Chapter 58

Later, after the sweat dried on his skin and the ache in his arms dulled, Ludger sat on the steps of the courtyard, letting the cool breeze wash over him. His thoughts replayed the conversation, the silence ward, the vanishing act.

At first, Maurien’s warning felt like nothing but frustration—a puzzle with half the pieces missing. But the longer Ludger chewed on it, the clearer it became.

He declared me his student, out loud, in front of plenty of witnesses before.

That wasn’t just pride. That was a shield. Anyone with half a brain would think twice before laying hands on a pupil of Maurien. And if that wasn’t enough, his little reputation as a cheap healer in the city added another layer—too many people needed him, even if they didn’t take him seriously.

The real threats, then, were the outliers. The reckless ones. The kind of people too stubborn, too arrogant, or too insane to care about names or reputations. Maurien could have dealt with them himself. But he didn’t.

Ludger smirked faintly, leaning back against the wall.

So that’s his game. He’ll sweep aside the small fry, keep the wolves at bay, but leave the rabid ones for me. Not because he can’t handle them—because he wants me to learn how to clean up my own messes.

It wasn’t a comforting thought, but it was honest. And Ludger could respect that.

“Fine, old man,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll play along. But don’t expect me to thank you for throwing me scraps of trouble.”

From across the yard, Viola sat up, tilting her head. “What are you mumbling about?”

“Nothing,” Ludger said, pushing himself up to his feet. “Get ready. Break’s over.”

That night, when the house finally quieted down, Ludger slipped out into the street. The lamps burned low, shadows stretching long across the cobblestones. He let his breathing slow, his eyes scanning the alleys, rooftops, and corners. Every creak of wood, every brush of wind made him tense.

If Maurien says people are watching… then they’ll leave some kind of sign. A footstep too heavy, a shadow that lingers too long, a gaze that doesn’t look away.

He circled the block twice, careful to move casually, like a boy just wandering after curfew. Then he doubled back, retraced his steps, tested side alleys. His ears strained against the night. His skin prickled. Once or twice, he thought he caught movement—but when he turned, nothing was there.

Hours passed, and still he found nothing.

By the time he returned home, frustration gnawed at him. He leaned against the courtyard wall, arms folded tight.

Damn it. I couldn’t spot a tail if they were standing on my neck. This isn’t training, it’s a blind man swinging at smoke.

It was clear: he lacked the tools.

I need thief skills. Scouts, trackers—people who can read signs in the dirt or smell lies in the air. Someone who knows how to sense eyes on their back, how to blend and unblend at will.

But finding someone like that? In the open? Easier said than done. The ones with real talent stayed hidden, and the fakes would bleed him for coins before vanishing.

He exhaled sharply, pushing off the wall.

Tch. Guess I’ll have to figure out how to sniff them out before they sniff me. Or better—find someone who already knows how.

The night felt heavier now, but not because of shadows. Because Maurien was right—eyes

were

out there. And Ludger still couldn’t see them.

Ludger’s first thought was Aronia. Druids lived with one foot in the seen and one in the unseen; if anyone could teach him how to

feel

the eyes on his back, it was her. But she was gone—north, marching with the war effort.

So that’s out.

The next name that came to mind was Arslan. If anyone knew shady adventurers with the right skills, it was his father. Rogues, scouts, rangers—he’d worked with all of them. But Arslan was gone too, chasing battles and coin on the front.

Great. All my shortcuts are on the battlefield.

Ludger dragged a hand down his face, exhaling. That left him with one conclusion.

Looks like I’ll have to do this the hard way. No borrowed tricks, no ready-made teachers. If I want to spot who’s watching, I’ll have to sharpen my own senses until I can’t be fooled.

The thought wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t hopeless either. He’d started from zero before and carved his way up—his mana control, his healing, even [Dash] and Enhancing. This would just be another grind, another system to break down.

Still, the problem wasn’t just learning. It was surviving long enough to get good at it.

He leaned against the window frame, staring out at the torches flickering in the dark.

Hard way it is. Better bruised in practice than blind in a trap.

His lips curved in the faintest smirk. “…Guess I’ll just make myself the bait.”

If he couldn’t

see

them, then he’d make them show themselves.

The next morning, Ludger started weaving little changes into his routine. He left the house when Elaine went out, trailing just far enough behind that anyone watching would have to follow both. Other times, when Luna went shopping, he insisted on carrying the sacks she brought back. She didn’t complain, just accepted his help with a nod, but it gave him an excuse to linger in crowded streets.

The trick wasn’t just leaving the house—it was leaving at different times, taking different routes, doubling back when no one expected it.

If someone was tailing him, sooner or later, they’d have to slip.

Day after day, he tested patterns. Turn down alleys, stop abruptly in front of stalls, pretend to drop something, then glance at reflections in shop windows. Sometimes he thought he caught a flicker of movement, a shadow ducking back, but he could never be sure.

They’re out there. Maurien doesn’t waste words. If he said eyes are on us, they are.

Still, he felt no knife at his back, no hand reaching for him in the dark. Whoever was watching had patience—and enough discipline not to make mistakes easily.

That only made him more certain.

These aren’t amateurs. If I want to catch them, I need sharper eyes… or I need to push them harder.

Carrying bags for Luna one afternoon, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She moved like always—calm, steady, no wasted steps. It was hard to tell if she even noticed the possibility of being watched.

She probably does,

Ludger thought.

She just doesn’t say it. Figures.

The next time they went out together, Ludger decided to probe. He carried two sacks of grain on his shoulders while Luna walked ahead, basket hooked in the crook of her arm, moving with the same quiet rhythm as always.

Halfway back, he slowed his pace, then “accidentally” dropped one of the sacks. It hit the ground with a thud, spilling dust across the cobblestones. He crouched low, pretending to fix the bundle while his eyes flicked to the reflections in a nearby shop window.

No movement. No stumble. Just people walking past.

Luna turned her head slightly. “You’re testing something.”

Ludger straightened, dusting off his hands. “You noticed?”

She kept walking without looking back. “Of course. You’ve been trying little tricks for days now—stopping suddenly, turning down alleys, watching glass. You’re not subtle.”

Ludger frowned. “…And you haven’t said anything because?”

At that, Luna finally glanced at him, her amber eyes cool but steady. “Because I know what I’m doing. And because I’m already aware of the people watching us.”

Ludger blinked, tightening his grip on the sack. “So you

do

know.”

“Of course.” Her tone didn’t shift in the slightest, like she was commenting on the weather. “They’ve been watching since the tournament. They keep their distance, never act. For now, they’re only observing.”

For the first time, Ludger saw something flicker behind her calm eyes—a quiet sharpness, a certainty.

“Don’t worry so much,” Luna added. “If they wanted to strike, they would have already. Until then, let them watch. It’s not your move yet.”

She turned back to the road, leaving Ludger standing in place for a moment, his chest tight.

…And here I thought I was the cautious one.

Ludger caught up to her, shifting the sack higher on his shoulder. “Hold on. If you’re already aware, then tell me what you’ve noticed. How many, where, and when.”

Luna didn’t slow her pace. “Three, sometimes four. They rotate. Never the same pair twice in a row. They stay outside the alleys, where there’s cover, or blend into market crowds. They don’t approach this house directly, but their eyes linger too long when Viola is outside.”

Ludger narrowed his eyes. “…So they’re after her.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “That was always the risk.”

He frowned. “You talk like you knew this would happen.”

Finally, Luna stopped walking. She turned to face him fully, her expression as calm as ever, but there was weight in her gaze now. “Because I was trained for it. I’m not just a maid, Ludger. I was raised to serve Viola as her attendant—and as her bodyguard. Watching for shadows, reading the crowd, making sure she doesn’t walk blind into a knife—that’s my job.”

The words clicked in Ludger’s head like tumblers in a lock.

That explains everything. Why she never wastes steps, why she never panics, why she moves like she’s older than she is. She’s been groomed for this since the start.

He exhaled, muttering, “…So all this time, I thought you were just good at chores.”

A flicker of amusement passed through her eyes. “Good servants don’t make their other duties obvious. Viola complains enough about having a maid. She doesn’t need to know she has a guard either.”

Ludger’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk.

Figures. Viola probably thinks Luna’s just here to clean up her messes and nag her into reading books.

But now he knew better.

Luna adjusted the basket on her arm and started walking again, her steps calm and even. Without looking back, she spoke in that same steady tone:

“Don’t tell Viola.”

Ludger raised an eyebrow. “Why not? If she knew, maybe she’d stop charging into every fight like she’s untouchable.”

Luna shook her head. “No. If she finds out, she’ll treat it like a challenge. She’ll try to prove she doesn’t need me—push harder, take bigger risks. You know how she is.”

Ludger grunted, remembering every reckless Overdrive burst, every wild charge in the tournament, every time Viola shouted louder just because someone told her not to. “…Yeah. She’d probably do something stupid.”

“Exactly.” Luna’s amber eyes flicked to him, calm but sharp. “So let her think I’m just her maid. It keeps her manageable. She fights to show off, not because she’s trying to prove she doesn’t need protecting.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “You’ve got her figured out better than most.”

“Figuring her out is my job,” Luna replied simply. Then, with the smallest trace of a dry edge, she added, “Keeping her alive is yours too, whether you like it or not.”

Ludger almost laughed. Almost.

A maid and a bodyguard rolled into one… and she still bosses me around about chores. Perfect.

They walked a little farther in silence, the bustle of the market thinning as they neared home. Ludger shifted the sack on his shoulder, then glanced at Luna.

“So if you’re supposed to be Viola’s bodyguard… can you actually fight?” His tone was blunt, eyes narrowing. “Like, fight well enough to protect her against real enemies?”

Luna didn’t bristle, didn’t flinch. She just shook her head once. “Not yet. I’m still training. Against proper fighters, knights, or mages, I wouldn’t last long.”

She adjusted the basket in her arm, her voice as steady as ever. “But against some thugs? The kind who underestimate me because of my size or because I wear an apron? Those I can handle. Their arrogance makes them slow. Predictable.”

Ludger considered that, lips pressing into a thin line.

So she can’t hold off soldiers or assassins, but she can gut the overconfident idiots. Useful, but limited.

“You’re honest about your weaknesses,” he muttered. “Better than pretending.”

Luna’s gaze slid briefly to him, calm as ever. “Pretending gets people killed. Viola needs someone real, not someone playing the part of a guard.”

For once, Ludger didn’t have a sarcastic reply. He just gave a short nod.

At least she knows where she stands. That’s more than I can say for most nobles.

Ludger leaned back, lips pressing into a flat line.

So Luna was basically a scarecrow with a dagger. Good enough to spook crows, but useless when the wolves came knocking.

“Then that means,” he muttered, mostly to himself, “I’m still the only shield standing between Viola and whoever’s out there.”

Luna bowed her head slightly. Not in shame, more like acknowledgment. “Yes. That’s the truth of it.”

Great. A maid who admits she can’t fight real killers, and a sister who thinks Overdrive solves every problem. All while assassins were camping outside the walls like it was their personal hunting blind.

Ludger forced a thin smile. “Fine. Then we play it my way. I’ll start leaving crumbs. If they’re watching me, they’ll have to eat sooner or later.”

Her brows rose. “Crumbs?”

“Traps, signals, patterns. Think of it like… baiting rats.” He tapped his shin guards, the red-silver surface catching a glint of lamplight. “The difference is, if the rats bite, I bite harder.”

For the first time since she spoke, Luna’s expression shifted—her lips tugged into the smallest ghost of approval. “Then I’ll follow your lead.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “Can you help me find them?”

Luna tilted her head. “The watchers?”

“Yeah.” He kept his voice flat, almost casual. “Find them… and get rid of them. Wouldn’t it be better to dispose of them once and for all?”

The silence that followed stretched like a drawn bowstring. Luna’s hand froze halfway through adjusting her gloves. Her calm mask cracked, if only for a second, a flicker of disbelief sparking in her dark eyes.

She studied him as if weighing whether he was joking, but his face—too steady, too sharp for a seven-year-old—gave her nothing.

“You speak of killing,” she said finally, voice soft but edged. “And you ask it like it’s the same as setting snares for rabbits.”

Ludger shrugged, almost mocking. “If the rabbits have knives and are watching us, yeah. What’s the difference?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn’t used to being unsettled, but the boy’s bluntness left her off balance. “Do you even understand what you’re suggesting?”

“I understand that leaving threats alive means they come back stronger,” Ludger replied. His tone didn’t rise, didn’t waver. Just cool, pragmatic calculation. “So, tell me, Luna… is it smarter to let them keep watching, or to make sure they never watch again?”

She stared at him for a long moment, the faintest shiver creeping down her spine. For the first time, she wondered if Ludger was really speaking like a child at all.

Luna didn’t answer right away. Her gaze slid past him to the window, to the faint lamplight bleeding in from the street outside. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and measured, like she was laying a blade on a whetstone.

“If that is your decision,” she said, “then I will help you.”

Ludger arched a brow. “No hesitation?”

Her lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. “I’ve served Viola since she could walk. My life is hers. If someone threatens her, I do what must be done. Whether they’re thugs or… watchers.” She paused, then added with a softness that made it all the sharper: “And if you take the lead, young master, then I will see to the rest. Disposal, silence, cleaning up whatever remains of our… actions.”

Ludger studied her. Calm, composed, not flinching at the thought. She’d been trained for obedience and efficiency, but this wasn’t just servitude—it was loyalty twisted into something colder.

“Good,” he said, exhaling through his nose. “Then we work together. I’ll bait them, you’ll clean up after. Simple.”

Her eyes lingered on him, uncertain now. “You speak like this is just another sparring drill. Do you truly—”

He cut her off with a thin, humorless grin. “Age doesn’t matter. Results do. And if you’re worried about my conscience…” He tapped his chest with two fingers. “Trust me, it already got buried once.”

The words hung in the quiet room like smoke from a snuffed candle. Luna said nothing more, but the way her eyes softened told him she’d heard the weight in his voice—even if she couldn’t begin to understand it.

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