Several weeks slipped by, but the argument never found a proper resolution. Elaine’s word was law within her home, and she had made it clear—Ludger would not be dragged into the Torvares family’s games. Yet Arslan still made the trip to teach Viola swordsmanship.

Every few days, he would vanish at dawn and return two nights later, often humming a tune or whistling as he unsaddled his horse. His good mood never lasted long; the moment Elaine’s glare landed on him, the grin would vanish into a stiff poker face. Ludger had to admit, it was almost comical how quickly the man’s swagger collapsed under her silent judgment.

When Arslan was away, the house grew quieter. Elaine’s sharpness softened during those times, especially when she looked at her son. One evening, as she stirred a pot over the fire, she spoke in a low voice that carried both guilt and resolve.

“I was wrong,” she admitted, not meeting Ludger’s eyes at first. “I shouldn’t have called that girl a bastard. She’s not to blame for what happened, and it was cruel of me to say it.”

She finally turned, her green eyes steady now. “If you ever meet her again, treat her kindly. She lost her mother, and that’s a wound that won’t heal easily.”

Ludger tilted his head, watching her carefully. Elaine’s hands were steady, but he could hear the weight beneath her words.

“But listen to me,” she continued, her voice firming again. “Nobles are always trouble. They smile when it suits them, but everything they do is for power. If you cross paths with her, be polite, be fair—but always be careful.”

Ludger nodded slowly. He could see how much it cost her to say those words, to put aside her pride for his sake. “I understand,” he said simply.

Elaine gave a faint smile, her shoulders relaxing just a little. But when the door creaked open later that night and Arslan’s humming voice drifted inside, her expression hardened again, the warmth vanishing as quickly as it had come.

Ludger had promised himself he would keep out of trouble. Stay away from the mess Arslan created, avoid noble games, and focus on his own growth. For weeks, he held to that plan—training, cooking, learning mana control, and keeping a careful balance between his classes.

But it seemed trouble had no intention of leaving him alone.

Two months after Viola’s first appearance, the sound of hooves once again echoed through the courtyard. Elaine stiffened at the door, and Ludger set down his practice target with a frown. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

The carriage door swung open, and out stepped Viola. Her summer dress had been exchanged for a more practical outfit, though still stitched from fine fabric. In her hands she carried two wooden swords, one gripped tightly and the other swinging casually at her side. Her scowl was just as sharp as before.

Arslan followed her out, one hand dragging down his face in a weary gesture. “I told you this was a bad idea,” he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction. The fact that he wasn’t physically stopping her said more than enough.

Ludger pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course his father had “tried” to stop her. Tried in the same way he always did—half-heartedly, with a grin hidden behind his hand and no real effort to resist.

Viola’s gaze locked onto Ludger almost immediately. She strode forward, her chin high, and held out one of the wooden swords to him.

“You,” she said firmly, voice carrying across the courtyard. “You’re going to spar with me.”

Elaine’s glare darkened at Arslan, who quickly raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me! I tried—really, I did!”

Ludger sighed, feeling the weight of inevitability settling on his shoulders. So much for staying clear of trouble.

Viola’s scowl deepened as she stopped a few paces from him. The wooden sword dangled in her grip, her small fingers tightening around it like she meant to crush the handle.

“You never came,” she said, her tone almost accusatory. “Grandfather said he’d give you tutors, books, a chance to be something better than a servant. And still, you didn’t come. Why?”

Ludger met her gaze, his expression unreadable. He lifted one shoulder in a slow shrug. “Because my mother’s influence in this part of the world is stronger than your grandfather’s promises. That’s all.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Viola’s nostrils flared, and she let out a sharp huff of breath. Without another word, she tossed the wooden sword straight at him.

Ludger caught it in one hand, the wood smacking against his palm with a solid weight. His grip tightened automatically, his body slipping into a practiced stance before he even realized it.

Across the yard, Arslan sighed and dragged his hand down his face again. “I told you she wouldn’t take no for an answer…”

Elaine’s glare burned hotter, but she didn’t step forward. Not yet.

Viola raised her own sword, eyes narrowing with the kind of reckless fire Ludger had already come to associate with his father. “Then show me,” she demanded. “Show me if you’re really worth all the praise he gave you.”

Ludger’s brow furrowed. So that’s it. Father couldn’t keep his mouth shut after all.

Still, he shifted his stance, the wooden blade steady in his hand. “Fine,” he said flatly. “But don’t cry when this doesn’t go your way.”

The wooden sword felt strange in Ludger’s grip. Too light, too awkward. He had never grown comfortable fighting with a single hand on a weapon while the other floated uselessly in the air. His body always wanted to strike with both fists, to move with his whole frame. The sword was a tool—fine—but not his tool.

Viola didn’t wait for him to settle. She lunged, swinging her blade down with surprising force for someone her age. Her footwork was rough but determined, each step forward heavy with intent.

Ludger slipped to the side, his body flowing more like a dancer than a child. He let the sword in his hand drag lazily across hers, deflecting just enough to spoil her balance. Then, instead of striking back with the blade, he snapped his leg out in a sharp kick that tapped her shin.

Viola stumbled, her scowl deepening, but she didn’t fall. She spun on her heel, gripping the sword in both hands this time, and charged again.

Once more, Ludger met her with half a block, half a dodge. The wood clacked as their weapons kissed, but it was his shoulder that leaned in, his elbow that brushed past her guard, his free hand that pushed her off-line. Every movement reminded her that he wasn’t really using the sword at all—only humoring her with it while his true weapons remained: his fists, his legs, his whole body.

From the sidelines, Harold chuckled under his breath. “That’s not a boy sparring. That’s a pugilist carrying a stick because someone told him to.”

Selene folded her arms, eyes narrowing. “And even holding back, he’s making her look clumsy.”

Viola gritted her teeth and swung harder, frustration flaring across her face. Ludger deflected with the wooden blade but countered with a swift strike of his knee, stopping just short of hitting her stomach. The message was clear—if he hadn’t held back, she would have doubled over.

Ludger stepped back, his expression flat. “You’re strong-willed. But swords aren’t about swinging harder every time.” He lowered the wooden blade slightly. “If you want me to take this seriously, then stop rushing in like a fool.”

The courtyard fell quiet, the only sound Viola’s sharp breathing. Arslan rubbed his temples and muttered, “Why do they both have to be so stubborn?”

Viola’s shoulders rose and fell with her ragged breaths. For a moment, it looked like she might drop her sword and storm off in frustration. But instead, she closed her eyes, tightened her grip, and drew in a long, steady breath.

Then something changed.

A faint shimmer rolled across her skin, subtle but unmistakable to anyone who had trained with mana. The air around her thickened, and a sharp spark of energy surged into her small frame. It wasn’t polished, it wasn’t controlled—but it was raw power, and it made the wooden sword in her hands feel far heavier than it should have.

“Wait—Viola!” Arslan called out, his hand lifting as if to stop her. His voice carried urgency, a note of genuine alarm. “Not here, not like—”

But she didn’t wait.

Her eyes snapped open, fiercer than before, and she lunged. This time, her movement wasn’t the reckless stumbling of a stubborn child. The surge of energy carried her forward in a blur, her blade cutting the air with a speed that made even Selene’s eyes widen.

Ludger barely had time to brace. He lifted his wooden sword, the impact crashing against him like a hammer. The shock rippled through his hand, up his arm, and into his chest, forcing him to grit his teeth. His stance held, but the raw force made his whole body hum with the aftershock.

He stared at her, expression tightening. So she does have tricks after all.

Viola stepped back, her chest rising and falling as the energy flickered around her again, faint arcs of light pulsing at her fingertips. Her scowl was gone now, replaced by something sharper—determination, and perhaps the faintest glimmer of pride.

On the sidelines, Harold muttered, “...That’s not just stubbornness. She’s tapping into mana already.”

Cor’s eyes narrowed, his staff pressing into the ground. “No. Not just mana. That’s instinct.”

Ludger flexed his fingers around the wooden hilt. The sting in his arm lingered, but a faint smile ghosted across his lips. Maybe this won’t be as boring as I thought.

Viola pressed forward again, her wooden blade cutting through the air with a speed no ordinary child should have managed. The surge of energy made her strikes reckless but heavy, each swing carrying more weight than the last.

Ludger tightened his stance and met her head-on, blocking each blow with precision. His arms shook from the impact, the shocks rattling through his bones. He wasn’t used to defending so often—his style was to strike, to press forward—but against Viola’s sudden burst of strength, he had no choice.

The courtyard rang with the sharp crack of wood against wood. Again and again she swung, her breath growing ragged, her movements driven by pure will. Ludger gritted his teeth, parrying, deflecting, letting the force slide past him instead of trying to overpower it.

Then it happened.

Her sword came down at an angle, harder than the rest. Ludger brought his blade up to block, but the strain was too much. With a sharp snap, the wooden sword split clean in two. A jagged piece spun free, striking his forehead with a sharp sting.

Blood trickled down between his eyes.

“Ludger!” Elaine’s voice cut across the yard like a whip. She dropped everything and dashed toward him, panic flashing in her green eyes.

But before she could reach him, Ludger raised a small hand and pressed his palm over the wound. A faint glow spread across his skin as [Healing Touch] took hold. In an instant, the cut closed, leaving nothing behind but a smear of blood on his temple.

He lowered his hand, glanced at his mother, and gave the faintest smirk. “Tis but a scratch.”

The silence that followed was broken only by Harold’s sputtering laugh and Aleia covering her mouth to hide her grin. Even Cor’s lips twitched. Elaine, however, did not look amused.

Viola stood frozen, her chest heaving, the broken sword dangling from her hand. Her wide eyes locked on Ludger, not in fear—but in a strange, conflicted mix of shock and admiration.

Arslan groaned, dragging his palm down his face. “...Why do I feel like I’ve just made things worse?”

The broken sword slipped from Viola’s fingers, clattering against the packed dirt. The shimmer of energy around her faded, leaving only a tired girl standing in its wake. Her scowl softened into something less certain, and for the first time since she had arrived, she looked her age.

“I’m… sorry,” she said, her voice quieter than before. “I shouldn’t have gone serious with just a wooden sword. That was reckless of me.”

She lowered her head, bowing stiffly toward Ludger. It was not graceful, not noble-like, but it carried the weight of sincerity. Then, without waiting for anyone’s reply, she turned and walked back to the carriage. The guards opened the door in silence, and within moments she was climbing inside, her back straight but her steps heavy.

The horses stirred, the driver cracked the reins, and the carriage began its slow roll down the road. The emblem of the red bull gleamed faintly in the fading light until it vanished from sight.

Ludger stood in the courtyard, wiping the last smear of blood from his temple with the back of his hand. His eyes lingered on the retreating carriage, but his face betrayed little more than mild annoyance.

All that fuss… all that trouble… just to leave empty-handed.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. She wasted a lot of time for nothing.

Elaine placed a protective hand on his shoulder, glaring at Arslan, who winced under the weight of her stare. Harold muttered something about “kids these days,” while Aleia whistled low, impressed by the fire the girl had shown. Cor alone kept silent, though his calculating gaze followed the road long after the carriage had disappeared.

Ludger turned back toward the house, wooden sword still clutched in one hand. He had no intention of letting himself get tangled in Viola’s drama again. At least, that was what he told himself.

That night, long after the courtyard had grown quiet, Ludger sat on his bed with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. The image of Viola’s sudden surge replayed in his mind—the shimmer of energy, the sharpened movements, the way her strike had carried far more weight than her small frame should have allowed.

He rubbed the faint scar that remained beneath his hairline, hidden now by his own healing. What was that technique?

He knew his own strength. For his age, he was far beyond what should have been possible. He had balanced multiple classes, refined his mana, and trained under some of the best fighters Arslan’s ragtag party had to offer. By all rights, he should have stood leagues ahead of other children.

And yet, Viola had forced him onto the defensive.

It wasn’t just raw stubbornness—it was something else. Something deliberate.

So I’m not the only one advancing faster than I should.

The thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. He had convinced himself that his secret growth placed him alone on a higher path, a path shaped by his will rather than the System’s guidance. But now… there was proof that others could push boundaries too, in their own ways.

He tapped a finger against his arm, eyes narrowing. Viola wasn’t just a nuisance with Arslan’s recklessness. She was growing strong, perhaps strong enough to matter in the larger game.

And her grandfather, sharp-eyed and ambitious, would surely notice that Ludger had been dragged into her orbit, even if only for a moment.

Ludger leaned back against the wall, exhaling. Great. First my father turns life into a farce, and now my so-called half sister decides to remind me that I’m not walking this path alone.

Trouble was circling, and even staying clear might not be enough this time.