When Ludger stepped out of the tent, the morning light struck his eyes. Just a few paces away, Viola stood with her arms folded, waiting.

Her face fell the moment she saw him. “So… you didn’t change his mind.”

She tried to sound indifferent, but the disappointment was written plain across her features. She had expected him to argue, to pull some clever trick, maybe even to force their grandfather to relent.

Ludger only shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Her brows knit. “Tch.” She turned away, her braid flicking over her shoulder. But then, just as quickly, the sulk faded from her face, replaced by a different fire. Her jaw tightened, her fists clenched, and her eyes burned with determination.

“Fine. Next time will be different,” she said, voice sharp. “I’ll train harder. Study harder. I’ll make sure no one can look at me and call me a child again. When the next conflict comes, I’ll prove I belong on the battlefield.”

Ludger studied her for a moment, then smirked faintly. He didn’t bother arguing. That drive was who Viola was—always pushing, always straining to prove herself.

As for him? His goals were simpler. He’d grown, yes. Stronger than most men would believe. But that didn’t make war any less of a headache.

I don’t care about proving anything, he thought. I’d rather train at my own pace, spar with her when she’s being reckless, and keep myself ready. War drags you in whether you want it or not—but if I can help it, I’ll avoid the mess altogether.

The siblings walked side by side toward their tent, their paths running parallel but aiming for different things—Viola chasing the fire of the battlefield, Ludger trying to stay one step ahead of it.

As they walked back through the ruined square, Ludger’s mind wandered—not to swords or spells, but to the other side of war.

Politics.

Even though Lord Torvares wasn’t the lord of this region, he had been forced to seize command the moment the barbarians struck. He had rallied the army, coordinated the defense, and retaken the town. Yet for all that, no reinforcements came, no extra coin, no councilors to ease the burden. Just silence from the empire, as if expecting him to shoulder everything without complaint.

Ludger didn’t like the old man much—Torvares was stubborn, prideful, his aura heavier than any iron wall. But he respected him. The man carried a weight most nobles would rather drown under. He didn’t ask permission. He didn’t wait for approval. He acted, because if he didn’t, people died.

That earned respect, even from Ludger.

Still, there was a sour taste in his mouth when he thought about the rest—the shadows behind the curtains, the politicians counting coins while soldiers bled in the mud. The kind of people who only showed their faces once the hard work was done, demanding recognition, trying to carve up victory for themselves.

Ludger’s jaw tightened, his steps slower. I can stomach war. I can stomach fighting. But those types… parasites dressed in silk? Those are the ones I can’t stand.

He exhaled through his nose and shook his head. “Assholes,” he muttered under his breath. Viola shot him a curious look, but he didn’t elaborate.

As the camp bustled around him, Ludger’s thoughts drifted far from the ruins. Once we’re back…

He imagined sparring in the courtyard with Viola again, pushing her until she burned with frustration, mocking her when she slipped, and laughing when she tried to get back at him. Training on his own terms, experimenting with mana control, digging deeper into the quirks of his classes without the weight of soldiers’ lives pressing down on his hands.

An ordinary rhythm. That’s what he wanted. Ordinary for him, anyway.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. I wonder what Mother will do once she realizes the game I plan to play.

Elaine’s overprotective streak wasn’t exactly a mystery. She clung too tightly, smothered him with her aura, “Star Widow’s Wrath” simmering just beneath her skin whenever she thought he was in danger. He could already picture her expression when she learned how deep he’d thrown himself into the war, how far he’d pushed. Her fury would shake the halls.

But if he handled it right, maybe he could turn it into something else—another kind of challenge. Not just fighting monsters or surviving battles, but managing his mother’s iron will while carving out his own freedom.

That thought made him chuckle softly. “Now that,” he muttered to himself, “might be the hardest fight yet. Even more so once she learns I want to challenge those assholes…”

Ludger let the thought linger, his smirk fading into something quieter as he walked beside his sister. Viola didn’t ask—she was too wrapped up in her own determination, her mind already racing ahead to the next chance to prove herself.

So he kept it to himself.

No one needed to know what game he was planning, not yet. Not Viola, not his father, and especially not his mother. The less they expected, the easier it would be to set the board the way he wanted.

The camp settled into its morning rhythm around them. Soldiers barked orders, horses stamped at their reins, and hammers still rang against wood as men kept patching the ruins out of sheer stubbornness. But for Ludger, the noise faded into the background. His thoughts stayed fixed on what came after—home, training, and the quiet maneuvers that would let him slip through Elaine’s suffocating grip.

He exhaled, sharp and steady, as if sealing the thought inside himself. Tomorrow, we leave. And then the real game begins.

The next morning came cold and gray. The army was already stirring when Ludger, Viola, and Luna led their horses from the makeshift stables. Saddles creaked, hooves struck the dirt, and the weight of departure settled over them.

At the edge of camp, Lord Torvares stood waiting. His cloak was tattered at the hem, his armor still bearing soot from the battle, but he looked as unshakable as ever. He gave a single, sharp nod as the three of them mounted up—a farewell that carried more weight than words.

As Ludger tightened the reins, he heard his father’s voice. Arslan stood with the rest of his party not far behind the old man, his grin tired but unyielding. “Tell your mother I’ll be back soon, Luds. She’ll believe it if it comes from you. Until later, Vi.”

Ludger raised a brow but gave a short nod. The rest of the party offered their own goodbyes. Selene gave him a curt nod, her arms crossed as usual. Harold waved his massive hand and barked, “Don’t slack off while we’re gone!” Aleia smirked faintly, calling, “Try not to get yourself killed before your next growth spurt.” Cor bowed slightly, calm and composed as ever, while Aronia smiled tiredly, her face still pale but warmer than before.

Ludger acknowledged them all in his own quiet way, then nudged his horse forward. Viola clicked her tongue and adjusted her grip on the reins, riding stiff-backed as if daring anyone to call her a child. Luna, silent as always, guided her mount with easy control, her eyes scanning the road ahead.

The three of them rode out together, the camp shrinking behind them, the ruined town looming like a scar in the distance.

The road south stretched quiet under the pale sky, the horizon dotted with the silhouettes of burnt watchtowers and broken farms. The horses’ hooves struck a steady rhythm, carrying them farther from the stench of smoke and closer to the familiar hills of home.

For a long while, none of them spoke. Ludger didn’t mind—silence was easier. Viola, though, fidgeted in her saddle, her jaw tight, her eyes darting toward him every few minutes.

Finally, when the roofs of their family’s lands were just barely visible in the distance, she broke.

“Hey,” she said, her voice sharp but almost too casual. “When we stop—I want a spar.”

Ludger arched a brow. “What, already? We haven’t even slept in our own beds yet.”

“I don’t care,” Viola shot back, her eyes burning with that same determination she’d worn since Torvares sent them away. “I’m not waiting. I’m going to prove myself, even if it’s just against you. Especially against you.”

Ludger let out a low chuckle. “You’re really that desperate, huh? Fine. But don’t cry when you’re flat on the ground before dinner. As usual.”

Her eyebrows twitched, but she grinned, her grip on the reins tightening. Luna, riding quietly at their side, glanced at both of them but said nothing. Still, Ludger could swear he saw the faintest shake of her head, as if she already knew how it would end.

They stopped by a clearing off the road a few hours later, the grass still damp with morning dew. The horses grazed lazily while Ludger and Viola squared off, Luna watching from a nearby stump with her arms folded.

Viola drew her practice blade, her stance tight, her eyes sharp with focus. There was no sulking, no whining—just determination.

Ludger rolled his shoulders, his red-silver armguards glinting faintly in the light. He hadn’t expected much from the spar, but the moment he lifted his arms to block her first strike, he realized it.

Her blows were fierce, her timing sharp, but each impact ran into a wall. His guard barely budged. He paced himself, meeting her swings, stepping aside when needed, letting her burn through her energy. Every time she pressed harder, he felt his edge widen.

And yet, Viola didn’t flinch. She didn’t scowl or snap like usual. She just gritted her teeth, adjusted, and came at him again. Her strikes grew more deliberate, her breathing steadier, as if she wasn’t fighting him so much as fighting herself.

Ludger blocked another thrust and smirked. “You’re not even trying to win, huh? Just hammering away for practice?”

Viola didn’t answer. Her eyes burned, her feet shifted, and she lunged again.

Ludger parried with ease, his strength and precision making the difference clearer with every clash. But he didn’t mock her further. Watching her push herself—relentlessly, stubbornly—he realized she didn’t need his teasing this time. She was too focused on growing, and nothing else.

After half an hour of steady clashes, Viola’s legs finally gave way. She stumbled forward on her last swing, her blade clattering against Ludger’s guard before her knees hit the dirt.

She didn’t complain. She didn’t glare. She just sat there, chest heaving, sweat dripping from her brow, her eyes locked on the ground.

Ludger lowered his arms and crouched beside her. “That’s enough. You did well.”

Viola only gave a curt nod, too drained to spit back any words. But there was a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes—a spark that said she had gotten what she wanted.

Ludger let her be and walked toward Luna, who stood in the shade of a tree, arms folded, her gaze sharp as ever.

“Thanks,” Ludger said simply. “For the help in the war.”

Luna didn’t move. Her expression didn’t shift, not even a blink. She acted as though she hadn’t heard him.

But Ludger wasn’t fooled. He remembered the shadow on the walls, the small figure cloaked in gear, the precise strikes that had dropped the shamans when no one else could.

She wanted to pretend it hadn’t been her. To stay in the background, invisible, unnoticed.

Ludger smirked faintly. “Fine. Pretend all you like. I’ll remember anyway.”

Luna’s eyes narrowed just slightly, the smallest twitch betraying her, before her mask slipped back into place.

Once Viola caught her breath, she dragged herself back to her feet, refusing a hand from Ludger and brushing the dirt from her knees. She said nothing—just sheathed her blade and walked to her horse, her silence loud enough to speak for her.

They mounted up again, Luna at the front, Viola riding stiff-backed, and Ludger letting his reins hang loose as the road stretched ahead. The spar had drained the edge of their energy, leaving the air between them quieter.

Ludger leaned slightly in the saddle, eyes on the horizon. Training was second nature to him now—sparring with Viola, experimenting with skills, pressing his body and mana to new limits. But as the rhythm of hooves carried him farther from the warzone, a different thought settled in.

What else?

Training alone wouldn’t get him where he wanted. Not just strength, not just skills. If he wanted real freedom—if he wanted to keep Elaine’s suffocating grip at bay, if he wanted to carve a life where he chose his own path—he’d need more than fists and mana.

Coin. Influence. Connections. Knowledge. All the invisible weapons that shaped wars before swords were ever drawn.

Ludger exhaled through his nose, his smirk faint but sharp. If I’m serious about my goals, I’ll need more than training. I’ll need to build something that lasts. Something that’s mine.

The road stretched long and steady beneath the horses’ hooves, giving Ludger time to think. Training would always be part of him—it was how he sharpened his edge, how he stayed ahead of everyone else. But he needed more than that.

First step… coin.

Without money, he was nothing but another soldier in the mud. With coin, doors opened—equipment, books, mana potions, even teachers could be bought. He’d already toyed with cooking; those skills weren’t glamorous, but they could line his pockets if he played them right. And in a city full of bored adventurers, a sharp cook who could also heal? That could be spun into something.

Second step… knowledge.

He’d seen enough in the war to know that information was deadlier than steel. The way shamans had twisted the barbarians into madness, the way Torvares carried the weight of politics alongside battle—these weren’t things you solved with fists. He needed books, teachers, ways to understand magic and strategy deeper than instinct. If Cor and Maurien could shape him with lessons, he’d wring every drop of wisdom from them.

Third step… influence.

Strength earned fear. Coin earned respect. But influence… that earned freedom. If he could build a circle of allies—Viola’s stubborn drive, Luna’s quiet blade, even others back home—then he wouldn’t be just Elaine’s son or Torvares’s grandson. He’d be someone others looked to, whether they realized it or not.

The thought made him smirk faintly. One step at a time. Train, earn, learn, build. Piece by piece, until I’m untouchable.

The road bent through the hills, the estate still out of sight, but the plan was already there, firming in his mind.

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