Chapter 38

The silence stretched until Selene broke it, her voice low and sharp. “Why change the rules now? This kind of restructuring isn’t done lightly. Someone high up pushed for it.”

Cor adjusted his spectacles, frowning at the parchment. “Lord Torvares never mentioned such alterations. That means they were decided very recently—too recently for word to reach him before we left.” He tapped the edge of the paper. “Divisions by age, new formats… these are not tweaks. They’re deliberate shifts.”

Aleia leaned back in her chair, smirking faintly though her eyes were serious. “So, someone in the capital wanted the playing field tilted. Maybe to clip the wings of families relying too much on outside strength.” She glanced at Arslan’s party with pointed amusement.

Harold grunted, scratching his beard. “Or maybe they just wanted more blood in the sand. That obstacle run sounds like chaos. Good for the crowd, bad for the kids.”

Viola’s grip tightened on the parchment. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll prove myself no matter the rules.”

Ludger gave her a flat look. “That’s easy to say when you haven’t been told you’ll be fighting through a stampede.”

Arslan, ever the optimist—or the fool—lifted his cup. “Well, rules or no rules, the point remains the same: stand strong, show off, and leave them talking about us.”

Selene’s eyes narrowed. “You’re missing the point. These rules were changed for a reason. We just don’t know whose reason.”

That drew the group into thoughtful silence. They didn’t have friends or allies in the capital to slip them whispers from behind closed doors. No connections to the city’s movers and shakers, no web of informants to pluck answers from. For now, speculation was all they had.

Ludger sat back, arms crossed.

So we’re walking blind into a competition where the rules can shift overnight, and the people pulling the strings are invisible. Perfect.

He glanced at Viola, who was still brimming with excitement despite the changes, and then at the rest of the table—faces tight with unease, save for Arslan’s ever-carefree grin.

Whatever this is about, it’s bigger than us. But somehow, it’s going to land in my lap anyway.

Ludger drummed his fingers once against the table, eyes narrowing at Viola. “Alright. These changes don’t just target you. Do you know of any other families that would be affected by this?”

Viola blinked, then shook her head, lips twisting. “No. Grandfather never told me much about the politics between families. He said I wasn’t ready for it yet.” She gave a sharp little laugh, though it didn’t hide her frustration. “And he’s not wrong. I… didn’t exactly make a great impression when I was younger.”

Arslan’s grin widened. “Ah, that story.”

Her cheeks flushed as she stabbed her fork into a piece of fruit. “Fine. I wasn’t allowed at the academy because I broke a boy’s nose.”

Harold coughed, trying to mask his laugh. Selene arched an eyebrow. Aleia looked delighted.

Cor frowned. “Children fight, yes, but to be barred from the academy? That boy must have belonged to someone significant.”

Viola nodded stiffly. “He was from a house above ours. Not the highest, but higher than Torvares. Grandfather didn’t punish me the way they expected, either. He said the boy deserved it for running his mouth. But after that…” She shrugged, lips tight. “He kept me out of noble politics. Said I wasn’t ready.”

Ludger leaned back in his chair, letting that sink in.

Too wild to sit among the other heirs. So Torvares cut her off from the usual network of alliances, let her grow sharp in isolation. That explains why she doesn’t know which families might be angry enough to push for these new rules.

He exhaled slowly. “So in short… we’re going in blind. And the only thing we know for sure is that someone’s tilting the board.”

Viola met his gaze, chin lifted stubbornly. “Then we’ll just win anyway.”

Ludger resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Of course she’d say that. Her grandfather shields her, Father humors her, and I get the joy of cleaning up whatever chaos follows.

The next morning dawned with bells ringing across the capital, their tones rolling over rooftops like waves. By the time Ludger and the others were escorted into the arena stands, the city was already buzzing with banners, vendors, and throngs of people flooding the streets toward the event.

The arena itself was staggering. From above, it looked as big as a soccer stadium Ludger remembered from his old life, stone and steel replacing glass and lights, but the scale was unmistakable. Tens of thousands of seats circled a wide, flat field below—an empty expanse of sand and packed dirt that would soon serve as the proving ground.

For now, though, it wasn’t a competition. It was a spectacle.

The opening ceremony burst like fireworks. Nobles’ crests shimmered as magical illusions unfurled over the field: lions sculpted from flame roaring into the air, waves of conjured water spiraling into glittering rain, and volleys of light arrows scattering into the crowd like harmless sparks. Mages from the academy strutted like performers, casting spells purely for show, each trying to outdo the last.

Harold leaned forward, eyes wide as a boy’s. “Ha! Look at that one! He made a whole dragon out of smoke!”

Arslan, of course, looked perfectly at home, grinning ear to ear. “That’s the point. It’s not about efficiency. It’s about spectacle! Look at them—nobles and commoners alike are eating it up.”

Ludger watched a mage conjure a tower of ice that shattered into a hundred birds, each flapping away in a glittering arc. The crowd roared like they were watching acrobats at a festival. He rubbed at his temple.

This isn’t a tournament. It’s a circus. Fireworks dressed up as politics.

He let his gaze sweep over the massive arena floor again.

And this is just the start. Once the spell trials begin, this place will turn from circus to battlefield.

Beside him, Viola leaned forward so far she was nearly out of her seat, eyes sparkling. “This is amazing… all of this, just to showcase us!”

Ludger gave her a side glance, deadpan. “Us? Pretty sure you don’t have an ice dragon in your pocket.”

She huffed but didn’t look away from the arena, soaking in the applause and color like it already belonged to her.

Ludger sighed, leaning back in his seat.

If this is just the appetizer, the next few days are going to be chaos.

The magical displays shifted again—rings of fire spun into the sky before dissolving into glittering sparks. Viola clapped once, then muttered, “I could hit those targets easy.”

Cor, seated beside her, cleared his throat. “Not if you fire the way you usually do. Your control wavers after the first burst. Accuracy is consistency, not raw force.”

Selene, arms crossed, added without looking away from the field, “Breathe between casts. Your stance is too stiff—you tense up like you’re bracing for recoil. Relax your shoulders, let the mana flow through, not against you.”

Viola frowned but listened, for once, nodding slightly as the two continued to pick apart her posture and casting habits. The advice was practical, sharp, and very much meant to keep her from embarrassing herself when the spell trials began.

Meanwhile, Ludger leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to his father. Unlike the others, Arslan wasn’t watching the fireworks or tossing out tactical advice. His grin was gone, his brow furrowed, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the arena.

Ludger narrowed his eyes.

That’s unusual.

He nudged him lightly. “What’s with the face? You look like you lost a bet.”

Arslan blinked, then sighed through his nose. “I was just thinking…” He trailed off, scratching his jaw with a sheepish look.

“Thinking what?”

Arslan gave him a crooked smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “About how I’m going to explain this whole mess to your mother when we get back.”

Ludger stared at him. “…You mean the part where you dragged me into a noble tournament without telling her everything?”

“Exactly that part.” Arslan winced, shoulders rising like he was bracing for a storm. “You’ve seen her temper. Imagine how she’ll react when she hears half of this.”

Ludger snorted, leaning back again. “If she doesn’t kill you outright, it’ll only be because she wants to keep yelling at you for longer.”

Arslan chuckled weakly, but his eyes still held that far-off look—the rare expression of a man who knew the real battle was waiting at home, not here in the capital.

Ludger shook his head, muttering under his breath.

And here I thought I was the one stuck with problems. Turns out Father’s just stockpiling them for later.

The fanfare shifted, trumpets blaring as the spectacle gave way to formality. Illusions faded, the sand in the arena was smoothed with a ripple of magic, and then the gates opened. One after another, the competitors filed in—nearly one hundred and thirty in total.

Boys and girls in crisp uniforms or embroidered tunics, each bearing the colors and crests of their families or academies, spread across the vast field. Some marched in formation, disciplined and polished. Others strutted proudly, waving to the crowd like celebrities. A few looked pale, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the audience.

And then came Viola.

She strode out in Torvares colors, back straight, chin lifted high. The crimson ribbon in her hair snapped in the wind, and her light brown eyes seemed to catch every flicker of light. Even from the stands, Ludger could see how she drank in the cheers, how she

wanted

the crowd to see her. For her, this was the stage she had been waiting for.

Targets rose from the sand—rows upon rows of conjured constructs, glowing faintly as they settled into place. The spell trials arena was ready, but this first day was only for introductions. The crowd wasn’t here for fights yet. They were here to size up the next generation.

Announcements rolled across the stands, each name booming with magical amplification, each family crest flashing above the arena. The people cheered, gossiped, and speculated as the heirs of noble lines paraded before them.

Ludger leaned on the railing, unimpressed.

Three days of this circus. A hundred and thirty heirs throwing spells at targets while nobles gossip over their aim. Meanwhile, I get to sit here and pretend this has anything to do with me.

He let out a slow breath, watching Viola soak in the attention below.

Still… I’ve got time. Three days before the duels. seven days before the obstacle run. Plenty of time to slip into the background, find a quiet corner, and vanish until this nonsense burns itself out.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

Now the only trick is making sure Father doesn’t notice until it’s too late.

The crowd roared again as another round of names echoed across the arena. Viola’s introduction was still reverberating in the air, her name already buzzing on noble tongues.

And Ludger, seated among the clamor, quietly began planning his escape.

The next day, the arena was packed to bursting. The stands thundered with voices, the banners of dozens of families fluttered, and the air shimmered with heat as the first round of the spell trials began.

Conjured targets materialized across the field—circles of glowing light, hovering at staggered distances, weaving through the air in unpredictable patterns. Some darted like birds, others spun in erratic arcs, and a few blinked in and out, testing both timing and precision.

Competitors lined up, their hands already glowing with magic. Fireballs arced through the air, bolts of lightning cracked, shards of ice split the targets with sharp precision. The crowd cheered every explosion, every near miss, every spectacular display.

Viola stood among them, blade sheathed at her side, magic dancing along her fingers. Her expression was fierce, but Ludger could see the tightness in her shoulders. This wasn’t a duel—this was performance under pressure, and her pride was burning brighter than her spells.

From his seat in the stands, Ludger leaned on the railing, watching her with a flat gaze.

And so the circus begins.

It was then he noticed his father wasn’t cheering. Arslan’s grin was gone, replaced with something rare—something serious. His eyes stayed on the field, but his thoughts were far away.

Ludger frowned. “…What is it?”

Arslan exhaled, long and heavy, then turned to him. For once, there was no joke in his voice. “Sorry, Ludger.”

That caught him off guard. “For what?”

“For dragging you into this mess.” Arslan’s tone was quiet, but firm. “I can see it now. The changes to the rules, the sudden divisions… they’re not random. They’re tilting the ground beneath Viola on purpose.”

Ludger narrowed his eyes. “You’re sure?”

Arslan nodded grimly. “Almost certain. The family of that boy she punched—they have the pull for something like this. And the grudge.” He rubbed at his temple. “It makes sense now. They can’t stop her from competing, so they’ll just make the climb steeper.”

Ludger looked back toward the field, where Viola was lining up her shot, jaw clenched, pride burning hot enough to blind her to the trap.

Then Arslan did something Ludger had never seen before. He lowered his head.

“Help her,” he said, voice rough. “Just you being here is already more than I had a right to ask. But now… I need more. She needs more. If you don’t stand with her, she won’t last. I’m asking this not as your father, but as a fool who can’t protect both his children at once.”

For a heartbeat, Ludger just stared. His father, the man who could grin through a dungeon collapsing, who could charm his way out of almost anything, was bowing his head to him.

The crowd roared as another competitor’s spell split its target clean in half. Viola’s turn was moments away.

Ludger exhaled slowly, eyes drifting back to the sand below.

Of course it comes down to me. It always does.

The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena, and Viola stepped forward into the line of competitors. A hush rippled through the stands, broken quickly by scattered cheers from the Torvares retainers. She raised her hand, mana flickering at her fingertips, her green eyes burning with the same reckless certainty that seemed to be carved into her very bones.

The first target shot across the field—quick, darting, a blur of light. Viola’s spell snapped into shape, a lance of mana slicing the air. It struck true, shattering the target into sparks. The crowd roared.

Another came, swerving left and right. She steadied her breath, unleashed a sharp burst, and clipped it dead center. Then another, and another. Her accuracy wasn’t flawless—one shot veered wide, another skimmed the edge—but each time she reset her stance, determination tightening her jaw. By the time the horn sounded, signaling the end of her round, she had cleared enough targets to advance.

Viola lowered her hand, chest rising and falling with sharp breaths, and then grinned. She wasn’t perfect, but she was through. The crowd’s cheers rolled over her like a tide, and she soaked it in like fire to her pride.

From the stands, Ludger leaned back, exhaling slowly. He could still hear Arslan’s quiet plea beside him, the weight in his father’s voice as he bowed his head for once. And as he watched Viola standing there, pride blazing brighter than common sense, Ludger felt the truth of it.

They’re the same,

he thought.

Viola, Father, Lord Torvares. Wild. Overbearing. They don’t bend, even when the world tries to force them. Of course the nose-breaking incident became a storm. Of course Torvares ignored the complaints. To them, it was better to shield their own than let her be broken by the games nobles play.

Did Viola have a good reason for throwing that punch? Maybe. Maybe not. But it didn’t matter. She was here, standing tall in a rigged arena, and he could already see the gears of noble houses grinding against her.

Ludger let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Figures.”

He turned his gaze back to Arslan, who hadn’t moved from his bowed posture. For once, his father wasn’t a fool or a joker—just a man asking for help he couldn’t provide himself.

“…Fine,” Ludger muttered, a crooked smirk pulling at his lips. “I’ll play along. I’ll cover her back. Might as well enjoy the heat and chaos of this circus while I’m stuck in it.”

Arslan lifted his head, eyes wide for a moment, then softened into a relieved grin. “That’s all I can ask for.”

Ludger shrugged, turning back to the arena. “Don’t thank me yet. If she drags me down with her, you’re explaining

that

to Mother too.”

Arslan laughed under his breath, but Ludger didn’t look at him again. His eyes stayed on Viola—burning, proud, oblivious—and for the first time since this trip began, he stopped thinking about escape.