The arrangement hadn’t even cooled before a shadow fell across the yard.

“Ludger.”

Elaine’s voice cut sharper than any blade. She stood at the entrance, arms folded, eyes glowing faintly with that aura that made even seasoned mercenaries sweat. Star Widow’s Wrath coiled invisible around her shoulders. Viola groaned under her breath, already preparing for a storm.

Elaine’s gaze flicked from Yvar’s ink-stained robes to the gleam of gold Ludger was slipping back into his pocket. “Explain,” she demanded.

Yvar stammered, bowing so quickly his mismatched boots nearly tangled. “M–My Lady Elaine, forgive the intrusion, I was merely—”

Ludger raised a hand, cutting him off. Calm. Unruffled. His smirk smoothed into something softer, just shy of innocent. “I hired him.”

Elaine’s brow arched. “Hired him?”

“Yes.” Ludger kept his tone steady, even earnest. “Everyone expects me to train with swords or spells, to throw myself into danger like Father. But… that isn’t enough.” He looked up at her, eyes wide but voice firm. “I don’t want to be just a brute. I want to be smarter. More intellectual.”

For a long, taut moment, the yard was silent. Elaine’s aura pressed down, testing, suspicious. Viola stared at him like he’d just grown another head.

Then something shifted. Elaine’s posture softened, suspicion fading into pride so fast it was almost disorienting. She stepped forward, cupping his cheek, her expression blazing with maternal fire.

“My son,” she whispered. “So young, and already reaching higher than simple battle…” Her eyes shone, and her grip tightened like she wanted to shield him from the whole world. “You’ll surpass them all.”

Viola gagged audibly. “Ugh. He’s manipulating you.”

Elaine shot her a glare, then turned back to Ludger with unshakable pride. “You have my blessing. Learn everything you can. If anyone dares interfere with your studies—” Her aura spiked like a storm breaking. “—I’ll crush them.”

Yvar’s knees nearly buckled. Ludger only smiled, polite on the surface, razor-sharp beneath.

Smothered, redirected, and secured.

The next three weeks fell into a rhythm Ludger hadn’t expected.

Every afternoon, Yvar appeared in the yard with his satchel bulging like a traveling library. His ink-stained fingers turned into chalk-stained fingers as he filled boards with diagrams, broke ideas into steps, and hammered concepts home with the patience of a man who had endured Viola’s tantrums for years.

And Ludger listened. Absorbed. He learned not only what to teach, but how—how to split complexity into manageable bites, how to spot when someone’s pride was blocking their progress, how to reshape knowledge so that even a thick-headed student could swallow it.

The system answered him sooner than he expected:

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

[New Class Unlocked: Teacher Lv.1]

Bonus per Level: +3 INT, +3 WIS

Class Skills Unlocked:

[Dissection of Knowledge Lv.1] – Break down a skill or concept into learnable steps.

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

The glow faded, and Ludger almost laughed. Step three: achieved.

But he didn’t stop. Unlocking was only the beginning. If he wanted the Teacher class to grow, he needed more than tricks—he needed mastery. And Yvar, sloppy boots and all, had it in spades.

So Ludger drilled harder, took notes, practiced explaining spells to Elaine, even toyed with rephrasing sword drills for Viola. He was methodical and relentless.

At first, Viola shadowed him with bright eyes, curious about this plan. She plopped down in the yard, sword across her lap, half-listening as Yvar explained how repetition without boredom was the heart of learning. For a week she took notes, asking questions, even trying to lecture Ludger back.

By the second week, her attention drifted. By the third, she was groaning through every lesson, bouncing her wooden sword on her shoulder like it might cure the headache.

“Ludger, this is so boring,” she complained, mid-lecture. “Stop scribbling and spar with me. I’ll go insane if I hear another word about ‘breaking down concepts.’”

“You’d lose,” Ludger said dryly, eyes still on his notes.

“Exactly!” Viola grinned, already in a stance. “It’d be fun.”

Yvar sighed into his hands. Elaine beamed with pride at her “intellectual” son. Ludger just smirked, letting her swing herself into exhaustion before he’d indulge her. Still, the grind paid off. His class climbed fast, stacking alongside his other talents:

The yard rang with the crack of wood on wood as Viola lunged, her wooden sword swinging in a wide arc meant to smash past Ludger’s guard. He slipped to the side, shin guard flashing as he deflected her blow with a sharp clack.

“Too slow,” she barked, already twisting for another strike. Sweat streaked her brow, her grin feral. “You’re not dodging me this time!”

She brought her sword down like a hammer—raw strength, raw speed. But once again, Ludger flowed just enough to the side, her swing cutting through air. He stepped inside her guard, his palm tapping her collarbone. If it had been a sword, she’d have been cut in two.

Viola froze, teeth gritted. “Tch—”

Ludger didn’t gloat. He simply looked her dead in the eye. “You’re wide open the moment you commit to the swing. You leave your flank exposed, your balance forward. Against me, it’s just a tap. Against anyone decent?” He pressed two fingers to her throat, calm as ice. “You’re already dead.”

Viola’s face twisted between fury and shame. “Shut up.” She yanked her sword free and backed up a step.

“No.” His tone was cold, clinical—the Teacher’s voice. “Cover your defense when you strike. Either retract fast, or shift your stance to guard your weak side. If you don’t, even a sloppy fighter will exploit it.”

Her knuckles whitened on the wooden hilt. “I know that!”

“You don’t,” Ludger corrected. “If you did, I wouldn’t have tagged you three times in a row. Again.”

For once, Viola’s mouth shut. She reset her stance, jaw clenched, eyes blazing.

The clash rang out again—Viola driving forward, her swings coming tighter now, less wild. Ludger deflected one, then another, sliding back just enough to bait her into overcommitting.

“Too open,” he said flatly, darting in to tag her shoulder.

But this time, Viola’s eyes snapped wide with focus. Instead of resetting, she lunged with her free hand, trying to get his wrist before he could slip away.

Ludger’s smirk widened. Better.

He twisted sharply, knocking her hand aside with a snap of his forearm guard, redirecting her momentum so she stumbled. “Not enough,” he said, voice sharp but approving. “But closer.”

Viola caught her balance, panting, her grin splitting wide. “Hah! You didn’t get away clean.”

“That’s the point.” Ludger lowered his stance again, eyes glinting. “You adapted. You tried something different instead of letting me walk out untouched. That’s proof you’re learning.”

The system chimed quietly in his head:

The skill Guiding Words reached level 12.

The Teacher Job received 120 experience points.

Viola’s cheeks flushed, half from exertion, half from pride. She spun her sword in her grip, fire in her eyes. “Fine. Again. And this time, I’ll catch you.”

Ludger smirked, red-silver guards gleaming as he raised them. “Then try. Every mistake is another lesson.”

For once, she didn’t groan at the word “lesson.” She charged, teeth bared, finally beginning to fight like someone who was learning to think.

When Viola finally collapsed onto the dirt, chest heaving and wooden sword across her knees, Ludger lowered his guards and straightened his posture. His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, but his breathing was calm—controlled.

“That’s enough for today,” he said, smirking faintly. “Any more and you’ll start repeating mistakes instead of learning from them.”

Viola groaned but didn’t argue, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. For once, she looked more thoughtful than frustrated.

Ludger turned to the man sitting at the edge of the yard. Yvar had been scribbling the whole time, hunched over his satchel with ink-smudged fingers, his cracked spectacles glinting in the light. He looked up as Ludger approached.

“Thank you,” Ludger said simply.

Yvar blinked, taken off guard, then gave a crooked smile. “No need, young master. I’m being paid well enough for it.” He tapped his satchel knowingly, where the faint clink of coins could be heard. “Coin is thanks enough.”

Ludger’s smirk deepened, eyes glinting. “Maybe. But I don’t waste words. If you’re useful, I’ll say it.”

The tutor studied him for a beat too long, then lowered his gaze back to his notes, muttering, “Useful, he says… At eight.” But the faintest edge of pride crept into his tired expression.

Viola threw her arms out from where she sat, exasperated. “Ugh, stop talking like old men! One of you is ancient, the other’s pretending.” Neither of them answered.

Ludger dusted off his armguards and slipped his hands into his pockets. His gaze lingered on Yvar..

“You’ve been helpful,” he said. “I’ll contact you again if I need information about certain people.”

The words landed like a hammer blow. Yvar froze, spectacles slipping halfway down his nose. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as his grip tightened on his satchel.

“M–My lord,” he stammered, “you make it sound as if I were… an information broker.” His voice pitched higher, defensive, almost pleading. “That is not my work. I am a scholar. A recorder of truths. Nothing more.”

Ludger’s smirk didn’t fade. “Relax. I didn’t say you were selling secrets. I said I’d contact you. Whether you answer or not is your choice.”

That did nothing to stop the sweat from gathering at Yvar’s brow, but at least it kept him from bolting on the spot.

He exhaled shakily, adjusted his crooked spectacles, and forced an awkward smile back onto his face. “Of course. Of course… I’ll—ah—be available, should you require lessons again.”

Viola eyed him suspiciously, sword balanced across her lap. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Yvar laughed weakly, bowing low to both of them. “Merely tired. That’s all. Farewell, Lady Viola. Young Master Ludger.”

With that, he hurried off down the path, mismatched boots scuffing against the stones, his satchel clinking faintly with both ink bottles and gold.

Ludger watched him go, expression unreadable. Only when the man’s silhouette had disappeared around the corner did his smirk return, sharp and thin.

Yvar could sweat all he wanted. In the end, he’d talk. People always did.

Viola was still sitting cross-legged in the dirt when Yvar’s uneven footsteps faded out of earshot. She tilted her head toward Ludger, eyes narrowing.

“You know,” she said, voice sharp, “you’re acting weirder every day. First, you drag some old tutor out here, then you start grilling him about barbarians and noble houses. Why do you even care about people like that?”

Ludger’s smirk slid back into place, smooth as oil. “What, you’d rather I stick to wooden blocks and bedtime stories? Maybe start collecting dolls?”

Viola made a face. “You’d probably strangle the dolls in their sleep.”

“Exactly,” he said, deadpan.

She rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder. “I’m serious! Why are you suddenly acting like some little noble schemer? You’re not even one. It’s my job to deal with politics.”

For a moment, Ludger let the sarcasm hang there, enjoying how much it riled her up. But then his smirk faded, his tone turning sharper, heavier.

“Because it doesn’t matter if I like it or not,” he said flatly. “These people—barbarians, lords, houses that send or don’t send aid—they decide where soldiers die. They decide which towns burn. They decide who gets crushed underfoot.” His gaze met hers, steady as steel. “That affects me. It affects you. Whether we fight in it or not.”

Viola blinked, taken aback by the bluntness. For once, she didn’t snap back.

Ludger exhaled through his nose, brushing dirt off his shin guards. “So, no, I don’t care about dolls. I care about knowing which bastard might ruin my life next. That’s the difference.”

Viola looked away, chewing her lip, sword tapping lightly against her shoulder. “Hmph. Fine. But don’t think I’ll let you hog all the secrets. If you’re learning this stuff, I want it too.”

Ludger smirked again, dry and amused. “Of course. I’ll even write you a doll-friendly version of the notes.”

“LUDGER!”

A booming laugh cut through the yard, startling both children out of their argument.

“Well, well—look at that. Getting along as usual.”

Arslan strode through the gate, his armor dusty, cloak slung over one shoulder. Selene and Harold trailed behind him, the fighter’s expression sharp as ever while the axe-wielder yawned like he’d just woken from a week-long nap. Aleia gave a two-fingered salute from the rear, bow strapped across her back, while Cor and Aronia followed at a steadier pace, looking as if they’d been holding the group together with sheer will.

“Father!” Viola’s voice leapt with pure joy. She scrambled to her feet, the sour scowl from before vanishing as she ran to meet him. Arslan swept her up with one arm, spinning her once in the air, her laughter ringing through the yard.

“Miss me, Vi?” he asked, grinning ear to ear.

“Of course I did! You were gone forever!”

Ludger crossed his arms, watching the scene with his usual flat expression. “It took you a lot longer than I imagined to return.”

Arslan’s grin turned toward him, wry and amused. “What, were you timing me? You sound like Selene when she’s counting how many drinks I’ve had.”

Selene shot him a glare. “That’s because you lose count.”

Harold barked a laugh. “And then I get blamed when he falls in a ditch!”

Viola giggled, still clinging to her father’s shoulder, her earlier frustration burned away in the warmth of his presence. Ludger only shook his head. Late, reckless, and grinning like he won the world. Typical.

Arslan’s grip was warm and steady on Viola’s shoulder. His presence had a way of filling space—laughter, strength, the smell of steel and leather. For a moment, it pushed the yard’s tension away, and Viola leaned into it like she was seven again, not ten and burdened with expectations.

“We’re back,” Arslan said, voice deep with good humor, “because Lord Torvares finally decided it was time to return home. When he packs up camp, the rest of us don’t get a vote.”

Selene snorted from behind him. “Don’t pretend you weren’t relieved. You hate sleeping in armor.”

Harold yawned so wide it nearly cracked his jaw. “I hate sleeping without ale.”

Arslan ignored them both, fishing into his cloak until he drew out a folded parchment, its wax seal bearing the Torvares crest. His grin shifted into something sly as he handed it to Ludger.

“Your grandfather’s handwriting is as stiff as his temper. But it’s a recommendation letter. Says Viola doesn’t have to march home if she doesn’t want to. She can keep training with you instead.”

Ludger’s brows twitched, but he tucked the parchment away without a word.

Viola blinked. The words took a second to land. “Wait… what? I don’t have to go back?”

Arslan chuckled. “That’s what it says. He’s finally admitted you’re better off swinging steel than memorizing family trees.” He gave her hair a fond, rough pat. “And if you’d rather stay here with your brother, the old man’s blessing is sealed in ink. At least for a while…”

For one heartbeat, Viola’s face broke into a brilliant smile. She beamed, her whole body lighter, as if someone had lifted a weight she didn’t realize she’d been carrying. The thought of staying—training in the yard, clashing with Ludger, free from the suffocating estate and her grandfather’s stern shadow—felt like freedom.

But almost immediately, the smile wavered. A pit formed in her stomach. Her fingers clenched the hilt of her wooden sword. Because being happy about staying meant being glad to stay away—away from her house, away from her duties, away from the man who, for all his stubbornness, had still shaped her entire childhood.

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