Chapter 22

The weeks slipped into a new routine—Cor sharpening Ludger’s mana control, Elaine watching every move with hawk-like eyes, and Arslan vanishing now and then to train Viola. But one evening, something shifted.

Arslan sat at the edge of the courtyard, sharpening his sword in silence. The usual grin was absent, replaced by a furrowed brow and a faraway look. He barely reacted when Harold cracked a joke about Selene’s cooking, or when Aleia whistled an off-key tune.

It was strange. Too quiet. Too thoughtful.

“Oi,” Harold finally said, leaning on his axe. “Why the long face? Don’t tell me—you found another kid you left behind without knowing.”

Aleia snorted, covering her mouth to keep from laughing, and even Selene allowed the faintest smirk.

But the air turned cold immediately. Elaine’s gaze snapped toward Arslan, her green eyes flashing with a fury that made the others straighten like soldiers before a general.

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Arslan shifted uncomfortably under her stare, raising his hands like a man surrendering.

“It’s not that,” he muttered quickly, though his voice lacked conviction. “Just… thinking about some things.”

Elaine’s glare didn’t waver, and the air in the yard grew heavy. Harold coughed awkwardly and looked away, muttering something about “bad timing,” while Aleia pretended to inspect her bowstring. Selene shook her head, unimpressed.

Ludger, watching from the sidelines, suppressed a sigh.

He brings it on himself every time. No wonder mother looks ready to kill him.

Whatever weighed on Arslan’s mind, he wasn’t sharing it—not yet. But his silence, paired with Elaine’s deadly stare, was enough to make the evening drag longer than usual.

The silence stretched until Elaine’s stare grew sharp enough to peel skin. Finally, Arslan let out a long sigh and set his sword down across his knees.

“Fine. You want to know what’s eating at me?” he said, his voice low. “It’s Viola. She wants to go to a labyrinth.”

That drew every eye in the courtyard. Harold’s brows shot up, Aleia stopped twirling her bowstring, and even Selene’s expression tightened.

Arslan ran a hand through his hair. “She wouldn’t let it go. Pestered her grandfather day and night until the old bull gave in. But he only agreed on one condition.” He let out a hollow laugh. “If so much as a scratch shows up on her, my head’s the one that’ll roll.”

The words dropped heavy in the air. Elaine’s glare darkened further, and she pressed her arms tightly across her chest.

Ludger’s frown deepened.

Of course. Another mess. Father’s already dancing on a blade, and now he’s dragging himself into a labyrinth with a girl who doesn’t know restraint. It runs in the family.

He didn’t need to imagine how it would end—Viola’s recklessness would find trouble fast, and Arslan would either bleed for it or bring the whole party into danger.

Trouble was already circling closer. And this time, thanks to Viola’s persistence and her grandfather’s grudging approval, there was no easy way to avoid it.

Ludger exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms.

Just as I thought. This is going to get troublesome soon enough.

Arslan scratched the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable under the heavy silence that followed his confession. He glanced at Ludger, then back at Elaine, then quickly back to Ludger again, as if he could sidestep her glare by pretending not to notice it.

“Hey, uh… Luds,” he began, voice overly casual. “What do you say you come along? Just stay in the back with Viola, make sure she doesn’t do anything too stupid. It’s a basic labyrinth, nothing dangerous. And, well, your healing skills might come in handy if anyone gets a scrape. I am afraid that the old bull is just going along with this to have an excuse to make my head roll.”

The words barely left his mouth before the air thickened.

Elaine didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Behind her, the spectral form of her Stand began to rise again—the apron-clad, iron-ladle-wielding phantom known as

Star Widow’s Wrath

. Its presence loomed over Arslan, casting a shadow that chilled the courtyard more effectively than any spell Cor had ever demonstrated.

Harold whistled under his breath and took a prudent step back. Aleia busied herself pretending to clean her bowstring, while Selene pinched the bridge of her nose in weary resignation.

Arslan chuckled nervously, one hand raised as if warding off both Elaine and her Stand. “Now, hold on, don’t give me that look! I’m not saying he’ll fight. Just… watch her, keep her from charging headfirst into a wall or something!”

Elaine’s green eyes narrowed into lethal slits, her aura pressing down like the weight of a storm.

Ludger, standing off to the side, sighed.

Here we go again. He never learns.

Elaine’s glare could have carved stone, but Arslan didn’t back down this time. He lifted his chin, folding his arms across his chest as though he could withstand the storm with sheer stubbornness.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, his tone wavering between defensive and earnest. “I’ll buy him some proper gear, make sure he’s protected. And it’ll be good for him. A real labyrinth teaches things training yards never can. He’ll get experience, learn to keep his head in a fight. Few people ever manage that.”

Elaine’s aura flared, and the spectral form of

Star Widow’s Wrath

loomed higher, the massive iron ladle glinting ominously. Her voice came out like ice.

“How is it, then,” she asked slowly, each word carrying the weight of judgment, “that you are

still not level-headed

after spending half of your life in labyrinths?”

The question struck like a spell. Harold coughed to hide his laugh, Aleia turned away to cover her smirk, and even Cor’s lips twitched with the hint of amusement. Selene simply muttered, “She’s got you there.”

Arslan froze, his mouth opening, then closing again. He rubbed the back of his neck, sweat forming along his temple as though Elaine’s words had become a curse binding him in place.

“I… uh…” He glanced around, desperate for an ally. None of his companions dared to intervene. “That’s… different?” he offered weakly.

Elaine’s eyes narrowed further. The iron ladle of her Stand tilted threateningly.

Ludger, watching from the side, pressed his lips into a thin line to keep from chuckling.

He really is getting used to her anger. Or maybe just numb to it. Either way, this won’t end well for him.

Elaine’s aura pressed down harder gleaming as if ready to strike. For a moment, it seemed she would crush the idea completely. Then, with a slow breath, she lowered her arms, though her glare never softened.

“Fine,” she said at last, her tone cutting like steel. “If Ludger goes, then hear me well, Arslan: if he comes back with even a single scratch, I will kill you myself.”

The courtyard froze. Harold swallowed hard, Aleia stopped smirking, and even Cor tilted his head as if weighing whether she meant it. Selene didn’t bother questioning it at all—she simply nodded as though Elaine had spoken plain truth.

Arslan forced a smile, but it wavered badly. He raised both hands in mock surrender. “Heh… you don’t have to be so dramatic, dear.”

Elaine’s eyes narrowed further. The Stand behind her tilted its ladle with lethal promise.

Arslan’s smile fell, replaced by a nervous swallow.

Why is it,

he thought bitterly,

that so many people seem to want me dead?

He didn’t need to think long for the answer. Faces flashed through his mind: angry noble fathers, furious mercenary captains, innkeepers cheated out of coin, and now his own wife, promising execution for the slightest failure.

“Ah,” he muttered, shoulders sagging as realization hit. “Right. I deserve it.”

Ludger crossed his arms, hiding a smirk.

At least he’s self-aware now.

Two days later, Arslan kept his word. He dragged Ludger away from the courtyard, ignoring Elaine’s razor-sharp glare boring into the back of his neck, and marched him into town.

The marketplace buzzed with noise—smiths hammering at anvils, merchants shouting prices, children weaving between stalls. Arslan stopped at a shop with racks of weapons and armor displayed out front, then crouched down to meet Ludger’s eyes.

“All right, champ,” he said, rubbing his chin. “If you’re going into a labyrinth, you’ll need gear. Sword, dagger, light armor—tell me what you want.”

Ludger frowned, glancing past the polished blades and gleaming breastplates. None of it felt right. His fists and feet had always been his weapons; anything else felt like dead weight.

“I don’t want a sword,” he said flatly. “Or armor.”

Arslan blinked. “Huh? Then what?”

Ludger pointed toward a display at the side of the stall, where rows of padded forearm guards and reinforced shin guards hung. “Those. The same kind Selene wears. I fight better with my hands and legs. That’s what I’ll use.”

For a moment, Arslan just stared. Then his mouth curved into a grin. “Ha! That’s my boy. Thinking for yourself. Not trying to copy anyone else.” He slapped Ludger’s shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him forward. “Selene’s gear, eh? Good choice. Durable, light, doesn’t get in the way. Fits you.”

The smith, overhearing, came over with an appraising look. He knelt to take Ludger’s measurements, muttering about sizes and adjustments. Before long, he had set aside a pair of small, sturdy guards for both forearms and shins—reinforced with leather and steel bands, built to absorb impact without sacrificing speed.

Arslan paid without hesitation, though he grumbled about the price as usual. Ludger slid the guards on, flexing his arms and legs experimentally. The weight was strange, but not unpleasant. More than that, they felt

right

.

“Perfect,” he said simply.

Arslan grinned wider, ruffling his son’s hair. “You’ll look just like Selene in no time. Minus the scowl, of course.”

Ludger gave him a flat look. “I don’t scowl.”

Arslan laughed. “Kid, you’ve got her beat.”

When they returned to the courtyard, Ludger was already wearing his new forearm and shin guards, testing his balance by bouncing lightly on his toes. The polished steel bands caught the afternoon light as he moved through a short routine of dodges and jabs, his small frame unusually steady.

Selene raised an eyebrow as she watched. “Hoh. Copying me now, are you?”

Ludger looked up at her, deadpan. “It’s practical.”

She crossed her arms, smirking. “Practical, eh? First you pick up my training methods, now you’re wearing my gear. Careful, kid—you’re starting to look like a little charmer. Just like your father.”

Ludger froze, glaring at her as Arslan snorted in the background, clearly pleased.

Selene’s smirk widened. “Don’t tell me you’ll turn out like him, fooling girls left and right and leaving broken hearts in every tavern.”

Elaine’s shadow darkened immediately, and Arslan went pale, shrinking back before her glare sharpened into knives.

Ludger sighed, shaking his head. “No. It’s just easier to move like this. The guards protect without slowing me down, and I can block attacks with my arms and legs. That’s all.”

Selene studied him for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Good answer. Keep thinking like that, and maybe you won’t grow into a disaster.” She threw a pointed glance at Arslan, who pretended to be very interested in the sky.

Ludger adjusted the straps on his shin guards and muttered, “I don’t need charm. I need efficiency.”

Selene chuckled under her breath. “Now that’s a line worth remembering.”

Selene cracked her knuckles and stepped forward. “Since you decided to copy me, let’s see if you can actually use those guards. No point strapping steel to your limbs if you’re just going to flail around with them.”

Ludger raised his arms, stance steady. “Fine. Just don’t complain when I make you work for it.”

Selene smirked. “Listen to him. Already talking like a fighter.” She lunged first, her fist slicing through the air in a sharp jab.

The strike clanged against Ludger’s new forearm guard with a sharp

thunk

. The steel band absorbed most of the force, letting him push her fist aside without losing balance. He followed immediately with a low kick, his shin guard ringing against Selene’s calf. She grunted, stepping back with a raised brow.

“Not bad. Using the guards as extensions of yourself, not just protection. That’s how they’re meant to be used.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “It feels natural.”

They traded a few more exchanges, the courtyard echoing with the

clack

of fists meeting guards and the heavy thuds of reinforced shins striking against each other. Selene ramped up the pressure, her strikes sharper, but Ludger held his ground, redirecting her blows and countering with surprising precision for his age.

Finally, she stepped back, arms crossing. “Hmph. You’ll make this gear look good faster than I expected. Maybe I should start charging Arslan for training his son.”

Ludger tilted his head. “Charge him double. He doesn’t think before he spends.”

Selene barked a laugh, and even Harold chuckled from the sidelines.

The beginner forearm guards were crafted from sturdy brown leather, thick enough to cushion blows yet flexible enough to bend with the wrist. Over the leather, narrow bands of dull steel had been riveted in place, giving the guards a segmented look like overlapping scales. The metal caught the light faintly, not polished to shine but brushed to avoid glare, practical and workmanlike. Adjustable straps wrapped around the forearm, fastening with simple brass buckles, ensuring they sat snugly without slipping during combat. On Ludger’s small frame, they looked almost oversized, but when he lifted his arms into a guard stance, the weight settled naturally, lending his movements a sense of firmness.

The shin guards matched the forearm set, leather padded along the inside for comfort, with steel strips running vertically down the front to shield the bone. Their edges were bound with reinforced stitching, giving them a rugged, almost military aesthetic despite their beginner classification. When strapped tightly around Ludger’s legs, they hugged close without restricting his agility, leaving just enough room for his ankles and knees to pivot freely. Scuff marks and hammer dents showed that the smith hadn’t made them for decoration but for hard use, each strike adding character to their surface. On Ludger, they lent his small kicks a sharper, heavier sound, every movement ringing faintly with the promise of impact.

After training with Selene, Ludger sat beneath the courtyard tree and turned his arm, examining the steel bands along the forearm guard. Out of habit, he willed the System to show him its details—durability, defense rating, weight. Something, anything.

But no blue window appeared.

He frowned and tried again, focusing harder, the way he did when he inspected his own skills or checked his classes. Still nothing. The System remained silent, as if the gear didn’t exist in its catalog at all.

It didn’t take long for him to piece it together. The System cared only about what

he

could become—his jobs, his classes, his skills. Tools, weapons, armor… they were beneath its notice. To it, gear was just another extension of the body, nothing more.

Ludger flexed his arm and tapped the steel lightly with his knuckles. “So it’s just me, then,” he muttered. “All the progress, all the strength… the System won’t track what I wear. Only what I do.”

In a way, he liked that. It meant these guards weren’t some gift handed down from glowing text. They were his choice, his tool, no different than the technique he was slowly carving out for himself in secret.

Ludger had wanted another week. Just enough time to refine his control over mana burning, to make it less like a flickering candle and more like a steady flame. But there was no time—Viola’s pestering had dragged Arslan into this labyrinth venture, and by extension, him as well.

So instead of practicing, he found himself sitting at the kitchen table while Elaine stormed through the room like a whirlwind, stuffing items into a pack that was almost as big as he was. Dried food, extra water skins, spare clothes, bandages, cooking utensils, even a blanket rolled neatly on top.

“You’ll need this,” she said sharply, shoving another bundle into the bag. “And this. And this too—don’t roll your eyes at me, Ludger. You’ll thank me when everyone else is starving or bleeding and you’re the only one prepared.”

Ludger pinched the bridge of his nose and fought the urge to sigh. “Mother, we’re going to a beginner's labyrinth, not crossing the continent.”

“That doesn’t matter!” she snapped, tightening a strap with unnecessary force. “Beginner or not, it’s dangerous. If you get thirsty, hungry, cold, or scraped, you’ll be ready.”

Meanwhile, Arslan stood by the doorway, humming as he adjusted the strap of the

tiny

travel bag slung across his shoulder. A single pouch of dried meat poked out the top, and aside from the sword at his hip and the armor on his body, he carried nothing else.

Ludger glanced between his father’s feather-light kit and the mountain of supplies his mother had strapped together for him.

The contrast was enough to make him want to bury his face in his hands.

One acts like the labyrinth is a casual stroll. The other’s preparing me for a siege.