The next morning, the courtyard rang with Arslan’s voice, already barking corrections at Viola as she hacked at a training dummy. Ludger arrived a little later, shin guards strapped on tight—heavier now, each lined with slim pieces of iron he’d slid inside at dawn.

Arslan raised an eyebrow at the way Ludger tightened the straps, then chuckled. “Weighted gear, huh? Old-fashioned, but it’ll toughen your legs. Just don’t snap your knees.”

Viola tilted her head, wiping sweat from her brow. “What’s the point of dragging yourself around like a mule? You’ll just get slower.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “That’s the idea.” He didn’t explain further, and after a moment of confusion, she rolled her eyes and went back to her swings.

When his turn came to move, he launched into drills—Dash bursts across the yard, Quickstride steps in sharp rhythms, pivots and sudden stops. At first, he felt no difference. His legs still obeyed, his bursts still carried him forward, his balance stayed tight.

But ten minutes in, sweat began to sting his eyes. Twenty minutes in, his breathing was heavier than usual. By thirty minutes, his calves burned like fire, his thighs trembling with every step.

That was when he felt it—the drag. The weights weren’t noticeable at full strength, but when his body wore down, they pulled at every stride, every landing. His stamina bled faster, every Dash leaving him more drained.

Ludger slowed, planting his hands on his knees, smirking despite the sweat pouring off his chin. So that’s how it works. It’s not about speed at the start. It’s about breaking me down until even walking feels like training.

Arslan chuckled again, crossing his arms. “Stubborn Luds. You’ll tear your legs off before you even get taller.”

Viola scowled. “He’s just trying to look cool. I could do that if I wanted to.”

Ludger straightened, still panting, still smirking. “Then try it.”

She looked away with a huff, swinging her sword harder into the dummy.

By the time the drills ended, Ludger’s shirt clung to his back and his legs felt like lead. Every Dash left his lungs burning, every Quickstride step sent fire shooting through his calves.

But when he finally slowed and the familiar flicker of notifications pulsed across his vision, he knew it had been worth it.

----------------------------------------

[Skill Progress]

Dash + 300 experience

Quickstride +150 experience

----------------------------------------

Ludger wiped sweat from his brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. So it works. The weights force the skills to work harder. More strain, more growth.

He collapsed onto the edge of the training platform, rolling his shoulders. His legs throbbed with dull, heavy ache, the kind that promised they’d lock up tomorrow. Normally he’d let it heal slow. But he had another tool now.

Ludger placed his palm over his thigh, mana gathering at his fingertips. The faint glow of [Healing Touch] spread warmth through the muscle, knitting fibers, soothing the worst of the strain without erasing it completely.

Relief washed through him as the ache dulled. He shifted to the other leg, repeating the process until both felt less like broken stone and more like tempered steel.

He leaned back, exhaling, smirk widening. Push the body past its limit. Tear it down. Then rebuild it with healing until it’s stronger than before.

His fingers flexed, armguards glinting in the sunlight. That’s how I’ll sharpen myself faster than anyone else. Not just training. Controlled destruction and repair.

He looked across the yard at Viola sparring with Arslan, her Overdrive flaring wildly, her laughter echoing.

She grows with instinct and talent. I’ll grow with precision.

Two weeks passed in sweat, bruises, and the grind of weighted runs. Every day Ludger strapped on the iron-lined guards, every night he used [Healing Touch] to keep his legs from locking up. Little by little, the strain turned into strength. His stride lengthened, his breathing steadied, his bursts of Dash and Quickstride came sharper.

When he tested the route again, pushing himself across the open fields and dirt roads, the difference was clear.

Ludger smirked as he stood at the edge of the dungeon, steam rising from his skin. Five minutes. Not bad. Slow progress, but steady. And steady wins when the others burn themselves out.

Satisfied, he turned back, pacing himself for the long jog home. But when he returned to the estate, his smirk faded.

Arslan was in the courtyard again, this time not barking encouragement at Viola, but tightening the straps on his armor. His pack was already half-filled, cloak folded across it. Selene and Harold checked their weapons nearby, Cor was sealing scroll cases into waterproof tubes.

They were preparing to leave. Back to the frontlines. Back to the war.

Ludger leaned against the porch railing, silent, watching his father’s booming laughter echo through the yard as he joked with his companions like it was just another adventure.

And here I am… running, training, counting minutes.

He exhaled slowly, brows furrowing. Is it fine for me to focus only on myself while the rest of them fight and bleed? While Viola’s Grandfather pushes to end the war, while even Aronia is still out there healing soldiers?

His hand clenched around the railing. The weight of his progress suddenly felt smaller in comparison to the war waiting beyond the horizon.

Arslan caught sight of Ludger leaning against the porch, his face serious in a way no seven-year-old’s should be. For a moment, the old adventurer’s grin softened.

“Oi, Luds,” he called, strapping his gauntlet tight with a snap. “What’s with that long face? You look like someone stole your coin purse.”

Ludger didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked from Arslan’s pack to Selene’s polished blade, to Harold’s axe resting on his shoulder and Selene checking her arrows“You’re going back.”

Arslan gave a one-shouldered shrug, casual as ever. “Of course. Border’s not going to hold itself. Old man Torvares is still pushing, and he’ll scream his lungs out if I sit around too long.” He grinned, sharp and carefree. “Besides, it’s fun. Nothing like breaking bones and sharing drinks on the same day.”

Ludger frowned. “Fun? People are dying.”

Arslan scratched the back of his head, chuckling. “True. And that’s exactly why I go. To make sure fewer of ours die than theirs. That’s the game, son.” He crouched down to meet Ludger’s eyes, his expression softening under the swagger. “Don’t carry that weight yet. Your time’ll come, but not today. Right now, your job is to get strong, stay sharp, and make sure your mother doesn’t lose her mind worrying.”

Ludger stared back, lips pressed thin. “So I just focus on myself?”

Arslan smirked, tapping him lightly on the chest with a gauntleted finger. “Exactly. You think I started out holding lines against armies? Hah. I was chasing chickens and nearly getting killed by wolves when I was your age. You’re already ahead.”

Then, with a booming laugh, he stood, swinging his pack over his shoulder. “Trust me, Luds. When the time’s right, you won’t need to ask if you should fight. The world will shove the blade into your hand. Or perhaps you will shove your fist in the enemy's faces.”

Ludger’s smirk returned, faint and dry. As if it hasn’t already.

Arslan’s laughter faded into the noise of his companions making final checks, but Ludger stayed rooted on the porch. The words echoed in his skull, sharper than his father probably intended.

When the time’s right, you won’t need to ask if you should fight.

Ludger clenched his fists, the weight of the armguards grounding him. His father thought he was ahead for his age—but “ahead” meant nothing when the world was already pushing assassins into his yard and dragging his family into wars.

No. I can’t just be ahead. I have to be undeniable.

If Elaine doubted him, she would cage him. If Viola outpaced him, she would drag him. If the world underestimated him, it would crush him. The only answer was to climb so high, so fast, that no one—not even Mother—could question whether he would survive the battlefield.

He straightened, the smirk tugging at his lips sharper this time. Train harder. Break down and rebuild. Push until even the battlefield itself feels easier than the drills I put myself through.

Weights weren’t enough anymore. He needed more. Longer runs. Heavier loads. More mana burned and healed, until his body could endure cycles no ordinary fighter could match.

He imagined Elaine’s face when she saw him walk through blood and smoke without faltering. Not fear, not doubt—only belief that her son couldn’t be broken.

That was the goal. That was survival. And Ludger would tear himself apart every day until it became reality.

The next days fell into rhythm—a grind sharpened by intent.

Morning: Ludger sparred with Viola until sweat stung his eyes and bruises marked his arms. Her Overdrive flares came faster now, her bursts more dangerous, and every session forced him to adapt or get clipped. Sometimes he let her land a strike just to test how hard she’d grown. Other times, he made her eat dirt to remind her who was still ahead.

Midday: While Elaine handled the tavern’s business and scolded lazy staff into line, Ludger slipped among the patrons. Travelers, mercenaries, laborers—men and women who walked in battered from the road or scarred from bad luck. He didn’t charge much. Sometimes nothing at all. Just a hand on a shoulder, a glow of [Healing Touch], and the ache vanished. Their gratitude was quiet, but the looks lingered. Coins came too, clinking into his pouch often enough to keep the business side alive. But the real treasure was the weight of favors stacking in his pocket.

Afternoon: He returned to the house, strapped on his weighted guards, and pushed his body until it screamed. Runs across the city walls, dashes up the hills beyond the gates, strength drills that left his arms shaking. He ran himself ragged, then rebuilt with mana, tearing muscle down and knitting it stronger, over and over until he couldn’t feel the difference between exhaustion and progress.

Night: When the house quieted, Ludger’s room filled with the glow of mana. He practiced until his Spiritual Core burned like coal, summoning bolts of light and compressing them tighter, pushing his control to new thresholds. The armguards hummed with every pulse, the mana circuits in his body buzzing hot until sleep dragged him under against his will.

Day after day, the cycle repeated. Spar. Heal. Break. Rebuild. Burn. Repeat. It wasn’t balance. It was obsession disguised as discipline. And slowly, Ludger felt himself sharpening. Each session heavier. Each spell cleaner. Each day another stone laid on the path to becoming unbreakable.

Name: Ludger

Level: 27 (1,450 / 2,800)

Current Job: Cook (Lv 30 – 620 / 3,000)

Current Class: Pugilist (Lv 26 – 1,300 / 2,700)

Health: 990 / 990

Mana: 2,090 / 2,090

Stamina: 1,580 / 1,580

Strength: 97

Dexterity: 114

Intelligence: 140

Vitality: 99

Wisdom: 209

Endurance: 158

Luck: 45

Class and Job Skills

Pugilist Lv 26 (+2 STR, +2 VIT/level)

[Hard Fists Lv 25]

[Iron Guard Lv 17]

[Quick Fists Lv 02]

[Quick Kicks Lv 03]

[Bone Breaker Lv 01]

Cook Lv 30 (+1 DEX, +1 INT, +1 WIS/level)

[Knife Handling Lv 30]

[Seasoning Sense Lv 22]

[Fire Control Lv 19]

[Food Preservation Lv 18]

[Butchery Lv 01]

Mage Lv 23 (+2 INT, +2 WIS/level)

[Create Water Lv 18]

[Tinder Lv 10]

[Dust Lv 04]

[Cold Wind Lv 04]

[Mana Pulse Lv 01]

Swordsman Lv 21 (+2 STR, +2 DEX/level)

[Basic Swordplay Lv 12]

[Parry Lv 05]

[Quick Thrust Lv 03]

[Counter Stance Lv 03]

[Guard Break Lv 01]

Sage Lv 20 (+2 INT, +4 WIS/level)

[Mana Bolt Lv 10]

[Mana Wall Lv 06]

[Spiritual Core Lv 06]

[Meditation Lv 01]

Druid Lv 10 (+3 INT, +3 WIS/level)

[Healing Touch Lv 11]

[Root Snare Lv 01]

[Herbal Whisper Lv 01]

Bard Lv 06 (+1 INT, +1 WIS, +1 DEX/level)

[Song of Ease Lv 11]

[Battle Rhythm Lv 01]

Courier Lv 10 (+1 DEX, +3 END/level)

[Dash Lv 11]

[Quickstride Lv 06]

[Endless Stride Lv 01]

Assassin Lv 06 (+2 DEX, +2 END, +3 LUK/level)

[Silent Steps Lv 11]

[Vein Pierce Lv 01]

Two months bled into each other, day after day of the same brutal routine. Ludger sparred until bruises painted his arms purple, ran until steam rolled off his skin, burned his mana dry and stitched himself back together with glowing hands. The tavern grew louder and fuller under Elaine’s management, but for Ludger it was just another place to plant favors and polish his reputation.

And little by little, the changes showed. His strides grew sharper, his bursts longer. His punches cracked wood harder than before, his mana flared steadier, his stamina stretched further. His body was rebuilding itself into something tougher every day.

Viola noticed. At first, she scowled whenever he slipped past her guard too easily, muttering about him “cheating” with new tricks. But she wasn’t blind. She saw the sweat, the weighted guards, the way his mana burned late into the night. She saw the price of his progress.

So she stopped complaining.

Instead, she threw herself into her own drills harder than ever. Even on her supposed rest days, Viola dragged Luna into the yard to spar, her blade cutting the air long after the sun went down. If Ludger was pulling ahead, then she refused to let the gap widen without a fight.

The courtyard became a forge, hammering both of them harder with each passing day.

Ludger smirked every time he saw her push herself, but inside, he welcomed it. Good. If she climbs too, then I’ll climb higher. That’s how it should be.

The morning sun cast long lines across the courtyard as the siblings squared off. Viola’s blade hummed with aura, her stance taut like a coiled spring. Ludger stood opposite, gauntlets raised, his smirk faint but confident.

“Ready?” Viola asked, her breath already steadying.

“Always.”

She shot forward in a burst of Overdrive, legs flaring with mana. Her wooden sword came down in a vicious arc, sharp enough to rattle the bones of anyone foolish enough to block it head-on.

But Ludger wasn’t foolish.

He twisted aside, her strike carving through the air, and his armguard tapped the flat of her blade just enough to deflect her momentum. Viola pivoted, teeth gritted, and launched a thrust straight for his chest.

This time Ludger met it with his bare hand, gauntlet shimmering faintly with mana reinforcement. The wood cracked against his palm, and for an instant, her eyes widened.

“Idiot! You’ll break your hand fighting like that!” she barked, yanking the blade back.

Ludger only grinned, pushing forward into her guard. “Maybe. But if I’m close enough, you won’t get to swing again.”

His fist shot past her cheek, stopping just shy of her ear. Viola felt the rush of air and stumbled back, glaring.

Her frustration only sharpened her offense. She spun low, aura flaring in her legs again, and struck upward in a diagonal slash meant to catch him off-balance. Ludger slid back with Quickstride, the strike grazing his gauntlet instead of his ribs. He parried the follow-up with a short chop of his forearm, sparks flying as wood clashed against steel.

Viola panted, sweat streaking her brow. Every charge came faster, every strike heavier—but every time, Ludger slipped around her or swatted her blade aside.

And the worst part was, she knew he was right. Fighting him this close, with his fists moving like spears, was dangerous. Risky for him, sure—but even riskier for her. His reach, his control, the sheer aggression of trading at arm’s length… it gave him an edge she couldn’t ignore.

Viola reset her stance, chest heaving, her glare sharp as her blade. “Tch. You’re reckless, but damn it—you’re harder to break through than ever.”

Ludger’s smirk deepened. “Then keep trying. I’ll wait.”

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