Chapter 215

Ludger’s faint smirk faded. He frowned, the gears in his head began turning.

“Wait,” he said, looking at Viola. “When exactly did your grandfather get that title?”

Viola blinked, a little surprised at the tone in his voice. “Hmm? Around four weeks ago. Why?”

Ludger exhaled slowly through his nose. “Around four weeks ago… That was right when I left the north to find Gaius.”

He rubbed his chin, thinking back.

Right before the mess in Meira. Right before we agreed to even come south.

That timing didn’t sit right.

“At that point,” he said slowly, “you still hadn’t confirmed if you’d take the bridge contract. And Torvares suddenly gets a promotion? Sounds a little convenient.”

Viola tilted her head, frowning now too. “You think it’s connected? We had been working hard for this since the war, after all.”

“Maybe.” Ludger leaned against the wall, his voice low enough to keep it between their group. “The Imperial Court doesn’t hand out noble ranks just to be nice. If they wanted House Torvares to cooperate with the bridge project, dangling a Viscount title would do the trick.”

Arslan crossed his arms. “That’s how the Empire works, son. Sugar first, leash later.”

“Yeah,” Ludger muttered. “And they’ve been trying to pull the leash tighter every time we start standing on our own.”

He dragged a hand down his face, already feeling the headache coming on. “So that means someone high up in the capital wanted me here. On the coast. Working on

this

.”

Elaine raised an eyebrow. “You think they planned for you specifically?”

Ludger shrugged. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Not after the last few years.”

Viola’s expression darkened slightly. “If that’s true, then this bridge is more than just a trade project. They might be using it to get information—or to keep us occupied while something else happens inland. They gave grandfather something that he wanted, in order for him to work harder… perhaps to convince you all to come.”

Cor nodded quietly. “Wouldn’t be the first time nobles hid a war behind a construction job.”

Ludger sighed, staring into the middle distance before facepalming hard enough to make Kharnek chuckle.

“Fantastic,” he muttered. “So while I was underground breaking bones and fighting slavers, the Empire decided to promote Torvares just to shove me into their little coastal project. Great. Perfect. Exactly what I needed. Another reason not to be here.”

He dropped his hand and looked at Viola. “Why wasn’t I informed about this sooner?”

Viola crossed her arms, a touch defensive. “Because

I

only found out three days after you left. My grandfather wanted to tell you in person, but by then you’d already gone.”

Ludger frowned. “And you didn’t think to mention it when we regrouped?”

“I had a few other things on my mind at the time—like making sure you weren’t dead,” she said sharply.

Ludger sighed again. “Fair.”

The group fell quiet for a moment as the ballroom’s noise swelled again around them. The laughter, the music, the faint clink of glasses—it all felt strangely distant now.

Elaine glanced at her son, her voice softer. “If someone truly wanted you here, then it means they’re watching. We’ll need to be careful.”

Ludger nodded, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. I’ll deal with that later. For now, I’ll pretend to be just another worker at a party.”

Arslan smirked. “You mean a

popular

worker.”

Ludger gave him a sidelong look. “Don’t start.”

Viola exhaled, rubbing her temple. “Let’s not ruin the evening with politics, please. At least pretend to enjoy yourself before you start investigating half the Empire again.”

Ludger grunted but said nothing.

Still, as he looked toward the glowing ballroom and the guests laughing beneath its chandeliers, one thought stayed at the back of his mind—cold and sharp.

Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure he ended up here.

And he didn’t like that one bit.

Before Ludger could stew too long in his own thoughts, a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“Relax, boy.”

He looked up to see Kharnek standing there—towering, broad-shouldered, and somehow managing to look completely at ease even in the middle of a noble ballroom. His formal clothes looked like they were barely containing his frame, but he wore them with the same casual confidence he’d wear armor.

Kharnek’s grin was half amusement, half challenge. “You think too much. This isn’t a trap—it’s a stage. You don’t need to fear the enemy seeing you. Let them.”

Ludger raised a brow. “You saying I should show off?”

“I’m saying,” Kharnek rumbled, “that every time your enemies think they’re moving you like a pawn, you move first. Let them believe they’ve got control. Then take it from them.”

The northern chief’s voice dropped lower, quiet but sharp. “If you keep stopping their schemes before they finish, you’ll bleed them dry. Better to

see

what they plan next than chase ghosts in the dark. This bridge, this party—these are chances to watch them move.”

Ludger nodded slowly. It wasn’t bad advice, though it didn’t make the knot in his chest disappear. “So… play along until they slip.”

Kharnek smirked. “Exactly. Don’t sulk in corners and look like prey. Smile, laugh, eat their food, and remember everything they say. That’s what real warriors do when they’re outnumbered—they act like they aren’t.”

Before Ludger could respond, Arslan’s voice joined in from his side—calm, firm, and carrying that familiar weight of command. “Your old man agrees.”

Ludger glanced at him.

Arslan’s expression was neutral, his tone low but clear. “Never show tension in a room like this. Not to nobles, not to allies, not even to me. These people read faces better than scouts read tracks. One slip, one nervous glance, and they’ll start guessing why.”

Ludger crossed his arms, exhaling slowly. “Easier said than done.”

“True,” Arslan said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But you’ll get there. You’ve already had worse audiences than this one.”

“Yeah,” Ludger muttered. “The ones that wanted me dead.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Kharnek laughed loud enough to draw a few curious glances, slapping Ludger’s back hard enough to rattle his ribs. “See? You’re learning. If you’re going to stand before snakes, make sure they see fangs of your own.”

Ludger couldn’t help a small, crooked grin at that. “Right. Just act normal while surrounded by half the Empire and every person I care about standing in one place. Easy.”

Arslan’s smile faded just a bit. “I know. But that’s why you

can’t

show nerves now. Your family’s here. Your friends. If someone wanted to strike, this would be the time—and the moment you start looking over your shoulder, they’ll know you expect it.”

Ludger’s eyes flicked toward the crowd. Elaine and the twins were still by the window, talking softly with Aleia and Viola. Freyra and Kharnek stood like sentinels nearby, pretending to drink. Every person he trusted in one hall, under one roof—

visible.

It made his skin crawl.

He took a quiet breath, forcing the tension from his shoulders. “Alright,” he said at last. “Fine. I’ll play along. Smile for the nobles, act like nothing’s wrong.”

Kharnek grinned. “Good. That’s the first step to winning wars without swinging a weapon.”

Ludger managed a thin smirk. “Still prefer the weapon.”

Kharnek chuckled quietly. “You and me both.”

For now, the music swelled again, and the crowd shifted. Laughter rose, goblets clinked, and the manor buzzed with warmth and light—on the surface, at least.

Ludger stood there beside his father and Kharnek, watching the dance begin, his face calm and unreadable. Inside, though, the tension never really left.

Because even if he was smiling for the crowd, he knew one thing for sure—someone in this room was waiting for them to slip.

And he didn’t plan to give them that satisfaction.

The music faded as Lucius stepped onto the center platform of the ballroom, a raised marble dais framed by golden drapes. The chatter dulled almost instantly; the musicians lowered their bows, and the noble crowd turned as one.

Ludger felt the shift ripple through the room—a wave of silence followed by expectation. The moment belonged entirely to Lucius Hakuen.

The young lord stood beneath the chandelier’s light, his posture impeccable, his expression calm but earnest. Despite his age, he carried himself like someone already used to command.

“Friends,” he began, his voice clear and steady, echoing through the hall, “I thank you all for coming tonight.”

A few polite murmurs of approval rippled through the guests.

Lucius smiled faintly, lifting a hand. “I know many of you traveled long roads to reach the coast, and for that, I am deeply grateful. Tonight is not just a celebration of my fifteenth year, but of what comes next—for all of us.”

He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the room. “Some of you may have noticed my father’s absence. He wanted to be here, truly. But his health… has not been kind to him lately. I ask your understanding for his rest.”

A respectful murmur rolled through the crowd. A few nobles lowered their heads.

Lucius continued, his tone firm but sincere. “I owe everything I am to him—and I intend to make sure his efforts are not in vain. The Hakuen family has stood for centuries, guarding these shores and feeding the Empire’s heart through trade and labor. We’ve seen storms, famine, wars, and monsters… and still, we endure.”

He took a slow breath, his youthful voice carrying a weight beyond his years. “When my father recovers, I will stand beside him. Together, we’ll rebuild what time and neglect have taken from the Empire. We will make it stronger—make it

worthy

of its name again.”

Applause rippled through the hall—polite at first, then growing. Nobles clapped, glasses lifted, and someone near the front called out a toast.

“To the next generation!”

Lucius smiled, bowing his head slightly. “To the next generation indeed—and to the Empire that will rise with it.”

The music swelled again, bright and hopeful, and the applause faded into motion as the first dance began. Lucius stepped down from the dais, shaking hands with a few nearby nobles, smiling the way only someone used to political theater could.

From his corner of the room, Ludger watched quietly. The boy was young—but the speech hadn’t been childish. It was deliberate, practiced, and heavy with meaning.

He could feel it in the tone, the phrasing—the subtle promise woven beneath the patriotism.

Once my father recovers, I will work with him…

Translation

:

The moment he’s back on his feet, we’ll take the reins from whoever’s been pulling them in his absence.

Arslan caught his eye from across the group and gave a small nod. He’d heard it too.

Kharnek leaned closer, voice low. “The boy’s got steel in him. For an imperial noble, that’s rare.”

Ludger folded his arms, gaze following Lucius as nobles swarmed him like moths to a lamp. “Steel’s good,” he murmured. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t melt when the fire starts.”

Viola glanced at him, expression thoughtful. “He means what he says, Ludger. He’s not like the others. He has grown.”

“Maybe,” Ludger said. “But every speech like that has a shadow behind it. Someone wrote those words—or taught him how to use them.”

Kharnek chuckled softly. “You’d make a fine politician if you weren’t so obvious about hating politics.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “That’s why I’ll never be one.”

The music rose again as the nobles began to dance, laughter and perfume flooding the air once more. But the speech lingered, heavy in Ludger’s thoughts.

Lucius Hakuen had just announced his intent to rebuild the Empire’s power.

And for everyone who wanted to see it fall… that was as good as a declaration of war.

The evening carried on like any noble festivity should—music swelling, laughter spilling from wine-fed lips, the ballroom swirling with dancers and perfumed conversations. Lucius continued to entertain his guests, moving gracefully between tables, never letting the rhythm of the celebration falter.

For a moment, Ludger allowed himself to believe the night would end quietly.

Then the doors opened.

They didn’t

burst

open—there was no dramatic entrance, no crash or cry—but the shift in the room’s atmosphere was immediate. A few guests turned to look, mild annoyance flickering in their expressions at whoever had arrived late.

Rathen stood at the entrance, his chest heaving, his hair slightly disheveled. The Guildmaster of the Ironhand Syndicate—usually composed and precise—looked like he had sprinted the entire way from the coast.

His attire was formal enough for the occasion, but sweat streaked his collar, and he was still catching his breath as he scanned the room. His eyes locked on Lucius—and then on Ludger’s group in the corner.

He gave a short nod in their direction—acknowledgment, nothing more—before heading straight for the young lord.

Lucius, mid-conversation with a minor noble, turned just as Rathen reached him. The man leaned close and whispered something into his ear, voice low and urgent.

The color drained slightly from Lucius’s face.

He didn’t speak. He simply nodded once, sharply, and gestured for one of his attendants to follow him toward the side doors.

Arslan caught it immediately.

His posture shifted—barely perceptible to anyone else, but Ludger knew that stance. A soldier reading the room, calculating exits, gauging danger.

“Something’s happened,” Arslan said quietly, his voice just above the music. “We need to move. Now.”

Elaine turned her head slightly. “Do we know what?”

“No,” Arslan murmured. “And that’s the problem.”

Ludger’s jaw tightened. “If Rathen came running in like that, it’s not a merchant’s issue.”

“Exactly,” Arslan said. “But don’t draw attention. We leave quietly.”

Viola glanced toward Lucius, who was already gone from the ballroom. “You think it’s related to the bridge?”

“Or worse,” Arslan replied.

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