and you made me sweep like an idiot?”

Ludger smirked, pouring another controlled stream of water over the cracked floorboards. “Training, remember? You said you wanted to be an Amazon warrior. Real warriors don’t get spared from chores.”

“I never said that!”

“I guess it was my imagination, then.”

She groaned, stamping the broom down. “ You’re seriously… a pain in the ass..”

“Efficient,” Ludger corrected. He sent another gust of cold wind blasting through the rafters, clearing cobwebs in a single shot.

Luna worked steadily beside him, eyes faintly approving. “Simple magic. Practical use. This is exactly what most nobles overlook.”

Ludger shrugged, a faint smirk tugging his lips. Practical beats flashy every time.

By the time the sun dipped lower through the broken windows, the hall actually looked inhabitable. Dust heaps were gone, tables scrubbed, and the sour smell had been chased out by sharp, clean air.

That was when the door creaked open again.

The drunk shuffled back in—not with a bottle, but with a wrapped bundle under one arm and a sack slung over his shoulder. The smell of warm bread and dried meat drifted into the hall.

Viola blinked in surprise. “…Wait. You actually brought food?”

The man dropped the bundle onto the nearest table and yawned. “What? Thought I’d let my new labor force starve?” He smirked, crooked and tired. “I’m not that heartless.”

Ludger narrowed his eyes, lips twitching into a faint smile. Not booze, huh? Maybe there’s more to this wreck than he lets on.

The man dropped into a chair with a heavy thud, rubbing his temples as though the walk outside had aged him another decade. He waved a hand lazily toward the bundle of bread and meat.

“Eat. Then sleep. Tomorrow morning, you can leave.”

Viola froze halfway to tearing a loaf apart. “…What? That’s it? You drag us into this rotten hall, make us clean it, then tell us to leave?!”

The man yawned, long and loud, not even looking at her. “Torvares sends brats to my doorstep, I give you a chore, you finish it. That’s more than enough. Job’s done.”

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