Chapter 610

The thought made Ludger’s shoulders tense, despite the calm set of his steps.

He glanced at Silva trudging beside him, the wolf’s breath steaming, eyes alert and content. Silva didn’t care about politics. Or age. Or lineage. Or grandchildren. Silva cared about food, territory, and whether Ludger would let him tackle him again later.

Ludger envied him for a moment. Then he exhaled and kept walking, boots crunching steadily on Lionfang’s packed streets.

Medieval worlds are scary,

he thought grimly again.

Not because of monsters. Not even because of the Empire.

But because sometimes the most terrifying thing was realizing your family might one day start planning your life like it was another contract to negotiate. Ludger reached home with a trail of stares following him like loose snow.

Some were curious. Some were wary. A few were

very

respectful, especially the recruits who’d heard stories about the north and suddenly saw a dire wolf walking through Lionfang like it belonged there.

Silva didn’t help.

The wolf moved with the calm confidence of a beast that had decided walls and people were just scenery. Every time someone flinched, Silva’s ears flicked and his tail swished like he found the reaction mildly entertaining.

Ludger ignored the crowd and kept going.

Taking Silva home was possible. Elaine would probably raise an eyebrow, Viola would probably try to pet him and get tackled, and the twins would… honestly, the twins would either scream or cling to his fur like tiny gremlins.

It wasn’t the worst idea. Keeping a dire wolf as a watch dog was also

useful

. Ridiculously useful. A living alarm. A deterrent. A companion that could appear instantly if Ludger called. But usefulness didn’t beat practicality. Not today.

Ludger stopped near the edge of the familiar paths, turned slightly, and looked down at Silva.

“Not yet,” he said.

Silva’s amber eyes narrowed.

Ludger pointed northward with two fingers. “Hunt in the area. Stay close to the northerners’ camp.”

He paused, then added in the same flat tone he used for contracts and battlefield orders.

“Watch.”

Silva’s ears perked at the last word.

The wolf lifted his head and loosed a long howl that rolled over Lionfang’s rooftops and made several people freeze mid-step. Dogs barked back from somewhere in the town. A couple of guards on the wall turned their heads sharply.

Ludger didn’t flinch.

“Good,” he muttered.

Silva stepped closer and, before Ludger could shift away, lunged up just enough to press his muzzle against Ludger’s cheek.

Then he licked.

A long, thorough lick, like the wolf was signing a pact in saliva. Ludger’s eye twitched.

“Enough,” he said, voice completely dead.

Silva sneezed like that was hilarious, then bumped Ludger’s shoulder once, affectionate, heavy, and turned.

The dire wolf sprinted off, big body cutting through the street like a shadow, then slipping out toward the open snow beyond the walls. Ludger stood there for a second, face dripping with dire wolf saliva, watching his first tamed companion vanish into the distance. He sighed.

“…This is my life now.”

When Ludger got home, it was… quiet. Not the good kind of quiet that meant everything was safe and handled. The

strange

kind, like the house was holding its breath.

Usually, the moment he touched the door, the twins would launch themselves at him like tiny siege beasts. He’d get a face full of baby hands and someone’s headbutt to the ribs. Elaine would pretend she wasn’t smiling while telling him he looked like he’d been ambushed by gremlins.

Now?

Nothing. No footfalls. No squealing. No chaos.

Ludger stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. The air was warm, faintly smelling of bread and wood smoke and that ever-present hint of baby powder that clung to the whole house like a curse.

He glanced toward the hallway. Silence.

Sleeping.

It was close to mid-afternoon. That made sense. He moved further in and saw Elaine.

She was sitting in a chair near the window, head tipped slightly to one side, arms relaxed in her lap. Sunlight fell across her face in a thin band, catching the tired lines at the corner of her eyes. She looked… worn. Not weak, Elaine never looked weak, but tired in a way that came from constant vigilance and too many small hands needing too much.

Ludger paused.

He knocked on the doorframe out of habit, lightly.

Elaine didn’t stir. That made his brow crease. She hadn’t even heard him at the front door.

Ludger walked over quietly and stared at her for a second, then reached for a folded blanket draped over the back of another chair. He spread it over her shoulders with careful hands, tucking it in so it wouldn’t slide off when she shifted.

Elaine’s breathing stayed steady. No flinch. No instinctive snap awake.

Yeah,

Ludger thought,

she’s exhausted.

He didn’t wake her. Whatever report his parents had, he could hear it later. The world could wait an hour. His mother clearly couldn’t. Ludger turned and headed down the hall to his room.

The moment he shut the door behind him, the calm in his chest sharpened into focus. He didn’t sit. He didn’t rest. He pulled a notebook closer, cleared a corner of his desk, and started working.

Two weeks of training wasn’t just for him.

If he could teach the guild to take even a fraction of it, if he could get Lionsguard members to stabilize breath, manage stamina, and reinforce aura without burning themselves out, then their entire operational ceiling changed.

Losses got lower… And the Regent’s leash got harder to tighten.

He tapped the page once, then began outlining it in blunt, practical blocks:

Vitality Well basics — breath cycles, heat management, pacing drills.

Overdrive fundamentals — limb-first ignition, burst control, recovery intervals.

Progression milestones — what “control” looked like before power.

Safety thresholds — what to stop before someone cooked their own muscles.

He didn’t write poetry. He wrote a plan. The Magic Tamer skills could wait a bit. Silva was a win, but he was also a distraction. The guild needed infrastructure. The kind you could train into people until it became habit.

Ludger’s pen scratched steadily across the page. Outside his door, the house stayed quiet. Inside, the work began.

Ludger finished the last page, set the pen down, and rubbed his thumb along the edge of the paper like he was smoothing a blade.

Another manual. Another set of rules that would keep people alive if they actually followed them. He was just stacking the sheets when he heard it, soft at first, then sharper.

A muffled cry. Then the familiar chaos of tiny feet and angry blankets. The twins.

Their waking noises echoed down the hall like a warning bell, followed by the faint creak of a door and the rustle of fabric as Elaine stirred, instinct pulling her out of sleep before her mind fully caught up.

Ludger stood and opened his door at the same time she stepped into the hallway.

Elaine blinked, still half-asleep, hair slightly messy, blanket slipping off one shoulder. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

“Ludger?” she asked, voice rough with sleep. “When did you—?”

“I got back a while ago,” Ludger said quietly.

Elaine’s brows drew together, surprise and a flicker of guilt crossing her face. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I noticed,” Ludger replied dryly, then nodded toward the twins’ room as the noise escalated.

Another squeal. A thump. Then the unmistakable sound of a small body launching itself off a bed like gravity was optional.

Elaine’s body shifted automatically, already moving. Ludger stepped in front of her.

“I’ll look after them,” he said.

Elaine paused mid-step, eyes narrowing like she was about to argue out of habit.

Ludger kept his tone flat. Final. “You can keep resting.”

For a heartbeat, she hesitated. Then the exhaustion won, and something soft flickered behind her eyes.

“…Alright,” she murmured.

From the twins’ room, the door cracked open.

A pair of small heads appeared, messy hair, sleepy faces, and that instant, predatory recognition the moment they heard his voice.

Silence. One breath. Then both of them squealed like they’d been given permission to commit crimes. They dashed into the hallway like the usual tiny stampede, bare feet slapping the floor, arms already outstretched as if Ludger was the only stable object in the universe.

Ludger braced without moving.

The Arash hit his legs and wrapped around him. Elle collided a heartbeat later, trying to climb him like he was a tree that owed them snacks.

He caught them by instinct, one hand supporting, the other steadying, expression still calm, still tired, but no longer annoyed. Just… present.

“Ambush,” he muttered.

The twins answered by attempting to headbutt his stomach with full sincerity. They had watched northerners for far too long. Elaine watched from the hall, blanket still around her shoulders, eyes warm and quietly amused.

She smiled. Not a big smile. Not a loud one. The kind that came from seeing something familiar and good return to its rightful place.

She liked this routine.

The chaos, the noise, the small bodies clinging to the person they trusted most. After everything else, politics, threats, winter, war, this was the kind of normal that made the house feel like home again.

Ludger sat with one of them draped over each arm like living weights, their sleepy energy already turning into full-speed mischief. One had his scarf in a death grip. The other was chewing on his sleeve like it was a perfectly reasonable hobby.

He looked up at Elaine.

“How were those two weeks while I was away?” he asked.

He didn’t push. Didn’t angle it toward reports or threats. He kept it soft on purpose, like he was asking about weather.

Elaine’s mouth curved into a smile. It was there. But it didn’t reach all the way.

The kind of smile you wore when you wanted your child to feel welcomed before you handed them a knife. Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t say anything, but his body stilled in that subtle way that meant his mind had already shifted gears.

Elaine exhaled and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. Her gaze lingered on the twins for a moment, then returned to him.

“Troublesome,” she admitted quietly.

Ludger didn’t press her with words. He just waited. Elaine’s eyes hardened a fraction, steel under warmth, the version of her that had kept Lionfang standing when fear would’ve been easier.

“The Regent sent a response,” she said. “To your counteroffer.”

Ludger’s grip on the twins tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor himself.

“Which was…?” he asked.

Elaine met his gaze.

“One week,” she said. “Counting from yesterday.”

Ludger blinked once, slow.

“To accept the offer,” Elaine finished, “or not.”

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