Chapter 69

Ludger kept the thoughts locked behind his teeth. No point voicing them—not to Viola, who would only double down on her recklessness, and not to Luna, who already carried enough weight in silence.

So he ran.

The three of them cut across the plains, shadows gliding over the grass, the night air cold in their lungs. Viola’s breathing grew rougher, but her eyes stayed sharp, fire pushing her legs forward. Luna’s silhouette never faltered—steady, silent, unshaken, as if nothing could make her lose her way.

Ludger’s own stride was measured, each step feeding his focus. His body ached, but his mind was sharper than ever, carving every moment into memory. The questions still gnawed at him, but they would have to wait.

Hours slipped past. The sky began to change.

First, a pale wash of blue crept over the horizon. Then streaks of orange, gold, and crimson bled across the edge of the world, pushing back the night.

The three slowed, almost in unison, their breaths misting in the cool air.

The sun was rising.

Ludger narrowed his eyes against the light, his smirk faint but steady.

We’ve already come this far. No turning back now.

The sun climbed higher, burning the dew from the grass, painting the horizon gold. By then, the walls of Meronia loomed faint in the distance—tall, pale stone catching the dawn.

Viola slowed for a moment, her gaze fixed on it. “We could rest there. It’d be safer than—”

“No,” Ludger cut her off flatly. His eyes stayed sharp on the horizon. “Safer for us, maybe. But the moment we walk through those gates, someone will see us. And if word gets back before we’re finished, everyone will know what we are plotting..”

Viola’s mouth opened to argue, but Luna spoke before she could. Her voice was calm, even, but carried finality. “He’s right. If we’re unseen, we stay unseen.”

Viola bit her lip, but nodded, fire still burning behind her eyes.

So they kept running, keeping Meronia’s walls to their left, never veering closer than they had to. Their breaths grew heavier, legs aching under the steady pace, but none of them slowed.

It wasn’t until they spotted a grove in the distance—a small cluster of trees standing like sentries against the empty plain—that Ludger finally raised his hand.

“Over there. We’ll hide until nightfall.”

The three slipped into the cover of the trees, the air cooler, the shade wrapping around them like a cloak. Branches creaked softly overhead, leaves rustling in the morning breeze. For the first time since leaving the sewers, they let themselves stop.

Ludger leaned against the trunk of an old oak, sweat dripping down his temple, chest heaving. He smirked faintly, though the exhaustion burned in his muscles. “Better than the city. At least trees don’t talk.”

Viola dropped onto the grass with a huff, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm. Luna stood near the edge of the grove, her silver eyes scanning the horizon for movement, expression as unreadable as ever.

For now, they were ghosts again—three shadows hidden in the wild.

Viola dug into her pack, pulling out a small bundle of bread and dried meat she’d stashed away. She tossed a piece to Ludger without a word, then bit into her share like she was trying to bite the war itself.

Luna stayed on her feet, near the grove’s edge, eyes sweeping the horizon with quiet precision. She didn’t eat, didn’t sit—only kept watch, her hand never straying far from the knife hidden under her skirt.

Ludger sat against the rough bark of an oak, chewing slowly, then closed his eyes. His breathing slowed, letting his body take what rest it could without slipping too deep into sleep.

The ache in his legs throbbed dull under his skin, proof of the ground they had already claimed. The warmth of food in his stomach was small, but steady. Still, his mind didn’t rest.

Three kids. Running straight into the teeth of a war everyone else is trying to abandon. What’s the plan, Ludger? What’s the endgame?

The image of Meronia’s walls lingered in his thoughts—so close, yet impossible. They couldn’t show their faces there, couldn’t risk being seen. So it came down to this: stolen food, borrowed time, and whatever strength they could squeeze out of their young bodies before the storm caught them.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, smirk faint but humorless.

Better figure it out fast. Otherwise, we’re just three brats hiding in the woods while the world burns around us.

The rustle of leaves filled the silence. For now, the grove was calm. But the questions wouldn’t stop pressing against his skull, sharp and heavy.

The silence stretched until Viola finally broke it, her voice sharp but unsteady. “So what’s the plan? We didn’t sneak out of the city just to nap in the woods. What are we actually going to

do

out there?”

Ludger cracked one eye open, then let it drift shut again. He leaned his head back against the bark, chewing slowly on what little bread was left.

“Not many options,” he said flatly. “I’m not swinging a sword on the frontlines like Father. Not yet. But if I’m there, I can heal the wounded on the spot, keep the men standing longer. That’s useful.”

Viola frowned. “And you?” She glanced at Luna, then back at Ludger. “That’s it? Just patching people up?”

Ludger’s lips curled into a thin smirk, though his tone stayed dry. “I could try sniping the barbarians with magic, I guess. Mana bolts.. Maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t. Hard to imagine it making a difference when there’s thousands of them. Feels like throwing pebbles at a landslide.”

Viola’s jaw tightened, her hands gripping her knees. She hated the thought of doing so little, hated it almost as much as sitting around doing nothing back home.

Luna, still watching the horizon, spoke quietly without turning. “Even pebbles can disrupt a river if they’re placed right. The problem is knowing

where

to place them.”

Her voice was calm, but the words hung heavy in the shade. Ludger opened his eyes at that, narrowing them at her back. She wasn’t wrong—but finding that spot, that one cut that mattered, was the question he still couldn’t answer.

Ludger chewed the last stale bite of bread and watched the morning light crawl through the leaves. The idea kept circling his head, stubborn as a splinter.

Tell Luna to go ghost through their lines,

he thought.

Find their leaders. Cut the head and maybe the body stumbles.

It sounded clean in his head — clinical, efficient. But reality sat heavy on his shoulders.

He opened his eyes. Luna’s silhouette at the grove’s rim was motionless, always alert, as if she were already tuned to the world the way some people tuned instruments. She had assassin written into her bones: Silent Steps, quick blades, the kind of calm that made men forget they’d been watched until it was too late.

Still, even with Luna’s skills, the question unravelled:

How do you find a “most important” enemy in a horde that fights like wind—chaotic, leaderless, violent?

Barbarians didn’t wear rank like soldiers. They weren’t tidy. Power lived in reputations, in who could drag the most bodies, who shouted the loudest at dawn, who had a shaman whose tricks made men stagger. Ranks were rumor and fear, not neat insignia you could stab.

He ran possibilities through his head like sharpening a knife. Luna slips past the forward patrols, watches patterns: supply lines, who gathers at the fire, who gives orders when the shamans call. Find one node — a person or place that other actions orbit.

If they found a single cruel voice or a shaman that binds morale, remove it quietly. A carefully placed blade could turn bravery into chaos. Burn their food, break the wagons, poison the camp stew. Less glamour, more guaranteed rot. Make it look like something internal — infighting. Turn rumor into weapon. Each choice had teeth. Each choice had a cost.

He thought of Maurien’s silence, of the assassins in the city, of how the system counted goblins and ignored men. If Luna cut throats in the barbarians’ camps, would the system reward him? Would it matter? He didn’t want the system to decide his ethics, but he was pragmatic: results came first.

There was another problem:

Luna isn’t a one-woman army.

She could take out scouts, a brutal lookout, maybe a minor war-leader if things went perfectly. She couldn’t take a shaman’s ring of followers alone. If they pulled at a thread and tugged too hard, the whole snarl might unravel on them.

He pictured the plan and the contingencies — routes, meet points, escape windows. He saw Elaine’s face if Viola didn’t come back. He saw Viola’s grin if they actually pulled something off. He saw Luna’s unreadable mask as she considered what he’d ask.

Ludger shifted, the old smirk softening. The plan didn’t have to be murder on a throne. It could be intelligence: find the shapes inside the noise, learn how the barbarians knit power together, then choose small cuts that scaled — a supply wagon here, a vicious lieutenant there. Slow, surgical attrition that bled their momentum rather than trying to do what a general with an army should do.

He let the thought sit a moment longer, then opened his eyes and stood. Quietly, he walked toward Luna.

Not a command. Not yet. An offer: scout the lines, but only if she judged it doable. Find the patterns. Bring back names. If there was one worth removing without turning the whole hornet’s nest on them — they’d decide together.

Because the hard truth had settled in like a bruise: three kids couldn’t stop a war. But three clever, precise strikes, informed by real knowledge… they might buy the border days it otherwise wouldn’t get.

Ludger folded his hands behind his back and called softly, almost casual, “Luna. If you wanted — could you slip along their edges? See who feeds who, who answers to who? Don’t act. Just watch. If you find a node that looks cutable, tell me. We’ll decide the rest.”

He watched her for the slight, involuntary flicker in her eyes — approval, calculation, the blade of a plan forming.

Luna turned her head slightly at Ludger’s words, the morning light catching silver in her eyes. For a moment she was silent, unreadable as always. Then she shook her head once, calm but firm.

“My job,” she said, voice low and steady, “is to serve Lady Viola. To protect her alone. That is the duty I was given. Not scouting, not assassination.”

Her hand brushed against the knife at her thigh, more a reminder than a threat. “If danger comes, I’ll cut it down before it reaches her. But chasing shadows beyond her reach? That is not my task.”

Viola, sitting cross-legged in the grass nearby, looked up at that. She smirked faintly, trying to lighten the mood but unable to hide the pride flickering in her eyes. “See? Even she knows I’m the important one.”

Ludger’s mouth curved into a thin, sarcastic grin, but his thoughts churned.

So that’s it. She won’t leave Viola’s side no matter what. Her blade belongs to her mistress, not the war, not me.

It was inconvenient—dangerously so. But it was also what made her reliable. Predictable. A shield tied to Viola’s recklessness, for better or worse.

“Fine,” Ludger muttered at last, leaning back against the tree. “Then keep her alive, and leave the rest to me.”

Luna dipped her chin in a small, precise nod. No argument, no elaboration. Just acceptance.

The grove went quiet again, but the line was drawn in sharp stone: Viola would burn forward, Luna would guard her, and Ludger… he’d be the one forced to fill in the gaps, however messy they turned out to be.

Viola’s jaw worked. She pushed herself up from the grass, boots scuffing dirt, eyes firing questions that didn’t come out as words.

“What then?” she asked finally, voice too loud for the quiet grove. “If I can’t go charging in head-first, what am I supposed to do? Sit pretty at home and braid my hair while everyone else dies?”

Ludger met her glare without blinking. He didn’t bother with speeches or false comfort. He kept his voice flat, the way you give instructions before a fight.

“Stay where your grandfather can see you,” he said. “Be his anchor. If you’re at his side, he’s less likely to go nuts trying to prove something to the capital. It calms him. It makes him think twice before ordering a reckless charge the moment someone insults his pride.”

She blinked, as if the idea had landed with an unexpected weight. “You want me to babysit him?”

“It’s not babysitting.” Ludger pushed off the tree and paced a slow circle, hands tucked behind his back. “It’s strategy. Torvares answers to honor and face. If you’re there—training, visible, refusing to be a trophy—he’s less likely to throw men into a meat grinder just to annoy the people in the capital. Your presence ties his decisions to something real instead of his ego.”

Viola’s mouth opened, closed. “So I sit with him and smile while he—”

“You don’t smile,” Ludger snapped, sharper than he meant. “You train. You make him proud because he can see actual skill, not posturing.” He leveled with her. “And you don’t go off alone. If you march out, every lieutenant and lord near the border will funnel men into a bubble of ‘protecting Viola.’ That sounds nice when you’re eleven and dramatic—until it costs a village. Guards who should be at the wall are policing your footsteps. Medics who should be patching wounds are doubling as your escort. That’s lives moved off the line so you can play hero.”

Her cheeks flared. “So I’m a—what—leverage?”

“Exactly,” Ludger said. No flinch. “Leverage that holds him back from dying on principle. Be visible in the right place. Let your skill be the reason he listens to counsel instead of bloodlust. You do that, you save more people than any lone charge ever would. And you still get to fight—on his terms, when it matters.”

Viola’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her practice sword at her side. Conflict warred across her face—pride vs. purpose. “You make it sound… so boring.”

“It’s boring and it works,” Ludger said. He leaned in a fraction, voice softer now. “And if it ever comes down to you actually needing to move—if he makes a stupid order, if the capital’s men push something else—then you don’t go alone. You go with a plan, with Luna, with me, and with people ready to hold the line while you do it. Not with half the border trailing behind you like lost puppies.”

Viola stared at him a long moment. The restlessness in her didn’t die—it only folded into something harder, more disciplined. At last she gave a low, reluctant nod. “Fine. I’ll stay. But only because I’m not going to be a footnote of my grandfather’s pride. I’ll be the reason he thinks twice.”

Ludger let himself believe the promise for a second. “Good. Train so hard he can’t ignore what you are. Make yourself useful to his decisions, not a reason for them to be reckless.”

She snorted, a small, fierce sound. “You really are a sentimental idiot, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Ludger said, smirking in spite of himself. “And you’re a walking disaster I’d rather steer than chase.”

Viola shoved him with the flat of her palm—no force, just enough to keep the argument alive—and rose. Luna watched them both, inscrutable, then slipped to the grove’s edge and resumed her silent lookout. The plan settled between them, practical and unromantic: hold the line by standing where the old men notice, train until the glory is earned and not squandered, and move only when they were a razor-sharp blade—not a flare that lit the sky.

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